If there had been anyone on the street to take notice, the limo that pulled up in front of the police station would have caused quite a stir. Not too many limos showing up in Caliente.
Damien checked his hair and tie, grabbed his alligator leather briefcase, and got out. He walked to the driver's window and waited for him to power it down. "I expect you to pick me up when I call." He held out a bill.
The driver glanced at the hundred-dollar tip before sliding it in his jacket pocket. He touched the polished visor of his hat, nodded, and pulled out of the circular drive.
Before Damien could open the glass door, he saw Ito get out of a white Humvee parked across the street. Even from a distance, Ito's half Japanese, half African-American heritage was evident. Damien had always thought he was one of the most unique looking individuals he had ever met.
"They wouldn't let me see him," Ito said. At six-foot-five and an easy two-fifty, Ito could usually intimidate anyone just by his presence. Apparently the Caliente Police Department had missed that memo.
Ito had a good six inches on Damien, and he was pissed. That should have been enough to have Damien take a step back, but he hated to be predictable. "You told them you were with me?"
"Didn't seem to impress them."
That concerned Damien. It meant Montana was still under interrogation. They should be keeping him secluded, but not questioning him without representation. It also meant they thought they had a solid case against him.
He pulled open the door and strode to the glass window just inside. A bored sergeant looked up and gave him an irritated scowl.
"Damien Knight, representing Montana Thomas." Damien flashed his ID.
The sergeant spent all of half a second glancing at Damien and Ito before picking up the phone to ask for confirmation.
"Why wasn't my associate allowed in to see our client?"
"Because your associate isn't legal representation. He's the accused's business partner," the sergeant said and looked smug. "Only legal representatives are allowed in on homicides. You know that."
He did, but it didn't mean he had to like it. "True." Damien wanted Ito with him. If Montana was as unhinged as he thought, Ito might be the only one who could get Montana to keep it together. "But as of this morning, Mr. St. James works for me. He is my legal assistant, and legal assistants are allowed in with legal representatives."
The cop knew it was bullshit, the look on his face said as much, but he let them in. After twenty minutes of signing in and searches through personal belongings, Damien and Ito finally stood outside the holding room where they were keeping Montana. Twelve hours had passed since the police found him sitting over Linney's bloody corpse.
Montana sat behind a simple wooden table, his hands cuffed behind his back, his ankles shackled together. He was still covered in the girl's blood, now dried to a dull brown, his clothes they had obviously allowed him to put on at the scene, smeared with it.
Damien looked him over with shock and concern. He also saw what he was looking for: leverage. Some of the blood on Montana's face was his own. One eye was bruised and half-swollen shut, his lip was split, and fresh blood still ran down his chin to catch in the collar of the once white t-shirt he wore.
The detective in the room noticed where Damien's attention had been drawn. "He resisted arrest."
"Yeah, I just bet he did," Ito said.
Montana looked exhausted. He hadn't moved or even acknowledged Damien's or Ito's presence until Ito spoke. A flicker of life came to Montana's eyes then, and he seemed to notice them for the first time. "Ito? Damien?" He sounded like he didn't trust his own eyes.
"Yeah, man, it's me." Ito sat across from Montana.
"Why hasn't my client been cleaned up? This is outrageous. He's in need of medical treatment." Damien took the camera he was entitled to bring and began snapping pictures.
"Your client brutally murdered a young woman a little over twelve hours ago." The lead detective slapped exquisitely clear photographs down in front of Montana.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away. It was obvious he had been made to look at them before.
"Fifty-six separate stab wounds. What the hell did she do to piss you off? Yell out another guy's name at an inappropriate moment?"
"Excuse me, detective." Damien turned Montana's face for a better view of his injuries. Montana jerked away from his touch. "Did my client confess to this crime?"
"He might as well have. He was found next to her mutilated body with the murder weapon in his hand and covered in her blood." The detective put his face close to Montana's. "They had to take her away in pieces, counselor. So don't talk to me about his rights."
"I want him cleaned up, his injuries treated, and the cuffs off."
The detective laughed. "Would you like the wine list as well?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I am not in a humorous mood. You afford my client his basic human rights, or I will have your department brought up on brutality charges so fast you won't have time to collect your severance pay."
The detective took keys off his belt and unlocked the cuffs at Montana's wrists.
"I'll see what I can do about those human rights, counselor," he said, and his barely contained rage was plain to see. "You have thirty minutes with your client. Keep in mind there is an armed police officer right outside this door. The slightest hint of trouble out of that piece of shit and you can take his rights and shove them."
Damien waited for the door to close before saying to Montana. "You doing okay?"
Montana brought his hands in front of him and rubbed his wrists. They were red, raw, bruised and swollen from cuffs cinched too tight. "Linney's dead," he said, as if he'd just heard the news. His face betrayed nothing of what might be going on behind those black eyes.
"Montana, what happened?" Ito said.
"Ito, did you know Linney's dead?" He seemed to realize Ito was in the room for the first time.
"Yeah, man, I know." Ito gently touched Montana's hand.
"You need to talk to me, Montana." Damien wanted to go slow and give Montana the time he needed, but he didn't have that luxury. He could see his friend was in shock, but that was going to have to wait. "Take me back to yesterday. You were with Lindsay?"
Montana wiped the blood from his chin. "Yeah, she wanted to go to La Playa's." He managed to smile at the memory. "Mexican food is her favorite--was--was her favorite." The smile died before it had a chance to ever really live. "We went out to dinner, took a walk in the desert, watched the sunset."
Montana's eyes moved back and forth. His face creased in concentration as if he was trying to make sense of something incomprehensible. "We went back to her place afterward."
"Did you have a fight? Anything happen at dinner, or after in the desert?"
Montana shook his head. "No, we had a good time. We never fought. I can't remember ever having a disagreement with her." He put his head in his hands. When he looked back up, grief shadowed his eyes.
For the first time Damien felt that Montana was truly with him in the room.
"We had dinner, we went for a walk. I took her back to her apartment, and we made love. I fell asleep with her in my arms. When I woke up she was dead and I was holding the knife. I swear to whatever you hold holy, that's all I remember." He put his head back down in his hands as if the mental pictures were too much for him to handle.
Damien wanted to tell him it would be all right, but knew if he did, Montana would lose what little control he had. He kept his tone neutral and professional. "Did they take any blood from you after they processed you?"
"Yeah, urine too."
"Good. I need a list of everything you had to eat or drink in the last twenty-four hours." Damien pushed a legal pad in front of Montana. "Are they going to find any drugs, Montana?"
He gave Damien a look as if to say he should know better.
"I'm sorry, man, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask."
"Alcohol only," Montana said. "We had a bottle of wine with dinner. I was well under the legal limit when I left the restaurant, let alone by the time we made it back to her place.
"All I know is I didn't kill her. Damien, I didn't kill her. I loved her. I never got the chance to tell her that, but I did. I loved her. Why would I kill her?"
He looked at Damien and then at Ito, as if he expected them to give him the answer. "Tell me you believe me."
"I wouldn't be here if I thought you did," Damien said.
At the same time, Ito said, "You know you don't need to ask."
"Maybe, but I needed to hear it anyway."
"You didn't kill Linney, Montana," Ito said. "But trust me, as sure as the sun rises in the morning, I am going to find out who did."
Montana looked relieved at the words and gave them both a nod.
"Dakota," he said, and his face creased in concern once more. "I need you to get to Dakota, Ito. I don't want him finding out about this from the news."
"Done," Ito said.
The door to the interrogation room opened, and Damien turned an irritated eye toward the intrusion. It was nowhere near thirty minutes. Irritation turned to relief as he recognized the huge man lumbering through the doorway.
"God damn! You tell me who hit you, boy, and I swear his badge is history." Cal Tremont, Caliente's local law, planted his hands on the table and peered at Montana's face. "I was out of town and just heard. What the hell are they talking about? Murder? I know you, Montana Thomas. You kill on occasion, but murder?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Montana gave Cal a little smile.
"He didn't murder anyone, Cal," Damien said.
"Well, hell, you don't need to tell me that, but I saw the reports." Cal leaned close to Montana. "You landed in a pile of it this time, boy. I'll do what I can, but my hands are pretty well tied."
Montana closed his eyes and nodded. He looked beaten.
Damien didn't like that. Montana was a fighter, one of the strongest people he knew. To see him like this, exhausted and defeated, did not sit well. He needed Montana cooperating with him. If he gave up on himself, Damien would have no chance to fight for him.
Cal took a seat next to Montana and began asking questions that he had no doubt answered a dozen times over in the last twelve hours.
"Do you know where to find Dakota?" Damien asked Ito in a low voice.
"That I do. What are you thinking?"
Damien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm thinking I need facts, Ito. Right now all I have is a very dead girl and Montana holding the murder weapon. What I don't have is motive. His memory loss is not going to help. It's been used before."
"He ain't using it, pal." Ito bristled. "If he says he can't remember, he can't remember."
"Down, boy. I'm on your side, remember? I'm just saying we need more."
"Then I will find you more," Ito said with dead certainty.
Damien had no doubt that if anyone could prove Montana's innocence in the face of overwhelming evidence, it would be the man sitting beside him. "Right now I'll settle for you finding Dakota. Montana needs him. Keep in touch."
Ito nodded and stood, interrupting Cal. Walking around the table and ignoring the fact that Montana still wore the blood of a dead girl, he pulled Montana to him in a fierce embrace.
"I need to go see Doctor Dakota, you hang tight, hear?" Ito put his hands on Montana's shoulders and bent down slightly to look him in the eye. "We will get you out of this, understand?"
Montana shook his head. "Doesn't matter. She'll still be dead. Nothing will change that. Linney's dead. That's the one thing I can't seem to get around."
He squeezed his eyes shut. "I can still see her, see the look on her face right before she fell asleep in my arms." He opened his eyes again. "Why don't I remember? I should have been there for her, I should have protected her."
Confusion made it through the exhaustion and gave his face a macabre appearance. "I slept while someone did that to her." He motioned to the pictures still lying on the table. "You get Dakota, you find out who did this, and then you do me one last favor. You kill the bastard. But don't ask me to care about what happens after that."
Ito shook his head. "I care what happens, Dakota cares, hell, even Cal cares, though I doubt he would admit that. Now you do me one favor. Do not give up on yourself. I know all you see is the dark right now, my friend, but I swear to you that the dawn is coming. All you have to do is hang on until the light finds a way to break through. Can you do that? Can you do that for all of us?"
Montana seemed to consider the request. After a long moment he turned to Damien. "I wasn't sure when they hauled me in, but I am now. I did not kill Linney. I don't particularly care if you can prove me innocent, but I do care that you find out who did this to her and why. I will help you any way I can to find that out. It's the best I can promise."
"I can work with that." Damien said to Cal, "Can you keep him out of the general population? He helped put a lot of those guys where they are. I'm thinking they will not be grateful."
Cal shook his head. "I said I would do what I can. But this is out of my hands. He'll stay here until he's arraigned. Hopefully he'll swing bail."
"He'll make bail," Damien said. "He's not a flight risk."
"Going to be expensive," Cal said.
"He'll make bail," Damien said again.
The door opened. This time their thirty minutes was up. Two armed guards came in and cuffed Montana, ran a chain through the cuffs, pulled it around his waist, and locked it all together.
"Time to get cleaned up," one of the guards said. He glanced at Damien. "Wouldn't want to infringe on any rights, now would we?"
The second guard pushed Montana in the back with his nightstick to get him moving. With his ankles still shackled, he would have tripped and fallen if Cal hadn't been there to catch him.
Once he was sure Montana was on his feet, Cal grabbed the stick and whipped it across the back of the guard's knees. He stepped away as the guard went down hard, and then lay on the ground moaning in pain.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled. "What the fuck was that for?"
"That was a warning." Cal pulled the guard to his feet and smoothed his uniform. "I know you'll be more careful about how you treat this prisoner in the future, won't you, Officer Griffin? Because if I hear even a rumor that he has been mistreated, whether it is true or not, you will not be a happy man. Trust me on that."
Griffin looked confused and more than a little pissed off. "You can't threaten me."
"I think I just did." Cal said. "Now, you will take this man to get cleaned up, and I will be listening to the rumors."
Both officers helped Montana shuffle out the door. He never looked back.
When the door closed, Damien looked at Cal. "Is he safe?"
Cal shrugged. "I don't know, but Montana is more than capable of taking care of himself."
"Maybe," Damien agreed. "But the man who just left here does not in the least resemble the Montana Thomas I know."
He picked up his briefcase and notes. For the first time in his career, Damien wondered exactly where the hell he was going to pull a miracle out of to save his friend not only from a murder charge, but from himself.