“This way, Mr. Scout.” Another cop indicated the second squad car—whoa, there were three cop cars here—and he followed to sit in the backseat. Corrigan went with him.
“Sheldon.” Sheila indicated her car.
She started to move away, but I grabbed her arm.
She looked back.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
The regret came back, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. I saw it and I glanced to where Bryce was waiting, staring at me from his seat with a confused expression. Corrigan had his eyes closed, like he was trying to sleep.
I grunted. He probably was.
“Come on, Sheldon.” Sheila softened her voice. “We can go over everything at the station. We came to get you for your safety right now. You can get your car tomorrow, when you’re sober.”
“What?”
“At the station. Come on.” She walked over and opened the back door. Tapping it, she added, “I promise. You’ll be told everything, but . . . it’s over.”
It was over.
I stood there, rooted to the spot. She couldn’t mean . . .
She said it again, “It’s over, Sheldon. We know who killed Grace.”
My body moved on automatic pilot. They did? But Guadalupe was dead? When I got into the car, and she shut the door, I did what Corrigan had done. I closed my eyes, and I waited out the car ride. She said they knew who killed Grace—I’d wait. I wanted to sober up and be clear-headed to hear everything.
I had to.
For her.
When we got to the station, all three of us were taken into the same interview room, and we were given coffee, lots and lots of coffee. Bryce asked if we knew anything, but I didn’t answer. Corrigan didn’t know anything, and he seemed to be the only one undisturbed. Even before the first wave of coffee, he laid his head down on the table, and his deep breathing told us he’d fallen asleep seconds later.
I was jealous.
Watching him, sleeping now so soundly, I wanted to evade my tension, but I couldn’t. Once Sheila had said Grace’s name, I felt her with me. She was haunting me again, hovering all around me. My chest felt tight. I wanted to believe they had found her killer. I wanted to, so badly, but until I heard everything, only then could I let her go.
After the fourth cup of black coffee, Officer Sheila came in with the other two defectives who had arrested me. At my quizzical look, Sheila explained, “They brought me in. You tend to be more cooperative if I’m in the fold, so here I am.” Then she folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the far wall. To the female defective, she said, “I gave my two bits. It’s your show now.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Any time.” Sheila lifted her chin in a defiant gesture.
I was skirting back and forth. There was a power struggle somewhere or a disagreement between the two, but I held my tongue. I’d demand to know later, if I wasn’t satisfied with what they were going to say.
Bryce leaned forward. “Is Guadalupe okay?”
I cast a sideways look at him.
He noticed and sighed. “I didn’t love her, but I did care about her at one time.”
I was too tired, still too inebriated, and too beyond the point of caring to care. I grinned to myself. That made no sense either, but I said, “I know, but if she killed Grace, I’m going to be happy she’s dead.”
Sheila coughed.
I amended, “If she’s dead. If.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you already know?”