Chapter Thirty-Nine

The chief wouldn’t let Raven within a country mile of Speck. He considered her extrajudicial foray onto Speck’s property reckless and illegal. She was officially off the case, but he hadn’t asked for her badge back. Raven knew that despite all the trouble she brought him, the chief was hoping she’d stay. After all, he needed her. At least he let her watch Speck’s questioning via the two-way. But she was stuck prowling behind the glass while Goldie and Stevenson fumbled through the interview.

Stevenson was out of his depth. He didn’t want to insult Speck, make him lawyer up, not the man who had killed the neighborhood’s Rovers and Whiskers, and probably Clyde Darling and countless other young boys. Not the man who probably this very minute was hiding her nephew somewhere in the belly of Byrd’s Landing. Raven wanted to shout at Stevenson, but knew that the idiot wouldn’t hear her. Banging once on the window would have to suffice, so she did that. At least all three of them jumped.

As for himself, Speck was content to play them, using the flat of his big and now dirty hand to push his stringy hair out of his face. She recognized the gleam of amusement in his eyes when he glanced at the two-way after she banged on it. The chief, who was standing beside her behind the glass, gave her a warning look. He knew as well as she that Stevenson and Goldie were being played, but for some reason, the chief was letting Stevenson take the lead.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She stalked away from the viewing area and made her way to intake. That’s where Speck would land after Stevenson finished whispering sweet nothings into Speck’s disgusting ear and getting nothing in return.

Raven stopped at the door of the office used for processing prisoners into the jail just one door beyond. The room hadn’t changed much since she left; it was a tidy square with a file cabinet in one corner, a plastic fern sweaty with dust in the other, and a metal desk above which were framed photos of the current president, the governor of Louisiana, the mayor of Byrd’s Landing, and the chief, in that particular order. The officer behind the desk was also familiar, a woman with a head of pressed curls. Marna Williamson gazed at Raven with all the suspicion borne from the trouble Raven helped her find during their junior high school days.

“Hello, Marna.”

“No. Nope. Nopity. Nope. Nope,” Marna said. She snapped the manual she had been reading shut as if adding a last bit of finality in response to the favor she knew Raven was about to ask. She sat up straighter to get ready for the battle.

“Oh come on, Marna,” Raven said, “I haven’t even said what I wanted yet.”

“Girl, you don’t have to open your mouth for me to know that ain’t nothing but trouble gone come out of it.”

“Marna….”

Raven stopped as another officer in the room cleared his throat.

“That’s Officer Williamson to you,” he said.

The officer hooked his thumbs into his gun belt. This was no small feat for him because he had to clear a gut as wide as the Red River in order to do it.

“Officer Taylor,” she said, smiling but not meaning one inch of it. “Twice since I’ve been back is a little too much even after a year of not having to lay eyes on you. The last time we met you were brushing the lint from Detective Breaker’s overcoat.”

“You can go now,” Marna said. “We’re expecting someone.”

“I heard,” Raven answered. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Nope.”

“Is that the only word you know?”

“When it comes to you, yep.”

“I think what Officer Williamson is trying to say is that you don’t belong here.”

“This conversation is between me and Marna, Officer,” Raven said, resisting the urge to call him a big, slew-footed, red-faced, bald-headed waste of space.

Marna made a big production of lining up the top edge of the manual she had been reading with the stapler and Scotch Tape on her desk. “I would appreciate you not calling my husband names,” she said.

“I didn’t call him any…wait, what?”

“I know you, Raven. I know the look on your face when you’re about to go off on a name-calling rant. And yes, Newell and I were married six months ago. If you’d stuck around, you would have known that.”

Raven glanced at Newell Taylor, who was now smirking at her mercilessly.

Pointing at him, she said, “But he doesn’t like black people.”

“I like black people just fine,” he said. “I just don’t like you.”

“I need a favor, Marna,” Raven said.

“I don’t have one to give,” Marna answered. “But if it makes you feel better and go away faster, tell me what you got.”

“Willie Lee Speck is going to come through here in about the next fifteen minutes or so.”

“So they tell me.”

“I need you to give me about ten minutes alone with him,” Raven said.

“No,” Marna and Taylor said in unison.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How?” Taylor asked.

“You, big guy, fifty bucks?” Raven said. She ran the tips of her fingers over the cover of the manual Marna had been reading. “You, Marna. I’ll help you study for the sergeant’s exam.”

“What good would an exam be without my job?”

“Nobody has to know,” Raven answered.

“Speck would know,” Taylor said. “How are you going to make sure he keeps his mouth shut?”

Raven shrugged. “I have a hunting knife in my boot,” she said. “I can gut him.”

“People are right about you. You’re a freak. And the price just went up to a hundred bucks.”

“I’m joking,” Raven said. “Look, just think of it as a conversation between friends. Off the record.”

“Yeah,” Taylor said. “I could tell by your face that you’re old friends.”

Raven touched the bruises on the right side of her face. The places where Speck smacked her throbbed and were probably turning a nice shade of purple by now. She laughed a little. “I see news travels fast.”

“Why do you need to talk to him?” Taylor asked.

Sensing that she would probably get further with him than with Marna, she turned to him. “Okay, cards on the table,” she said. “He may know where my nephew is. You know he’s missing, right? As soon as I find him and bring him home, I’m off the force and out of your lives. But every minute that passes decreases my chances of doing that.”

“Newell, you can’t seriously be thinking about letting her—” Marna began.

“He’s fifteen.” Raven meant to say the words with bravado, but they emerged laced with a quiet desperation.

Officer Taylor’s mustache worked. He cleared his throat and looked down at the floor.

“Babe, you can’t be serious,” Marna said. “Besides, I heard that Stevenson is in there talking to him right now. If Speck is hiding her nephew, he’ll get it out of him.”

Raven looked at Marna. She said, “Have you met Stevenson? Marna?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Raven said. “I just need him to tell me where Noe is.”

“How do we keep him from wiping the linoleum with your face?” Taylor asked.

“He won’t,” Raven said. “I don’t think he has any fight left in him. And if you’re so worried about that, cuff him to the table.” She pointed to the hook in the metal table where the prisoners sat.

The room was silent a couple of moments. Raven felt something in Marna yield.

“Cameras?” she asked.

“I’ll take care of them,” Raven said, not knowing how she was going to keep that promise, hoping that the chief would be so thrilled when she found Noe that he would overlook them.

“You better make sure,” Taylor said.

“I will.”