“You may answer, Ms. Doyle,” Patrick Hooper said.
Catriona cried through several more tissues. Drank most of my water, and then cried some more. As she cried, Catriona talked. And talked. About how wonderful Stella was, how kind, how giving. What a wonderful musician and human being.
On my tablet, I took notes of the names she mentioned and cross-referenced them with my lists, while creating a Catriona timeline. But about fifteen minutes into her monologue, I realized that Catriona was speaking to me as much as to FireWind and her lawyer, and my boss glanced a command to me, one I understood instantly. I realized that I was supposed to be asking questions and clarifying the things Catriona said. I was thetoken womanto keep Catriona from feeling afraid with male investigators?Oh.To FireWind,token womanwas an important designation. There were times when I was an idiot.
I said, “Stella sounds wonderful. A true friend. We’re trying to create a timeline. Can you tell us where you spent the nights prior to the bodies being found? And is there anyone who can corroborate where you were?”
Patrick Hooper nodded that Catriona should answer.
“Both nights after we got back, I slept on Etain’s pull-out sofa with ma Miren. I don’t have an apartment because itseemed stupid to pay rent when we’ll be—we would have been—on the road two hundred days a the year.” Her face crumpled. “I was finally a full-time member of the band. I was going to homeschool Miren on the road instead of leaving her with Etain. Now, I don’t have a place to live. Or a job. And I’m in jail. And—” She stopped and sobbed. “And ma Miren is God knows where.”
FireWind gave me another encouraging nod.
I said, “Your lawyer is working to get her back. For now, do you feel we can talk about when you first got to the farm yesterday?” Catriona nodded, wiped her chapped face again, and sipped the last of the water. “Who was there?” I asked.
A little over an hour later, the door opened and Smythe walked in. If his coloration was an indication, he was livid.
“Where are her restraints?” he spat at us. Over his shoulder he shouted, “Get her restrained and into her cell. And get them out of here.”
The guard darted in.
FireWind stood. He seemed to move slowly, a gliding step, but he somehow ended up across the table and between the guard and Catriona. FireWind’s black hair was down and long and flowing, an easy handle if the guard grabbed him, but FireWind’s shoulders were relaxed. His hands were loose and ready. And he was smiling.
It was a chilling smile, all teeth and bright yellow eyes, a skinwalker leaking power. It was like Occam but bigger, older, and much,muchmore dangerous. Patrick Hooper stood to one side of Catriona. I took a spot on her other side. I smiled too. I wasn’t a skinwalker with magical powers, but I had learned early on that an unafraid woman was a terrifying thing to some men. Smythe looked like one of those men. I stared at him, but kept an eye on the guard too.
FireWind stared at Smythe. Softly, his lips barely moving, he said, “Catriona Doyle is a foreign national, held and questioned in regards to a capital crime for which there is insufficient evidence. She asked for an attorney when she was brought in for questioning. No lawyer was provided. Yet she was questioned extensively over the last twenty-four hours, with no water, no sleep, and no food. A representative from the Irish embassy is on the way here. The assistant director of PsyLED is makingextensive phone calls. The director of the FBI is being notified of your breach of conduct. The chief of police is being notified through official channels.”
“I said to restrain her,” Smythe snarled to the guard.
FireWind spoke directly to the guard. “I am informing you of a severe breach of this prisoner’s constitutionally guaranteed civil rights. If you stay, you will take part in whatever penalties Smythe incurs. Or, you may leave this room right now.”
The guard turned and left. FireWind, his power like an icy draft in the room, swiveled to Smythe. All nonhuman grace.
“You ain’t human,” Smythe accused.
“Turn off the recorder,” FireWind said, his words soft and slow. He shifted his body a fraction of an inch. His head moved forward. One hand formed a fist. “I don’t want this on record.”
It sounded so much like a threat that Smythe turned and left. If he’d been a were-creature his tail woulda been stuck firmly between his legs. Under most circumstances, I didn’t particularly like Ayatas FireWind, but if I was a prisoner in need of protecting, I’d surely want him in my corner, fighting for me. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that maybe FireWind was hard on his units because he saw us as the ones who were protecting others. Maybe he wanted us to be the best. Didn’t make me like him any better, but I was coming to understand him.
The chief of police caught the door before it closed and stepped in. He was a big man, florid faced, clearly experienced, as he took in the room. He nodded to me, to Hooper, and to FireWind. He totally ignored the prisoner. “I understand that the FBI may have abused a prisoner in my lockup. Is that so?”
“It is,” FireWind said.
“I’ve heard rumors about Smythe’s methods. Never seen proof of it. But I made a point of sticking around today, even though it’s my day off. I don’t like what I just saw through the observation window.” He tilted his head at the mirror behind us. “It won’t happen again.”
“Would you have a problem with Gerry Stapp taking over the FBI office?” FireWind asked, his body relaxing from the threat of violence to something less menacing.
The chief stuck his thumbs into his belt. “You mean because he’s black and gayer than a rainbow? No. I don’t care about the color of Stapp’s skin. My paternal grandpappy was purported tobe half black and I was bullied about it all through elementary school. Pissed me off. I loved that old man. Best man I ever met.
“And my baby brother died of AIDS in San Fran back in the nineties. He was gayer than a chorus line dancer. I still miss him. I employ two lesbians and if a male deputy is gay I don’t care. I don’t care what any of my officers or employees do behind closed doors or how they live their private lives as long as they keep their noses clean and do their jobs.”
I said softly, “And yet you had heard there were problems. That means you allowed Smythe to abuse prisoners in your interrogation rooms. More importantly, you let your guards assist. Under your watch.”
The chief flushed. “Smythe’s FBI. Fighting him would have accomplished nothing without proof. I got proof now. It won’t happen again.”
“We’ll be finished here shortly,” FireWind said. “I’ll be sending reports to my superior and to the FBI regional SAC within the hour. It is my firm belief that Catriona Doyle will be released soon. There will be a second press conference at six thirty p.m. to announce the direction of the investigation into Stella Mae Ragel’s death by magical means. All official apologies will be made to Ms. Doyle, whether she has been released by then or not. Appreciation will be offered for her cooperation. At that time, I will personally do my best to clear her good name. If you wish to join the lead investigator and the sheriff for that press conference, you are welcome, provided that Ms. Doyle has been fed, allowed to clean up, and given fresh clothes.” When the other man started to speak, FireWind spoke over his words. “Also provided that her daughter has been allowed to speak to her on the phone, and that compelling measures have been taken to place Miren with Etain Doyle.” He gave a smile that would have done a wildcat proud.
“Might take you up on that next press conference.” The chief glanced at Catriona and back. “She’ll be offered all proper and legally available means to make her comfortable. I’ll contact social services and request a callback from the social worker on call this weekend. Make sure your paperwork is all in order.” The chief left the room, moving fast for a big man.
