Since the protesters were still in front of the building, Reggie Porter was waiting in a black SUV limo downstairs. With everything else that was happening, not driving his own car had begun to seem like a minor imposition.
“All right,” Kenzie said, but Reese heard the sound of distress she made as she hung up the phone.
SEVENTEEN
The Dallas Police Department downtown on South Lamar was a recently remodeled five-story red-and-beige structure. Kenzie imagined it was supposed to look welcoming, a symbol of stability in the Dallas community. It just looked daunting to her.
Reese walked beside her as they pushed through the front doors. An attractive man with silver-threaded light brown hair came forward as they approached.
“Nate.” Reese extended his hand. “Appreciate your coming on such short notice.”
“No problem.” In an expensive black three-piece suit, Nathan Temple oozed dignity and class, and there was an air of confidence about him that Kenzie found comforting.
“This is McKenzie Haines,” Reese said.
“A pleasure, Ms. Haines,” Nate said.
“It’s just Kenzie. Thank you for helping.”
They exchanged a few pleasantries, then Temple led her down a long corridor to where Detective Ford waited. They went into a stark white interview room with a mirror on one wall—two-way glass, she imagined, just like in the movies. It was chilly in the room. Kenzie shivered as she sat down in a metal chair across from Detective Ford. She felt Reese’s coat drape around her shoulders before he sat down.
“We’ll take it slow and easy,” the detective said. “As long as you tell the truth, you have nothing to worry about.”
She nodded. “All right.”
“Tell me about the gun.”
Kenzie sat up straighter. “The last I knew of it, Lee had the gun. He took it from me during the divorce.” She went on to tell him the same story she had told Reese. The detective made notes, though he had told her it was being recorded.
“When was the last time you saw your ex-husband?”
“Not since he came to the hospital to check on Griff the day he fell off his bicycle.”
“Speaking of hospitals.” Ford got up and walked away. He returned with a manila envelope he set on the table, reached in and pulled out a set of photographs he spread open for her to see. Kenzie’s stomach clenched seeing the pictures from when she was married, the photos taken at the hospital, pictures of her body, covered with bruises on her arms, legs, and torso.
“What the hell?” Reese said, his gaze slamming into hers. Kenzie glanced away.
“Your ex-husband had a history of abusing you,” Ford said. “Is that correct?”
She couldn’t look at Reese. “It only happened two times and it was over a period of several years.”
“You came into the emergency room on both those occasions. I have other photos if you need to see them. The second incident mentions fractured ribs.”
“I assure you, I haven’t forgotten.” She flicked a glance at Reese, whose jaw looked hard as stone.
“What about your son?” Ford asked. “Was Lee also abusive to Griffin?”
“No. In his own, self-centered way, he loved his son. Lee never touched him. I was the one he blamed for whatever problems he was having.”
“Why didn’t you leave the bastard?” Reese asked harshly.
Her face burned with humiliation. She hated that she had been so weak. “I stayed for Griff. I had no money. I couldn’t afford a decent place for us to live. So I stayed.”
“What changed?” the detective asked.
“I convinced Lee to let me take classes at the community college. I told him I was bored. I needed something to do, and because he didn’t want me working, he agreed. I got a friend to sit with Griff while I was at school, and I was always home by the time Lee got there at the end of the day.”
“You completed the courses?” Ford asked.
