The rain pelted Elsie as she made a run for Ashlock’s house. The front door was open, and she walked inside, bearing the soggy bag from McDonald’s.
Ashlock’s son, Burton, sat on the couch in the living room, his feet on the coffee table. “Finally,” he said. When he looked up from the television screen and saw the bag Elsie held, he made an unhappy face.
“McDonald’s? Seriously?”
Elsie tossed the bag onto the table, next to Burton’s feet. She fought the urge to apologize; he was Ashlock’s kid, not hers. His appetite wasn’t her responsibility.
Burton opened the damp paper bag and pulled out a fry. “The fries are cold.”
“Yeah, probably right.” She dropped into the recliner that sat next to the couch, though it was officially Ashlock’s preferred seat. But she needed to put her feet up.
“Someone ate half of the Quarter Pounder.” Burton’s voice held a plaintive note, the sound of a wounded little boy.
“Hey, Burton? I wouldn’t mess with that Quarter Pounder if I were you. There’s a Big Mac in there. It’s still virgin. Untouched by human hands.” She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.
Ashlock walked into the living room. He had changed out of his work clothes and into his civvies, and wore slippers on his feet. Elsie felt a prick of envy. She longed to shed her wet clothes and the unforgiving shoes that pinched her toes.
Ashlock said, “I thought I heard you come in. How’d it go at the BWC?”
Elsie opened her mouth to answer, but Burton spoke first.
“Dad, she brought McDonald’s. And it’s cold.”
Elsie watched as Ashlock peered into the soggy bag. Don’t you bitch about it, she thought. Don’t you dare.
Ashlock didn’t look at her. To Burton, he said, “I can fry you some eggs.”
“I had eggs for breakfast.”
“We’ve got a chicken pot pie in the freezer. I’ll put it in the microwave.”
With an aggrieved sigh, Burton dropped his feet on the floor and rose from the couch.
“I’ll do it,” he said, and headed to the kitchen.
Ashlock sat on the sofa cushion Burton had vacated. He lifted the top bun off the Big Mac, inspected it, and then pushed it aside.
“So,” Elsie said. “She wanted to hitch a ride on the highway, but I persuaded her to go to the shelter. Thank God. If she’d disappeared, it would have been the end of the case.”
He looked up. “I wouldn’t say there’s much of a case anyway, at this point.”
Elsie sat up in the chair. “What the fuck? We have a girl who got the tar beaten out of her at the Rancho Motel, right here in McCown County. I’d charge it as a felony assault.”
“Who’re you going to charge? She won’t cooperate.”
“She will. Give it time.”
He shook his head. His hand disappeared into the McDonald’s bag. He pulled out a soggy French fry and dropped it back inside. “She’s already denied that the assault was at the hands of the guy who paid for the hotel room: Tony Fontaine. I had to put that in my report. If she turns around and claims later that he actually did it, then there’s a prior inconsistent statement.”
She pulled a face. What Ashlock pointed out was correct; but Elsie wasn’t ready to wave the white flag. “Mandy made it clear that she’s a working girl. Maybe Tony is the pimp. What about the client? The john?”
“She says she doesn’t know who he was and can’t identify him. It’s a blind alley.”
“She wasn’t ready to open up, that’s all. When she’s had time to think it over, she’ll be more forthcoming. I’ve got a feeling about her.”
“Then you’ve already given the defense its reasonable doubt argument. Because when she becomes more forthcoming, the earlier report will show that she initially lied to the police. You know how that will go down. ‘If she’s lied before, how can you believe her now?’”
Her brow furrowed. “Ash, you saw her injuries. We can’t ignore this, just pretend no crime was committed.”
He picked up the remote control and flipped through the channels. With his eyes on the screen, he said, “At this point the only firm case I’ve got is against her. For prostitution.”
Elsie slammed the footrest of the recliner down with an audible bang. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Whoa!” Burton stood in the doorway with a steaming bowl in his hand. “Did she just say the f-word?”
Elsie exhaled, rolling her eyes. Ashlock had repeatedly asked her to keep a lid on her colorful vocabulary around his kids.
“Sorry, Burton. It slipped out,” she said.
Burton took a bite of the chicken pie in the bowl and said, “Dad, you were going to look over my project tonight.”
Ashlock stood up. “You want to do it now?”
“I’ve got it pulled up on the laptop, on the kitchen table.”
When they left the room, Elsie leaned over to the coffee table and picked up the Big Mac. She took a tentative bite.
Ice cold.
She ate it anyway.