“Coffee,” I said.
“I’ll take a Shiner,” Colson said.
We sat in silence until Frank delivered our drinks.
I sipped the coffee, hot, strong, black. Just the way I liked it.
“Okay,” Colson said finally, “What’s Darby still doing at the Voodoo Tree? Aside from muttering half-sentences about witches and strings of garlic?”
“Spinning his damn wheels.”
“Ah, come on. Give the kid a break. We were all new once. I’m glad you’re letting him work with you and I hope you continue to pull him along. Bet he’s jumping up and down to get to work with the infamousDog.”
“Kid needs more training.”
“Kid needs to get laid.”
“Agreed. I’ve got him searching the entire park. I did all the important stuff like bagging up the candles, dolls, and chimes. What’d he say about it?”
“I want to know whatyousay about it.”
“Ah, the truth comes out. You didn’t come by my place to check on my well-being. You want to know what I found.”
“True, but I did also want to check on you, Jagg, because you’re an introverted son of a bitch whose idea of grieving involves a handle of whiskey and a few brokenknuckles. And based on what I’ve seen now, I’m glad I dragged you out.” He paused, sipped. “I think you should take a few days off.”
“Fuck you.”
“Listen. I understand being a workaholic. I understand getting personally invested in cases. But in your case, inthiscase, it’s not healthy for you?—”
“What the hell do you meanmycase? This is Seagrave’s case.”
“That’s exactly my point. You know the victim, Jagg. You take it personally?—”
“Bullshit.”
“Let me finish. I know you don’t talk about it, but everyone knows. After your dad died, you slept on Seagrave’s couch for six months. I know he was the entire reason you applied to become detective. Hell, the guy gave you a personal recommendation.” He paused. “I knew he meant a lot to you and… under your current circumstances, I really think you need to hand this case off. Give it to someone else.”
“What’s my current circumstance?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re one bad decision away from being fired, Jagg.”
My hand squeezed around the coffee cup, the ceramic cooler than the heat rising up my neck.
“Just think about it. All I’m sayin’.”
I forced myself to take another sip of coffee instead of what I really wanted to do, which was throw it against the wall.
Truth was, Colson was right. I shouldn’t have been on the case. But the moment I got the call that Seagrave had been shot, there was no thinking, no questioning. I drove straight to the crime scene knowing I was going to handlethe case one way or another. On—or off—the books. My boss didn’t care that I knew Seagrave. He only cared about getting the job done. If I messed up? Well, he’d fire me and make the Governor happy. Win/win for him. Bottom line, no amount of whispers or red tape was going to keep me from getting justice for the man who’d taken me in at my darkest time.
I’ll never forget it. It was one month after I’d been discharged from the Navy after being labeled unfit for active duty. Damn back. I thought I was at my lowest low, but then, one month later, my dad keeled over from a heart attack. Rock bottom, officially hit. My brother wasn’t around, so Colson had dragged me to the funeral. My mother had watched from across the street, standing next to a dumpster. Where she belonged.
Jack Seagrave had literally caught me stumbling out of Frank’s Bar six days after Dad’s funeral. I don’t remember the five before.
Jack took me in, sobered me up, and gave me the kick in the ass I needed. He was quite possibly the reason I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere with a bottle of whiskey glued to my hand. I owed him my life.
I owed him justice.
“I’m getting the vibe you think this Voodoo Tree is connected to Seagrave’s death,” Colson asked finally, knowing there was no way in hell I was going to drop the case.
