“I’ll just have to be quicker.” She winked at him as if this was some kind of frat party where the boys might get rowdy. “I’m ready when you are.”
Will was led one door down to the observation room. The space was small and windowless, the sort of prison office that could’ve easily passed for a storage closet. There were three monitors stacked on a metal desk, each showing a different angle of Boyd Spivey in the adjacent room. He was shackled to a chair that was undoubtedly bolted to the floor.
Four years ago, Spivey hadn’t exactly been handsome, but he’d carried himself with a cop’s swagger that made up for his deficits. His reputation was as a practical joker, but a good cop—the guy you’d want to have your back when things went from bad to worse. His file was full of commendations. Even after he’d taken a deal to plead guilty for lesser time, there were men who worked in his station house who refused to believe that Spivey was dirty.
Now, everything about the man said “con.” He was as hard looking as a piece of honed granite. His skin was pockmarked and puffy. A long, ratty ponytail draped down his back. Prison tattoos decorated his forearms and twisted around his neck. His thick wrists were bolted to a chrome bar welded to the center of the table. His legs were crossed at the ankles. The chains around his leg irons were tightened into a straight line. Will guessed Boyd passed his days working out in his cell. His bright orange uniform was busting at the seams around his overly muscled arms and wide chest.
Will wondered if the extra weight was a good or bad thing as far as the man’s impending execution was concerned. After several gruesome mishaps with the electric chair, including a man whose chest had burst into flames, Georgia had finally been ordered by the state supreme court to retire Old Sparky. Now, instead of being shaved, stuffed with cotton, and fried to a crisp, the condemned were strapped to a table and given a series of drugs that stopped their breathing, their hearts, and finally their lives. Boyd Spivey would probably get a larger dose than most. It would take a powerful combination of drugs to put down such a large man.
A crackly cough came through the tiny speakers on the desk. In the next room, Will could see Boyd staring straight ahead at Amanda, who was leaning against the wall despite the chair that was opposite his at the table.
The tone of Boyd’s voice was surprisingly high for a man of his size. “You too scared to sit across from me?”
Will had never known Amanda to show fear, and now was no exception. “I don’t mean to be rude, Boyd, but you’ve got an awful smell.”
He looked down at the table. “They only let me shower once a week.”
Her voice had a teasing lilt. “Now, that’s cruel and unusual.”
Will checked the camera that was zoomed in on Boyd’s face. There was a smile playing at his lips.
Amanda’s high heels echoed in the concrete room as she walked over to the chair. The metal legs scraped across the floor. She sat down, primly crossing her legs, letting her hands rest in her lap.
Boyd let his eyes linger. “You look good, Mandy.”
“I’ve been keeping myself busy.”
“With what?”
“You’ve heard about Evelyn.”
“We don’t have TVs in here.”
She laughed. “You probably knew I was coming here before I did. This place could put CNN out of business.”
He shrugged, as if it was out of his hands. “Is Faith okay?”
“Tip-top.”
“I hear she K-fived both guys.”
A K-five indicated the center ring on a paper target, the kill shot. Amanda told him, “One was to the head.”
“Ouch.” He faked a cringe. “How’s Emma?”
“A handful. I’m sorry I don’t have a picture for you. I left my purse in the car.”
“The pedophiles would’ve stolen it anyway.”
“What an appalling lack of decorum.”
He smiled with his teeth. They were chipped and broken, the sort of souvenirs you got from fighting dirty. “I remember the day Faith got her gold shield.” He sat back in his chair, shackles dragging across the table. “Ev was beaming like a Maglite.”
“I think we all were,” Amanda admitted, and Will let it sink in that his boss knew Boyd Spivey a hell of a lot better than she’d let on in the car. “How’ve you been, Boyd? They treating you okay?”
“Okay enough.” He smiled again, then stopped himself. “Sorry about my teeth. Didn’t see any point in getting them fixed.”
“It’s no worse than the smell.”
He gave her a sheepish glance. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a woman’s voice.”
“I hate to say it, but that’s the nicest thing a man has said to me all year.”
He laughed. “Hard times for us both, I guess.”
Amanda let the moment stretch out for a few more seconds.
He said, “I guess we should get to the reason you’re here.”
“We can do whatever you want.” Her tone implied she could talk to him all day, but Boyd got the message.
He asked, “Who took her?”
“We think it was a group of Asians.”
His brow furrowed. Despite the orange jumper and the hellhole he called home, a piece of Boyd Spivey was still a cop. “Yellow doesn’t have traction in the city. Brown’s been grooming black to do its bidding again.”
“Brown’s involved in this, but I’m not sure how.”
He nodded, indicating he was taking all this in but didn’t know what to make of it. “Brown don’t like getting their hands dirty.”
“Shit rolls downhill.”
“Did they send a sign?” Proof of life. Amanda shook her head. “What do they want to trade her for?”
“You tell me.”
He was silent.
She said, “We both know Evelyn was clean, but could there be blowback?”
He glanced at the camera, then looked down at his hands. “I can’t see it. She was under the umbrella. No matter what happened, ain’t one man from the team wouldn’t still lay down his life for her. You don’t turn your back on family.”
Will had always thought Evelyn was protected on both sides of the law. Hearing it validated was no consolation.
Amanda told the man, “You know Chuck Finn and Demarcus Alexander are already out?”
He nodded. “Chuck stayed down South. Demarcus went out to LA where his mama’s people live.”
Amanda must have already known the answer, but she asked him, “Are they keeping their noses clean?”
“Chuck’s got a belly habit for back-to-backs.” Meaning he was shooting heroin, then smoking crack chasers. “Brother’s gonna end up back in the joint if he don’t die on the street first.”
“Has he pissed anybody off?”
“Not that I’ve heard. Chuck’s a cotton shooter, Mandy. He’d fuck his own mama for the swill in a spoon.”
“And Demarcus?”
“I guess he’s as clean as you can be with a felony rap hanging over your head.”
“I hear he’s working on getting his electrician’s license.”
“Good for him.” Boyd seemed genuinely pleased. “Have you talked to Hump and Hop?” He meant Ben Humphrey and Adam Hopkins, his fellow detectives who were currently serving time at Valdosta State Prison.