“I’m here.”
“Just stay put, you hear me?”
“Ten-four.”
A little louder, Marlin repeated, “Corey! Can you hear me?”
After a beat, a muffled response: “I hear you.”
“I’m coming in, Jack. I have no weapon and I’m all alone.”
“I’ve been waitin’ on ya, John. Come on back and join the party!” Corey sounded on edge, kind of hyped-up. Not a good sign.
Marlin walked slowly down the left side of the room past a row of desks until he was outside the closed door to the interview room. In a softer voice, Marlin said, “Okay, I’m here, Corey. All alone, like you asked. Everybody doing all right in there?”
“Oh yeah, we’re all just dandy.” Corey sounded like he was just on the other side of the door.
“Jack, we need to talk. I need to see Wylie, make sure he’s okay.”
“Sure, we can do that. But no bullshit, all right? I mean, we’re friends and all, but…”
“You got my word. It’s just me out here, and I only came to talk.”
Marlin saw a crack of light appear at the bottom of the door as Corey turned the interior light on. He heard Corey’s voice again, addressing Wylie: “You don’t move a damn muscle, you hear me?”
Then the door opened about an inch and Marlin could see Corey eyeing him through the vertical crack. You’re lucky I’m telling the truth, Marlin thought. You’d be easy pickings right now if I was armed.
Corey said, “Grab a roll of tape offa one of those desks.”
Marlin found a Scotch-tape dispenser and slipped it to Corey.
The door swung open and Corey stood to the side, Wylie’s handgun held at his hip. “Hurry up, now.”
Marlin entered the room and Corey quickly closed the door. The small table that normally sat in the middle of the room had been pushed against one wall, along with the four chairs that went with it. Along the opposite wall was the only other piece of furniture in the room-a ratty sofa one of the deputies had hauled to the station one weekend. On that sofa sat Wylie Smith, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. He was clutching his bloody right hand, which looked like any other hand-except that the thumb had been blown off by a high-powered handgun. There was nothing left but a mangled stump.
“Oh, Jesus,” Marlin said. Judging from the front of Wylie’s uniform, the thumb had bled a great deal. But the bleeding appeared to have stopped.
“Yeah,” Corey said. “Wylie won’t be hitching rides anytime soon.”
The deputy’s face was extremely pale, either from fright or blood loss. “Wylie, you all right?”
Wylie began to speak, but Corey interrupted. “No! You don’t say a word,” waving the gun in Wylie’s direction. “That’s our only rule in here, John. He can’t speak. Nothing but horseshit comes outta his mouth anyway. Now, you go have a seat along that wall.”
Marlin eased himself to the floor opposite the door. He wasn’t sure what the experts would advise in a situation like this. Was he supposed to comply with Corey’s every demand? Do exactly what he said? Or try to resist, dole out the commands himself? He decided he needed to control the room as best he could. “All right, so tell me: What the hell happened in here, Jack?”
Corey was busy taping a few pages of newspaper over the small window in the door. Marlin noticed that Corey had already jammed one of the sofa cushions in the frame of the exterior window, blocking the view from the outside. Corey got the newspaper in place, then leaned with his back against the door. Marlin thought: Careful, Jack. One good shotgun blast and this whole thing will be over before you know it. And the truth was, Marlin had no idea what Garza might be organizing out there. It wouldn’t be all that difficult for an armed officer or two to station themselves outside the door, waiting for an opportunity.
Corey glared at Wylie. “It’s all his fault. He pulled me from my cell and drug me in here again. Started in with the same ol’ shit-how I was gonna end up on Death Row, him tryin’ to be all big and mean. I told him he could go to hell, and that’s when he pulled his gun and jammed it against the back of my head.”
Marlin was mortified. Could Wylie possibly be that stupid? He looked at the deputy, who gave a slight shake of his head.
Corey exploded toward him. “Don’t goddamn lie! At least be a man, own up to what you done!” Corey made a gesture with the gun, as if he was tempted to aim it at Wylie, but he pointed it back at the floor. Corey continued, his words nearly sobs now. “I thought it was all over, man! He was gonna shoot me and say I was tryin’ to escape or somethin’. So I spun around, grabbed for the gun, and it went off.”
Marlin held both hands up, palms out. “Take it easy, Corey. Settle down. I believe you.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, though. Marlin wasn’t sure what to believe at this point. It seemed to appease Corey, however, and he returned to the door.
“Now, I can see you’re awfully pissed off, Jack. And hell, I don’t blame you. You’ve really been through the wringer in the last twenty-four hours. But I gotta tell you, Wylie is gonna need some medical attention real soon.”
“Screw him.”
Marlin tried a small laugh. “I’ve felt that way many times myself. Let’s face it: The guy can be a real asshole.”
Corey nodded, wiping his sleeve across his nose.
Marlin said, “But are you gonna let an asshole ruin the rest of your life for you? You’re not in too deep yet, Jack. I mean, most people could understand what you’ve done so far. You’ve been under a lot of stress, you’re scared… and then, to have a gun at your head? Most people would do the same thing. And, like you say, if you had nothing to do with Bert Gammel, you could still come out of this okay.” Corey seemed to be listening, relieved that someone was finally taking his side. Now Marlin had to go for the big payoff. “But Jack, listen to me, man. You gotta let Wylie go. He needs a doctor.”
“Forget it.”
“But-”
“Forget it! If I let him go, I’m screwed, end of story. They’ll burn this place down with me in it. You know that.”
On that point, Marlin couldn’t lie. It would be too obvious. Marlin reached into his shirt pocket and removed the package of Red Man he had been carrying. “Want that chew now?” He slid the package across the floor to Corey’s feet.
Corey eyed Marlin for a second, then slumped to a sitting position on the floor, his back still against the door. He opened the package and stuffed a wad into his mouth.
Corey chewed in silence for a few minutes, the ritual seeming to calm his nerves somewhat. He spat in the corner behind the door and said, “I didn’t call you in here to see about Wylie anyway. I asked for you because you’re the only one who seems to believe that I didn’t shoot Bert Gammel.”
Marlin tried to sound sincere. “If you say you didn’t do it, then as far as I’m concerned, you didn’t.”
“That’s why I need you to find out who did.”
“Do what?” Marlin was taken aback.
“Forget Wylie and the other deputies-I want you to work on it. To figure out what happened.”
Marlin wrestled with his answer for a moment, wanting to choose the right words. “Jack, I appreciate your faith in me. I really do. But it’s not that easy. See, I’m not trained for this kind of investigation. But Wylie-”
“Forget Wylie! He’s the one who got me in this mess to begin with. He’s not leaving until we get this straightened out.” Both men glanced at Wylie, who glared back in contempt.
“Well, then,” Marlin said, “what about Bobby Garza? You trust him, don’t you? He’s a good man.”
Corey fidgeted with the package of Red Man. “Yeah, I guess he’s all right. But even he said that the evidence don’t look good.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, staring at the floor. He looked sad, defeated. In a quiet voice, he pleaded: “John, you gotta help me, man. You’re the only one who can do it. You’re like me, born around here. You know everybody, and you can find the guy who done it.”