The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [31]
“No,” Keller said. “I don’t want anything that’ll make me sleep.”
“He has bad dreams,” the nurse said. Keller felt a flash of annoyance and embarrassment, as if she had informed the doctor that she had caught him picking his nose.
“Ah,” the doctor said, nodding as if that explained everything. He picked up the clipboard from the foot of Keller’s bed and made a note. “That sort of thing is not unusual after a frightening experience like yours. It’s called--”
“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Keller said.
“You’ve heard of it,” Ahmad said, making another note.
“Yeah,” Keller said. There was an uncomfortable silence. “Okay,” Ahmad finally said. “I can still tell the men outside that you’re not to be disturbed. If you wish.”
Keller thought for a moment, then sighed. “No,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.” He looked at Ahmad. “Thanks, doc.”
Ahmad smiled for the first time. “Don’t mention it.” He and the nurse left the room. After a few moments, two men came in.
They were the classic Mutt and Jeff cop team. The older one was small and wiry, with a pockmarked face and a bad comb-over. He had a short, brushy moustache that was saved from being Hitlerian by only a quarter-inch of extra length. His face was set in lines of weariness as if his feet hurt. The other cop was taller and broader, with a flushed face and short, brush cut blonde hair. The bigger cop leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. The older one pulled up a chair beside the bed.
“Detective Barnes,” he said. He gestured at his partner. “This is Detective Stacy.” Stacy didn’t respond. Neither did Keller.
“We want to ask you a couple of questions about the shooting of Officer Wesson,” Barnes said.
“How’s Marie?” Keller said. “Officer Jones, I mean.”
The two detectives looked at each other. “You know Officer Jones?” Barnes said.
“A little,” Keller said, inwardly cursing himself for letting slip that he knew her first name. Now they’d never let it go. “We’d met before.”
“She’s doing okay, I guess,” Stacy said. “For someone who fucked up and got her partner killed,” he added.
Keller started to sit up. “That’s not what happened,” he said. “She was doing what Wesson told her to do.”
“You seem awful interested in Jones’ welfare,” Barnes observed mildly.
“I just don’t want to see her get blamed for this. Wesson was a fucking maniac. He hated me so much he couldn’t see straight. He ordered Jones to let my prisoner go. That’s why he got killed.”
“You were seen leaving the courthouse yesterday with Officer Jones. In her car,” Barnes said.
“She gave me a ride to the impound lot to pick up my car,” Keller said. “She felt bad about Wesson roughing me up.”
Stacy had been standing with his arms across his chest, his face growing redder and redder as Keller and Barnes talked. Finally he couldn’t contain himself any longer.
“Eddie Wesson was a friend of mine, you son of a bitch,” he growled.
Keller looked at him. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
Stacy leaned over the bed, grabbing a rail in each meaty hand. He brought his face within inches of Keller’s. “Let me tell you what I think,” Stacy said. Keller noticed for the first time that his eyes were red. There was beer on his breath. “I think you and Eddie were both banging her,” Stacy said. “You didn’t like her doing it with Eddie. So you and your little buddy Puryear engineered this somehow to get rid of Eddie.” Stacy’s face twisted in a sickening leer. “How was she, anyway? I bet she can really move that tight little ass when she gets going. How about it, Keller? She one hot piece?”
Keller looked him in the eye. “Your mom was better.”
Stacy’s face grew slack for a moment. Then he screamed in rage and grabbed the front of Keller’s hospital gown with one hand. He yanked Keller up off the bed. He balled up his fist and pulled it back.
“What the hell you think you’re doin’?” a voice bellowed from the doorway. The nurse Keller had seen first came charging into the room like an avenging black angel. “You put