fifteen

We walked in silence to the red truck. Coop started the engine and turned on the air conditioner. “Teeny, what in the Sam Hill’s going on? You didn’t tell me about your previous arrest.”

“I was going to,” I said.

“When? The police have issued an APB. Now they’ve got a reason to hold you.”

“Hold? You mean arrest?”

He nodded.

“For what? Not murder. ’Cause I didn’t do it.”

“Relax, they’re booking you for trespassing. And violating a restraining order. Apparently you were already on unsupervised probation.” He gave me a stern look. “This is bad, Teeny. The DA will argue that you’re a flight risk. If the judge sets bail, it’s liable to be steep. So, either you tell me everything, and truthfully, or get yourself another lawyer.”

“It’s a long story.” I pushed back my hair. “If I start talking, you’ll run out of gas.”

“Teeny, this isn’t funny. The police think you had several motives. Your fiancé cheated, but he held the financial cards, and you were going to end up homeless. I need to know more about your previous arrest. You were booked for criminal assault and resisting arrest, correct?”

“I didn’t know about the resisting arrest part,” I said.

I told him everything, starting with Aunt Bluette’s funeral. When I finished, he shifted gears and steered the truck onto the highway, toward the Ravenel Bridge. “You taking me to the detention center?”

“I have to.”

“Will they keep me long?”

“They can hold you till the bond hearing. Then you can bail out—unless the judge is really pissed. He could deny bail. But I’ll try to meet with him in chambers later this afternoon and get this sorted out.”

I didn’t have enough money for bail. But I knew who did. “Could I borrow your phone, please?”

I punched in Miss Dora’s cell number. At the sound of her chipper hello, I burst into tears.

“Teeny!” she cried. “What’s the matter?”

“Bing’s dead. The police think somebody killed him.”

“My god, dear god,” she said. “How’d he die?”

“Someone shot him.” I filled her in.

“My Lord.” She exhaled. “Why’d you go over there in the first place?”

“He texted me—at least, I thought it was him. When I got to the house, Bing was dead.”

“You poor thing. But listen, you’ve got to be strong. We’ll need to arrange the funeral.”

“Funeral?” I shuddered.

“We just better hope Eileen doesn’t show up,” Miss Dora said.

“Who?”

“Bing’s sister. She got kicked out of the Jackson family. I wouldn’t put it past her to kill Bing.”

This was the first I’d heard of a sister. But now that I thought about it, my lack of information summed up our whole relationship.

“The Mount Pleasant police issued a warrant for my arrest,” I said. “I might need your help with bail.”

“Arrest?” she cried. “For what?”

“Because I went to his house and violated probation. They’re claiming I trespassed.”

“Those bastards! Don’t you worry one little bit. I’ll be happy to help you. The only thing is, I’m still in Savannah. But I’m leaving right this second. I’ll call when I get home.”

“The police took my cell phone. Let me give you Coop’s number.”

“Who?”

“Cooper O’Malley. My lawyer.”

“Why didn’t you call Alvin Bell?”

“Couldn’t remember his number. I’ll explain later.”

After I hung up, I set the phone on the console. “She’ll post bail,” I said.

“If there’s bail.” He chewed the inside of his lip.

We drove in silence over the Ravenel Bridge into North Charleston. I was going to the Big House, where they took bank robbers and child touchers. When Coop pulled into the detention center parking lot, I turned away from the ugly brick building and looked up. The South Carolina flag snapped in the breeze atop the metal pole.

Coop’s hand slid across the console, and he touched my arm. “Teeny, the police will interrogate you again. They have the right to do that, but if I’m not present, don’t say a word. I don’t care what they say or promise, wait till I get there.”

I nodded.

“One more thing,” he said. “The booking process is demeaning. Being in jail is worse. But I’ll do my best to get you out. You’ve got to trust me.”

“Okay.” I reached for my lemon purse and pushed it into his hands. “Can you keep this? I’ve got money and stuff in there. I only need my inhaler.”

“Sure. The medical staff will keep your inhaler.” He tucked my purse into the backseat.

I climbed out. The heat from the pavement pushed through my shoes. We stepped into the building, cleared the checkpoint, and passed through electronic doors. A lady cop escorted me to the restroom and patted me down. I changed into a striped jumpsuit, then the woman led me to the same processing room where I’d been booked the night of the naked badminton game. For a second time, I was photographed and fingerprinted. The cop who took my picture said, “You back here already?”

“Didn’t like the first mug shot,” I said. “Thought I’d try again.”

When he asked my name and address, I hesitated. Then I gave the Bonaventure address. He led me to an interrogation room. Coop stood next to a wall with a huge grid map of Charleston. The Mount Pleasant detectives sat at one end of the table, and a new cop sat at the other.

“I’d like to speak with my client alone,” Coop said.

The woman cop shuffled out, with the detectives following. The door slammed.

“Teeny, there’s a problem,” Coop said, helping me to a chair. “A woman is claiming you sent her a threatening text message around the time of the murder.”

“What woman?”

“Natalie Lockhart.”

“She’s Bing’s girlfriend,” I said. “I didn’t text her. I don’t even know her number.”

“A text message was sent from your phone to Miss Lockhart’s at 9:42 a.m.” He slid a photograph across the table. It was a picture of a cell phone. The display read, You’re next.

“I can prove I didn’t send it. The English is too perfect.” I tapped the photograph. “If I’d done this, I would’ve texted Ur Next. Check Bing’s phone. See if he kept any of my messages. He used to go wild over my bad grammar.”

“I’ll mention it to Detective Purvis.”

“After I was knocked out, maybe the murderer texted Natalie from my phone.”

“They’ll check for prints. But Teeny, this doesn’t look good.” He glanced at my throat. “I’ll get photos of your neck and show them at the arraignment.”

“Let me take a lie detector test.”

“A polygraph isn’t admissible in court.” He wrote something on the legal pad, then looked up. “I got your bail hearing moved up to tomorrow. But you’ll have to spend the night in jail.”

I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. “Are they charging me with murder?”

“No. Criminal trespass and violation of a restraining order.”

“Trespass? But he texted me.”

“That’s the law, Teeny.”

“I’ve never had a speeding ticket. The first time I saw a real courtroom was the night I got arrested for throwing peaches.”

“That will help our case. Right now, all the police have is motive and opportunity. Even their circumstantial evidence—like the text message—is pretty shaky. They’ll need physical evidence to convince a jury, like gunpowder residue or an eyewitness. Without a murder weapon or forensic evidence, it won’t happen. The DA can’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that you killed Bing.”

“Because I didn’t.”

There was a knock at the door. The Charleston detective cracked it open. “Y’all about finished?”

Coop waved them inside. The Mount Pleasant guys sat down, but the Charleston detective stood against the wall with his arms crossed. Detective Noonan started quizzing me about the text message but Coop cut him off.

“My client denies sending that message. When she arrived at the murder scene, she was attacked from behind. I want photographs taken of the marks on her neck.”

The Charleston detective left the room. Noonan leaned closer. “Did you have an altercation with Natalie Lockhart at the Spencer-Jackson House on Rainbow Row?”

I nodded. “She put a ‘For Sale’ sign in front of the house. It wasn’t that big of a fuss.”

“Is it true your fiancé gave you twenty-four hours to vacate the Spencer-Jackson House?”

“My client has no comment,” Coop said.

“Were you in a relationship with the late Aaron Fisher?” Noonan asked.

Coop looked at me and gave a short nod.

I looked at Noonan. “Yes,” I said. “A decade ago.”

“Mr. Fisher was a student at Clemson?” Noonan asked.

I nodded.

“He died there?” Noonan asked.

“Yes.”

“Were you with him when he died?”

“No.”

“Where were you?” Noonan blinked.

“At home with my aunt. In Bonaventure, Georgia. But—”

“What’s your aunt’s name and phone number.”

“Bluette Templeton,” I said. “She passed away.”

“Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts when Mr. Fisher died?”

“No—”

Coop cut me off with a terse “My client has no further comment.”

The Charleston detective returned with a camera and took pictures of my neck. When he finished, Noonan said, “I guess we’re done. Bail hearing is at 11:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

“Coop, would you call Miss Dora?” I asked.

“I will,” he said.

I wrote down her number and he tucked it into his folder. The Charleston detective opened the door, and a policewoman stepped into the room. “Lydia, show the arrestee to her new home.”