Maybe I should have just let it sit. She would think about what she'd said without my holier-than-thou response. But I didn't.
"Come on, Sherry," I said, stepping closer to her. "We're not like them, the lawyers trying to argue through who wins and who loses and to hell with what's right or just. We're cops. We're here to stop it. If there's even an outside chance with this guy, you can't just kick it to the curb."
"I'm a cop, Freeman. You used to be," she said. "Maybe your old cronies up in Philadelphia forgot some of the basics of homicide investigation while they were covering themselves for getting laid on the job." She started to say something else, then held it.
"I've got a suspect who had opportunity, a suspect with a violent past, a suspect who is on the top of another agency's list in the disappearance of another vulnerable woman. I thought you were the one who never believed in coincidences."
Her eyes were still burning when Billy walked up.
"Sh-Sherry."
She put the photograph in the pocket of her slacks and extended her hand to meet his.
"You are l-looking great," Billy said, taking her hand in both of his and meaning, I knew, every word.
"Counselor," she said. "You were quite impressive in there. I'm sure I'll get a call from the prosecutor for not warning him who he'd be up against this morning."
He stepped in and at first I thought he might kiss Richards on the cheek, but instead he whispered: "It's not personal, Sherry." And then louder: "I s-still need a good crew person on my Sunday b-beer can races. Diane is learning, but slowly."
"I'll see if I can get a weekend evening free," she said.
"Wonderful," Billy said and turned to me. "Ready?"
He stepped away and I turned to Richards.
"I'll guarantee it," I said.
"What?"
"I'll guarantee that no one will be in jeopardy while O'Shea is out."
She didn't answer. She just nodded. When I caught up with Billy I looked back and her hand was back in the pocket of her slacks.
We walked over to the county courthouse which was next to the jail. Billy said he needed to visit an acquaintance. As an attorney, he might never show up in court, but the man had more connections than a senator at a lobbyist's convention.
"It w-will take a couple of hours for them to process O'Shea out."
"You paid his bond, cash?"
"A cashier's ch-check," he corrected.
"You just happened to have it in the exact amount?"
"I anticipated."
"Pretty damned sure of yourself, Counselor."
He paused a second.
"It was n-not as unpleasant as I thought it might be, M-Max."
This time I paused, letting Billy consider what he was saying about his lifelong fear that his stutter was an intolerable flaw that society would forever hold against him.
"So if this goes to trial, you'll represent him?"
He stopped at the corner.
"They don't t-take aggravated assault to trial, M-Max. They deal them down and plead them out."
"I meant if they tag him for the disappearances," I said. This time he looked me in the eyes.
"Be careful, M-Max," he said without hesitation. "If they come up with enough evidence to indict O'Shea on homicide charges, w- we both may have made big mistakes."
CHAPTER 21
She knew she'd made a mistake, and now she was paying for it. Scared as hell, and paying for it.
They'd gone to dinner, his choice, the steak house that she was really getting sick of, but whenever she balked he gave her that look, the one that made her turn her face away, waiting, the skin on her cheek almost warming like she'd already been slapped.
But the dinner conversation went well. He was smart, no doubt about that. He kept up on current events and spoke intelligently about issues that she rarely paid attention to. They'd talked, like adults. Then they went to the movies, again, his choice. Again, somehow, they always ended up at the show he first suggested. Not that she hated them. It was just that if she mentioned another film, he'd say "Yeah, OK, that's a possibility. Let's see what else there is," and by the time they went through the listings in the paper, they'd be right back to his choice.
She'd thought about her father then, how they always "discussed" things but whenever it looked like she might get something her way, he'd pull his trump card: "Your holy mother and the Lord himself are looking down on us, Marci. Ask them. What would they do?"
Kyle didn't have to push those cheap buttons. His trump card was now the back of his hand. In the last two weeks he'd stung her a couple of times. She'd told herself that was it. Then he'd show up with apologizing flowers. Then there was that "love light" with the candle in it that he said he wanted her to hang in her window to remind him that even brushing his hand too close to the flame could put it out, and he would never do it again. Christ, she'd thought. How do you dump a guy like that?
She'd told him after the movies that she didn't want to go riding again. She was tired. She had another double shift coming up. He started driving out Broward Boulevard and pulled the flask filled with Maker's Mark from under the seat and didn't bother mixing it, just sipped it, right out in traffic.
"Come on, Marci. Just for a little while."
"Kyle, no," she said. He didn't like no. But she wasn't sure she cared anymore.
"Oh, I see. I take you to dinner. I take you to the movies. Then when I want to do something for me, it's no."
She was silent and he looked over. She sat there, slack-jawed. Then she let that half-grin come into her face, the one she knew pissed him off. The one he called her "It's almost amusing how stupid you are" look. Then she made her big mistake. They were already west of Dixie Highway, past where he should have turned to take her home.
"Christ!" she snapped. "Can't you give up this 'My way, my way, my way' all the time and give someone else a little say?"
She watched those marbles in his jaw start to roll, but didn't care this time.
"I mean, goddamn. It's not always about you, Kyle, and you ruin it when you're always making it about you!"
He still remained quiet, but she could feel the car accelerate as they passed the Fort Lauderdale Police Department building doing at least fifteen over the speed limit. But what were his friends going to do? Pull him over?
"Goddammit, Kyle. Take me home! Now!"
The movement was faster than she could catch in the soft darkness of the car. She didn't even pick up on it until the impact snapped her head to the side. He'd backhanded her with the speed and lightning-fast anger she'd seen him use on others. The sound of his skin and knuckles smacking her cheek and the bridge of her nose came a millisecond before the sting of pain.
For a moment she thought she hadn't even had time to close her eyes, and was astounded that someone's hand could be faster than a blink. Then she opened her eyes and oriented herself. She was against the door. Kyle was staring straight ahead, both hands on the wheel. She blinked through welling tears and looked out the windshield, thinking. Now they were pulling up to the I-95 entrance and she could make out the blur of colored traffic lights going from green to yellow. She felt the car slow, felt for the door handle and clack! The locks snapped down. He'd anticipated her move, flipped on his siren and lights and swung through the red light, gathering speed onto the interstate. She knew she'd made her big mistake. Now she was scared.
CHAPTER 22
Turnkey" sandwich. Maybe the food was better than the prison wit. I had coffee and watched the morning hustle. There were lots of ties and an equal number of wonderful women's dresses. There was an energy around the place, people moving, bumping, saying hello or even avoiding eye contact. A guy shuffled a briefcase from one hand to the other to dig for change. A woman watched the eyes of the cashier, waiting for them to catch hers and take an order. A too loud guffaw sounded from the knot of three suited men, causing the rest to turn and look. People moved with purpose and checked their watches. In my semi-isolation I had lost some of my people-watching skills. It had been a constant when I'd worked a beat, watching, and not always just for the pickpocket working his way through the tourists or the smack dealer hooking up with a new face on the corner. You had to have a suspicious eye as a cop. But you also had to remind yourself that ninety-nine percent of what went on around you were folks just living, working honest jobs, filling their spot in the world. You got jaded if you weren't careful and did something stupid or just burned out. Richards's words were still stinging. She was right. She was the cop. I wasn't. But I resented her implication that I'd gone home and fallen back into the brotherhood of see-no-evil. I'd gotten jaded and left. The shadows followed, but I had left.After I left Billy I went across the street to the Barrister's Bagel and had breakfast. They had a special on a "Locks amp;