Chief Gleason wasn’t the only one with skills, she reminded herself. Her gaze and her voice remained absolutely steady and level. “I’m not in trouble. I’m just living my life. I have work to do, and I’m sure you have work to do. I’d like you to leave now.”
“All right. If you change your mind.” He took out a card, set it on a table by the front door. “My cell number’s on it, too. If you want help, you just call.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You’ve got a riot bar and three top-grade locks on your front door, security bars on your windows, and a better alarm system than my bank. I don’t think all that’s to keep the dog from getting out.”
He opened the front door, turned back to look at her. “Do you like puzzles?”
“Yes, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“I like them, too. See you around, Bert.” He shut the door.
Abigail stepped over, locked it, then, closing her eyes, knelt on the floor and pressed her face to the dog’s strong neck.
8
Boyd Fitzwater, grizzle-haired and paunchy,manned the desk. He stopped chicken-pecking at the computer keyboard when Brooks walked by.
“Missy Crew came around. Like you’d expect, last night’s black eye was an accident. She got creative this time. Said she tripped on the rug and Ty tried to catch her.”
“She fell into his fist?”
“That’s just what she said. And him being a little drunk, he miscalculated when he tried to catch her.”
“And the neighbor calling us in because she ran out of the house half-naked and screaming?”
“That?” With a tight smile, Boyd shook his head. “She saw a mouse, and not the one on her eye. Overreacted, and the neighbor shouldn’t have bothered us. And before you ask, the reason she said Ty socked her last night is she was all confused. Because technically he did, but only trying to save her from a fall.”
“You let him go?”
“Couldn’t much do otherwise.”
“No, but this crap is going to stop. The next call we get on them, I want whoever’s on duty to call me. I want to handle it.”
“You’re welcome to it. I tried, Brooks. Even had Alma talk to her, figuring she might listen to another woman.”
“Well, she didn’t.” Alma Slope walked in from the break room. Her fingernails were painted electric blue today and matched the chunky beads around her neck. Her frizzy mop of guinea-gold hair had been clamped back with a blue silk flower.
She took a swig of the coffee in her hand, left a clear imprint of bold red lipstick on the rim. Pale green eyes, the only thing pale about Alma, peered out behind glasses with cat’s-eye frames studded with rhinestones.
Her face, with its network of fine lines, registered annoyance as she fisted a hand on the hip of her faded Levi’s.
Alma admitted to sixty, but as she’d admitted to sixty before Brooks had left for Little Rock, he couldn’t begin to guess the real age of his dispatcher.
He wasn’t sure Alma knew anymore.
“I took her in the break room, sat her down and talked to her like a Dutch uncle, whatever the hell that means. She started crying, so I thought I was getting somewhere. But she said how she loved Tybal, and he only gets mean when he’s drinking. And here’s the kicker. How it’s all going to be all right if she can just get pregnant.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“She says she’s trying real hard. Once they have a baby, Ty’s going to settle right down.”
“I want the call when it comes,” Brooks repeated. “Thanks for trying, Alma. You can take the patrol, Boyd. I’ve got some paperwork to see to.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“You want some coffee, Chief?” Alma asked him.
