The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [72]
“He does fugitive recovery,” Angela said.
Stacy spoke for the first time. “A bounty hunter,” he said.
Angela stiffened. “I’d like to see your credentials, Detective Stacy,” she said. The big man bristled, but at a look from Barnes he reached into his jacket pocket and produced his badge. He flicked the case open, then closed, managing to make the gesture look insulting. Angela sat back, trying to look calm, but her mind was racing. “What is it you want to see Mr. Keller for?” she asked.
“First things first, ” Barnes said. “Do you know where he is?”
“It’s his day off,” Angela said.
“That wasn’t what we asked, lady,” Stacy said.
“He’s not at his apartment,” Barnes said.
Angela shuffled some papers behind the counter. “You seem to know an awful lot about him already,” she said.
Barnes and Stacy ignored the observation. “Does he have a cell phone number?” Barnes said.
“First, I think you need to tell me what this is about,” Angela said.
“You know damn well what this is about, lady,” Stacy grated. “A cop, a friend of mine, is dead. We got a house looks like a fucking war zone and we think your boy Keller is responsible.” He grinned nastily. “By the way, you might want to keep a closer eye on him. He’s screwing someone else.”
Angela ignored him. She turned to Barnes. “I don’t have any idea where he is.” Barnes started to say something, but Stacy cut him off. “Bullshit,” he said. “You need to think real hard about just who you’re fucking with here, lady. We can make your life pretty goddamn hard if you don’t play ball with us.”
Angela looked at Barnes. He shrugged. “He’s got a point,” he said mildly. “Interfering in a police investigation is a serious matter. You could lose your bondsman’s license.”
Angela looked at him for a long moment. Then she began rolling up her sleeve. “Six years ago,” she said, “I tried to leave my husband. He responded by breaking both my legs with a baseball bat and setting me on fire.” She started on the other sleeve. “I was in a burn ward for eight months. I was wrapped in bandages from my neck to just above my knees. The blood and fluid from the burns caused the bandages to stick to me. Every time they changed the bandages, it was like being skinned alive. They changed the bandages twice a day. Every time they did it, I screamed until my voice was gone.” She held up her arms. Stacy’s eyes widened at the web-work of puckered scars on the backs of her hands and forearms. She looked back and forth between the two men’s faces. “When I got out, it took me a year to learn to walk again.”
Barnes remained expressionless. “Ms. Hager...” he said.
Angela looked directly at Stacy. Her voice was a whisper. “You think there’s anything....anything....you two can do to scare me, Detective Stacy?” There was a long silence. Angela continued to stare into Stacy’s eyes. He held her gaze for a moment, then looked away.
“Get out,” Angela said. “You want to talk to either me or Mr. Keller again, you do it through my lawyer, Scott McCaskill in Fayetteville.”
Barnes took a card out of his coat pocket. “If Mr. Keller gets in touch with you,” he said, “Tell him to call me at this number.” He held out the card. Angela didn’t take it. Finally, Barnes laid the card gently on the counter. He turned and walked out behind Stacy.
DeWayne sat in the passenger seat, squinting against the late morning sun. “Are you sure this is the place?” he said.
“Oh, yeah,” Debbie said. “They tried to lock me up in this loony bin one time. I told them to fuck off. I ain’t got no fuckin’ drug problem.”
They were parked at the head of a long paved driveway that led through the open gate of a massive iron fence. The drive crossed a broad lawn as flat and green as a golf fairway. At its end, the drive flared out to a small parking lot, in front of a huge Victorian house with a broad front porch. The lawn was empty. The house was flanked by lush gardens and shrubbery that seemed to cradle it in a green embrace. A small wooden sign by the gate identified the place as Rescue