“Dwight
“Yep. Wants to know why you and Eric decided not to leave your names Friday night. Since you wouldn’t come talk to me this afternoon, you can talk to him now.”
“You sicced him on us? I don’t believe this.”
“Nobody sicced him on you, honey. Nobody had to. We talked to both of you at that Pot O’Gold slide, remember? When Dwight looked over an alphabetized list of attendees, you think he wouldn’t notice which Knott wasn’t on it?”
“Did y’all talk to Eric yet?”
It occurred to me that he might be more forthcoming if he thought we knew something he didn’t, so I merely shrugged. “Dwight’s keeping an open mind. He wants to hear your version.”
“Oh Christ!”
“So why don’t we get on downstairs before he gets tired of driving around in circles?”
Dwight was slowly making his way up Cameron Avenue when we got out to the sidewalk. At least a dozen cars were stacked up behind him. I pulled Stevie around to the driver’s side, told Dwight to shove over, pushed my nephew in, and moved smartly down the street.
At the stoplight at South Cameron, I leaned across Stevie and said, “Don’t worry, Dwight, I didn’t tell him anything Eric said.”
Dwight kept a poker face. “That’s good,” he said.
When the light changed, I continued on down half a block and turned left into the parking lot at the Carolina Inn. It’s got a Guests Only sign, but hey, we might’ve been planning to dine there that evening for all the inn knew. I pulled into an empty slot directly under one of the security lights and cut the truck lights. Both of us turned in our seats to look at Stevie.
He tried to brave it out. “So what did Eric tell y’all?”
“No, son,” Dwight said gently. “That’s not the way it works. I ask the questions. You give me straight answers, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me what happened at the Dozer game that night when you and Eric and your friends were there? Was Braz Hartley in the well of the game wagon?”
Stevie nodded.
“Was he razzing y’all?”
“Is that what Eric said?”
“C’mon, Stevie,” I said.
“No, he wasn’t razzing us. But one of our friends was on his case.”
“What about?” asked Dwight.
“I didn’t hear,” Stevie said cautiously. “All I know is that one minute we’re putting in our quarters, playing the game, everything’s cool. Next minute, Lamarr’s yelling that Hartley’s an effing thief. Hartley was standing by that swinging-door thing, and Lamarr just reached over, grabbed him by the shirt, and socked him smack in the face. Hartley was bleeding like a stuck pig and crying that his nose was broken. Eric and I grabbed Lamarr and got him away. Honest, Mr. Dwight. All Lamarr did was sock him one. He was sitting on the step of the wagon when we left and everybody else sort of scattered.”
“Who’s Lamarr?” Dwight asked.
“Lamarr Wrenn. He’s from Dobbs, but he’s tight with Eric and they room together at Shaw. He’s majoring in economics, putting himself through school. A good guy, honest, Deb’rah.”
“And this Lamarr was with you and Eric the rest of the evening?”
“You heard what Eric said.”
“We want to hear what you say,” said Dwight.
My nephew looked at me with misery in his eyes. “Don’t I have a right to an attorney about now?”
“Are you serious?”
“I know I don’t have to say anything that incriminates myself. I have the right to remain silent.”
“He’s right, Deb’rah,” said Dwight. He handed Stevie his cell phone. “Here, son. You want to call your parents? Tell them to meet you in Dobbs with an attorney?”
I’m sure Stevie had the same image of Haywood and Isabel roaring into Dobbs as I had. “God, no!”
“Well, then? Were you guys with this Lamarr Wrenn or not?”
“Not,” he said reluctantly. “Lamarr was pumped and still mad as hell and he said he was going home. Eric offered to go with him, but he said he needed to be alone. Needed to think.”
“What time was this?” Dwight asked.
Stevie shook his head. “I don’t know. I never looked at my watch till right as we were leaving.”
“You’re sure he left?”
“We didn’t follow him, but he was heading for the entrance when we split up.”
