Faith told Nesbitt, “Like I said, we’ve got the Vasquez thing pretty much figured out and if we choose to investigate these cases, you’ve already given us the articles, so we really don’t—”
“Wait!” He reached for her hand, but stopped at the last minute. “Just wait, okay? I’ve got more.”
Faith left her hand on the table, though her instinct had been to reel back. She looked at her watch. “You’ve got one minute.”
“Vasquez was killed for his distribution network.” Nesbitt licked his lips, anxious for a reaction. “I can tell you how they’re bringing in the phones. Where they’re stashing them. How the money works. I won’t testify, but I can put you exactly where they’ll be when the phones come in.”
Faith felt obliged to point out the obvious. “We can break the distribution network ourselves. We did it four years ago. Almost fifty corrections officers are behind bars right now because of it.”
“Do you have another year to launch an investigation?” Nesbitt asked. “Does the GBI wanna waste all that time and money and resources and pull in the FBI and DEA and the sheriff’s office and put agents undercover and work another sting that takes millions of dollars and ends up embarrassing your sorry asses with all those bad cops on trial every time you turn on the news?”
The guy had done his homework. Money. Federal agencies. Public humiliation. There wasn’t one part of what he’d said that didn’t shoot fear into the heart of every cop over the rank of sergeant.
“I can hand the phone racketeering to you on a silver platter,” Nesbitt said. “I’ll give you one week to look into these cases in the newspapers. One week instead of a year-long investigation. Plus you get to nail a serial killer. All you’ve got to do is—”
“Stop the bullshit!” Without warning, Nick raked back Nesbitt’s chair and slammed him into the wall.
Faith was so shocked that she stood up, hand going to her belt, but her gun was in a lockbox by the metal detector. “Agent Shelton,” she boomed, using her cop voice. “Back away from—”
“You slimy kidfucker.” Nick grabbed Nesbitt’s shirt and yanked him up to standing. “You know you’re not getting out of here. Your own article says your conviction was upheld twice. No one believed your bullshit. Not the jury. Not the appellate court. Not the state supreme court.”
“So what?” Nesbitt screamed back. “Sandra Bland is dead! John Hinckley’s a free man! OJ’s playing golf in Florida! You’re telling me our legal system is fair?”
Nick’s face was so close that their noses were touching. His fist reared back. “I’m telling you to watch your fucking mouth or I will beat you to the fucking ground.”
Will’s hand was on Nick’s shoulder. Faith hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly, he was there. She saw his fingers flex, more like the pat that Nick had given him back in the interrogation room.
Faith was running through all the ways this could go from bad to worse when the air changed in the room.
Slowly, Nick turned. He looked at Will. His eyes were wild, and then they weren’t. His muscles were tensed, but then they weren’t. His fists unclenched. He took a step back.
“Jesus!” Nesbitt hopped on one leg, trying to put some space between them.
Will righted the chair. He helped Nesbitt sit back down.
Faith silently begged Nick to leave, but he took his post behind the inmate, hands shoved deep into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Asshole.” Nesbitt smoothed down his wrinkled shirt. He was visibly shaken. Faith felt the same. This wasn’t how they did things. She had never seen Nick explode like that. She never wanted to see it again.
“Okay.” Faith could barely hear her own voice over the rapid tap of her own heartbeat. She had to get the interview back on track, not least of all because she didn’t want to be called to testify by a prosecutor who was charging Nick with a custodial assault. “Nesbitt, I’m listening to you. Tell me about the articles. What are we looking for?”
Nesbitt wiped his mouth with his hands. “You gonna let him get away with that?”
“Get away with what?” Faith shook her head in mock disbelief, making herself the shittiest kind of cop there was. “I didn’t see anything.”
She didn’t need to look back at Will to know that he was shaking his head, too.
“Nesbitt,” she said. “This is your moment. Either start talking or we’ll leave.”
“I was set up.” Nesbitt wiped his mouth again. “God’s honest truth. I was framed.”
“Okay.” Faith could feel a river of sweat flowing down her back. She had to make this man feel like he was being listened to. “Who framed you? Tell me about it.”
“It was those fucking small-town cops, okay? They controlled everything that happened in that county. The prosecutor, the judge, the jury—they all bought into that self-righteous cowboy bullshit.”
He turned around, making sure that they all knew the kind of cowboy bullshit he was talking about.
“Careful, son.” Nick’s voice sounded gravelly. “You don’t wanna go letting something out that you can’t put back in the bottle.”
Nesbitt’s anger had given way to despair. “You stupid redneck motherfucker, what do you think I’ve got to lose?”
Faith waited for Nick to do something stupid again, but he just lifted his chin and stared out into the hallway.
She studied Nesbitt’s face. Dark circles pooled under his eyes. Deep lines creased his forehead. He looked like an old man. Being inside could age anyone, but being inside with a disability must’ve been a whole new circle of hell.
In the silence, she drummed her fingers on the table. She asked Nesbitt, “How do you know about Vasquez’s phone business?”
“I’ve been doing janitorial in this place for six years. Nobody sees me, so I can see everybody else.”
