A weary-looking older cop eating a donut at a desk along the back wall glanced up from his newspaper. He finished off the donut, removed his reading glasses, and pushed himself out of his chair. He hitched up his uniform trousers then walked up to the window. When he arrived, the officer manning the window held up Scott's business card. Sarge took it and held it at arm's length trying to find a focus point without his reading glasses. He finally gave up and instead gave Scott a once-over.
'You a lawyer?'
Scott nodded. 'Scott Fenney from Dallas. I represent Rebecca Fenney.'
Sarge jabbed his head at the officer manning the window.
'Junior here, he thinks he's some kind of comedian, been saying 'Penis Code' since he hired on a year ago. Problem is, he's a one-joke comedian and it ain't even a funny joke.' Sarge sighed. 'But then, you don't get Phi Beta Kappas for jailers, do you, Junior?'
'Nope, sure don't, Sarge.'
Sarge eyed Junior a moment, then shook his head and turned back to Scott.
'So what can I do you for?'
'Release Rebecca Fenney.'
'And why would I do that?'
'Because the law requires you to.'
'The law? '
As if Scott had said 'the Pope.'
'My client was arrested without a warrant… ' Scott repeated his recitation of the law for Sarge then added, 'And since my client has no assets, she must be released on her personal recognizance.'
'Is that so?'
'That is so, Sarge. So please give me either the magistrate's written determination of probable cause or my client.'
Sarge grunted and scratched himself then pivoted and went back to his desk. He put on his reading glasses, picked up his phone, and dialed. He didn't lower his voice.
'Yeah, Rex, we got a lawyer over here, says he represents the Fenney woman… No, he's from Dallas'-Sarge focused on Scott's card through his reading glasses-'name's A. Scott Fenney… Hold on, I'll ask.' Sarge turned to Scott. 'You the A. Scott Fenney?'
'I'm the only one I know.'
Back to the phone. 'He don't know… What?… Hold on.' Back to Scott. 'You related to her?'
'She's my ex-wife.'
Sarge blinked hard. 'You're kidding?' Sarge returned to the phone, a bit amused. 'Says she's his ex… Yeah, I'd let mine rot in jail, too, that no-good… Anywho, he says we gotta release her on PR 'cause she was arrested without a warrant and no one took her before a magistrate for a PC hearing and… Really?… I'll be damned… Okay, you're the boss.'
Sarge hung up and walked back to the window. To Junior he said, 'Cut her loose.' To Scott he said, 'The D.A., he said you're absolutely right… and he said to come see him tomorrow morning.' Sarge nodded at the front door behind Scott. 'Down the street, in the courthouse.'
'I'll do that.'
Scott handed Junior the bag of clothes Karen had given him for Rebecca then he stepped away from the window. One side of the large lobby was filled with rows of chairs occupied by family and friends of the residents, the other side with rows of closed-circuit TV monitors mounted on small cubicles occupied by a half-dozen people. On the monitors were the faces of inmates, white, black, and brown, some of whom looked sad, others lost, and a few like they belonged in a maximum security prison instead of a county jail. In front of the monitors sat a lower- rung lawyer counseling his client-'Now, Ernesto
…'-and a minister praying with a crying soul-'Dear Lord in Heaven'-and weary women and young children paying a daily visit-'Hi, Daddy!' a little girl shrieked when her father's face appeared on the screen. Scott found a vacant chair among other women and children waiting for daddy to be bailed out of jail as if it were just part of their normal Monday routine and waited for his wife to be processed out of jail.
Ex-wife.
He never had closure, as they say on TV. Never had a chance to say goodbye. Twenty-two months and eleven days ago she had left him. He hadn't spoken to her or seen her since, except once on television. One Sunday, a few months after she had left, Scott had watched the final round of a golf tournament Trey Rawlins had won; after he had putted out for the victory, the camera caught her jumping into his arms and kissing him-on national TV. Scott had never watched another golf tournament.
How should he greet her now? Should he shake hands with her? Should he kiss her on the cheek like Leno greeting a female guest? Should he hug her? How is a man supposed to greet his ex-wife who's accused of murdering the man she cheated with? How is a lawyer supposed to greet his new client who used to be his wife? What are the rules for this sort of thing?
He hadn't come up with any answers when the secure door opened, and she was suddenly standing there. She was dressed in a knit shirt, shorts, and sandals. She wore no makeup. Her red hair was ratty and cut shorter than before, but she seemed not to have aged a day in the two years. Her skin was still creamy with a hint of sunburn, and her body still remarkably lean and fit. Even at thirty-five-even after spending three days in jail-Rebecca Fenney's beauty still stunned him.
Scott stood.
Her eyes darted around the crowded lobby like a lost child looking for her parents. She spotted him and almost ran to him. She was crying before she threw her arms around him.
'Oh, Scott. Thank God you came.'
She clutched him tightly for a long moment, then he felt her slim body sag in his arms. She sobbed into his chest. After all that time, she was back in his arms. She felt good even if she didn't smell good. She finally wiped her face on his shirt and looked up at him.
'I'm sorry, I must smell awful after three days.'
'You didn't shower?'
'With those women? You wouldn't believe how many prostitutes are in Galveston. I was so afraid.'
He released her. 'Did they hurt you?'
'The women?'
'The police.'
'They brought me here in handcuffs, they took my clothes, hosed me down… Scott, they sprayed me for lice.'
'Why didn't you hire a lawyer to get you out of here?'
'I don't have any money.'
'On TV, they said Trey earned millions.'
'None of it's mine.'
'You could've put your house up to secure bond.'
'It's not mine either. Nothing is. The house, the cars, the yacht-everything belongs to… Why would someone kill Trey? This is all like a bad dream.'
'It's real. But I'm here now, Rebecca. I'll take care of you.'
She glanced around as if worried they had made a mistake and would throw her back in jail. 'Can we leave now?'
'Not out the front door. Reporter.'
Scott went back to the bail window, signed for her personal effects, and asked Sarge if Rebecca could leave out a back door. Sarge obliged. While he took her around back, Scott walked outside and past Renee Ramirez just as her cell phone rang. She answered and said, ' What? He's here? I didn't see a lawyer go in.' She hung up and hurried inside, trailed by her cameraman. Scott got into the Jetta and drove around back where he found Sarge with Rebecca. He opened the door for her like a hotel doorman.
'Hope you enjoyed your stay, ma'am.'
Sarge shut the door and gave them a little salute. Scott drove around front just as Renee Ramirez and her cameraman came running back out.
