The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [80]
As if the headshake had been a signal, the door banged open. Barnes came in, holding two packs of bright orange peanut-butter crackers in one hand and two plastic bottles of spring water in the other. He put a pack of crackers and a bottle of water down in front of Keller. He sat down across the table and opened his.
Keller looked at the crackers and the water. He debated not taking them, feeling somehow that would put him in the detective’s debt, giving Barnes some sort of advantage. Thinking again, he said to himself. Trying to puzzle out the hidden meaning. It’s just a pack of crackers. And I am hungry. He picked them up.
“You’re welcome,” Barnes said sourly.
Keller opened the pack. “Thanks,” he said. He took a bite, washed it down with a sip of water. “My lawyer get here yet?”
Barnes sighed. “He’s on his way. You know, Keller, if you’d just tell us what happened, we might be able to put in a good word for you. Once you get all lawyered up, though...” he spread his palms apart in an it’s-out-of-my-hands gesture.
“Skip it,” Keller said flatly. “I’m not exactly new at this.”
Barnes took another cracker. “Guess not.” He let the silence stretch, chewing the cracker while gazing at Keller thoughtfully. “This was a pretty big collar for Jones,” he said.
Keller felt his facial muscles tighten involuntarily. Barnes noticed the sudden tension and his eyes glinted. “Yep,” he said with elaborate casualness, “they may even fast-track her to detective. Showed a lot of initiative bringing you in.” Keller raised another cracker to his lips. He bit back a curse as he saw that his hand was shaking with rage. Barnes smiled in satisfaction and stood up. “See you around, Keller,” he said softly and left.
Keller sat in silence for a few minutes. He tried to restore his detachment. He knew what was coming next. Sure enough, after a few minutes, the door open and Marie walked in. She was in uniform. She sat down across from Keller.
“I’m still not talking until I see my lawyer,” he said.
“Jack--” she began.
“Why are you here, Marie?” he said. “Is this off the record? Just you and me?”
She sighed. “You know better.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I do. You’re here as a cop, not as...” he trailed off, raised one hand in a helpless gesture, and let it fall.
“I am a cop, Jack,” she said. “It’s who I am.”
“And that’s your answer.”
She looked puzzled. “What was the question?”
“Why I didn’t tell you that I was in trouble.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “That isn’t the question. It never was.”
“What was it, then?”
“Why you came to me in the first place,” she said. “Why you...” she glanced at the mirror as if she had forgotten it was there. She bit her lip. Then she straightened her back and took a deep breath. “So,” she said. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
He spoke slowly, biting off each word as if speaking to a frustratingly stupid child. “Not--without--my--lawyer,” he said.
She stood up abruptly, so fast that the chair almost tipped over. “Okay,” she said. “That’s it, then. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”
“No,” he said. “I guess not.”
She didn’t look at him as she left. He sat there alone for a few moments, then looked at the mirror. “Nice try, Barnes,” he snarled. The mirror made no reply.
He waited for another endless time before the door opened again. A uniformed jailer stood in the doorway. The guy was slack-jawed and slack-bellied. His eyes were small and mean. A toothpick dangled from one corner of his mouth. “Time to go back,” he said.
“What about my lawyer?” Keller asked.
“Don’t know