He walked back down the hall and out the heavy door and was gone. One of the black guys in the cell next to me said something and the other laughed. Someone in one of the cells on the other side of me coughed. I could hear voices, but they sounded muted and far away. I said, 'Joe.'
Pike's voice came back. 'Fourth cell.'
Someone yelled, 'I'm trying to sleep, goddamn it. Shut the fuck up.' It was a big voice, loud and deep, and sounded as if it had come from a big man. It also sounded about as far away as Joe Pike.
I said, 'D'Muere said he's going for Jennifer Sheridan.'
Joe said, 'Dees wouldn't go for that.'
'Dees may not know. D'Muere wasn't talking like a guy who was worried about what Eric Dees thought.'
The big voice yelled, 'Goddamn it, I said shut up. I don't want to hear about your goddamn–' There was a sharp meat-on-meat sound and the voice stopped. Joe continued, 'Maybe he isn't. Maybe things aren't the way we were told.'
'You mean, maybe they aren't partners.'
Pike said, 'Maybe Dees is an employee. Maybe D'Muere is the power, and Eric Dees is just trying to control him. Maybe putting us in here is part of that.'
'Only maybe while we're in, Jennifer Sheridan gets offed.'
Pike said nothing.
The heavy door opened and the cop with a squash for a head came back pushing a phone that was bolted to a kind of a tripod thing on heavy rollers. The cop pushed it down to my cell and parked it close enough for me to reach the buttons. 'You can make as many calls as you want, but it won't take long distance, okay?'
'Sure.'
He went out and left the door ajar because of the phone cable.
I called Marty Beale's direct line and a male voice answered. It wasn't Marty, and it wasn't Jennifer Sheridan. 'Watkins, Okum, & Beale. Mr. Beale's office.'
'Jennifer Sheridan, please.'
'She didn't come in today. May I take a message?'
'I'm a friend, and it's important that I speak with her. Do you know where I can reach her?'
'I'm sorry, sir. I'm an office temp, and I didn't get here until this afternoon.'
'Do you know why she didn't come in?'
'I'm sorry, sir.'
I hung up and called Jennifer Sheridan's apartment. On the third ring, the phone machine answered. After it beeped, I said, 'It's Elvis. If you're there, pick up.'
No one picked up.
I called Lou Poitras. A woman's voice answered, 'Detectives.'
'Lou Poitras, please.'
'He's out. You want to leave a message?'
'How about Charlie Griggs?'
'Hold on.' I heard her ask somebody in the background about Griggs. She came back on the line. 'He's with Poitras. You want to leave a message or not?'
I hung up and leaned against the bars. 'She didn't go to work and she's not at home.'
Pike said, 'Could mean anything.'
'Sure.' Mr. Optimism.
'We could help her.'
'In here?'
Pike said, 'No. Not in here.'
'Joe.' I knew what he was saying.
'Wait.'
The cop with the squash head came back for the phone, and forty minutes after that the heavy door opened again and in came the squash with a Hispanic cop sporting a flattop crew cut. The squash said, 'You guys are going to be bused over to County. On your feet.'
You could hear the men in the cells coming off their bunks.
The squash went down the row, unlocking the doors and telling the prisoners to step out into the hall. When the squash got down to Pike's cell, he said, 'What in hell happened to you?'
The big voice said, 'Fell.'
Pike was three people behind me.
They lined us up and led us down another corridor past the booking area. The young Hispanic cop brought up the rear.
