“Is that your real name? I know that most of the time whores take on phony names because they don’t want their families findin’ out anything about them.”
“You know all about whores, do you?” Minnie asked.
“I know considerable about whores,” Sheriff Wallace said. “I’m a lawman. I have dealt with them quite a bit. Of course, I don’t blame whores for changin’ their name,” he continued. “I don’t reckon anyone who would whore has any pride left. But don’t you think you could’ve come up with a better name than Smith?” Wallace laughed. “That’s not what you would call just real original now, is it?”
“Why do you need to know my real name?” Minnie asked.
“Because I’m goin’ to ask you some questions,” Sheriff Wallace said. “And I’m going to have to know whether or not I can believe your answers. If I can’t believe your real name, how am I going to believe you?”
Minnie didn’t answer.
“Well, what is it?” Wallace asked, growing impatient at Minnie’s long delay in answering.
“Minnie Smith is my real name,” she said.
“All right, Miss—Smith,” Wallace said, setting the name apart from the rest of the sentence and coming down on it with an emphasis that told her he didn’t believe her. “I have a few questions for you.”
Minnie said nothing.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Buck West answered your telegram?”
“He didn’t answer my telegram.”
“Don’t be coy with me, Miss Smith. I don’t mean that he answered your telegram with one of his own. I mean that he came to Cloverdale.”
“He didn’t come to Cloverdale.”
“Don’t lie to me!” Sheriff Wallace shouted loudly, accenting his shout with the slap of his hand on his desk. “He damn sure did come here, and you know it! ”
Wallace pointed through the open door to the hole in the back wall. “Who do you think did that, if not Buck West?”
Minnie shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Somebody did it, because the blast came from outside the jail. That means somebody helped Cabot escape.”
Minnie said nothing.
“You and Cabot were friends, weren’t you?”
“I’m friends with a lot of men,” Minnie said. “You said it yourself, Sheriff. I am a whore. I am paid to be friends.”
“But you were sort of a special friend to Cabot, weren’t you?”
“Sheriff?” the call came from the back of the building, from the man who was laying bricks in repair of the wall. “Could you come back here a moment?”
“I’ll be right there,” Wallace shouted in reply. He turned back toward Minnie. “You stay right here,” he ordered.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she answered.
“What do you want?” he called to the bricklayer.
“I didn’t know the jail cell door was locked. I’ve about sealed myself in,” the bricklayer said.
Wallace chuckled. “You’d be in a hell of a fix if I wasn’t here, wouldn’t you?” The sheriff opened the middle drawer to get the key.
“I’m not through with you yet,” he said, shaking his finger at Minnie.
Minnie nodded, then, glancing at the open drawer, saw something that made her gasp. There, in the sheriff’s drawer, was a letter from Bobby Lee, the mailing and return address on the envelope clearly legible.
She heard the talk from the back of the jail.
“Come back here,” the bricklayer said. “I want to show you how I’ve had to dovetail these here new bricks in with the old ones. I need your approval.”
“If the wall is strong enough to hold a prisoner, it’s good enough for me.”
“I want you to look at it anyway.”
As the sheriff and the bricklayer carried on their conversation in the back, Minnie thought of the letter that was in his desk drawer. Dare she to open it?
Getting up from her chair, Minnie moved to the back door to listen to the conversation between the sheriff and the bricklayer. The sheriff was asking about something and the bricklayer was trying to explain it. It sound involved enough to give her the opportunity she needed, so she returned to the desk, where the drawer was still open, then, with another look back, she reached in and removed the envelope. Opening it, she pulled out the letter and began to read:
