a trial, we’ll get someone else.”
“All right, honey. So when do you start?”
“Two this afternoon. I’m meeting him at the jail, and he’ll get me inside with him to talk to MaryLou.”
“But you told her not to talk to anyone.”
“I told her not to talk to anyone unless I gave her the okay. And she hasn’t. I just have to get in there with this lawyer once. Then I can come back anytime I want. Without him, I mean.”
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know,” I told Dolly. “But I will. And real soon.”
“Y ou’re not going out like that.” I knew Dolly wasn’t asking a question, but I couldn’t figure out what she meant. So I did what I always do when that happens—I just wait for whatever she’s going to say next.
“You have a perfectly good suit, Dell. The one I bought you. The one that’s been hanging in the cedar closet ever since.”
“You want me to wear a suit?”
“Yes, I want you to wear a suit. You’re not some visiting friend now, you’re a private investigator.”
“But the lawyer, his suit was like some corduroy crap. If I go in there looking like I make more money than him, maybe that wouldn’t work so good?”
“You wear more than just a suit, Dell. Sure, it’s a little fancy, but you want people to take you seriously. You don’t need a tie, okay? Just one of those—”
“—nice silk shirts you bought for me? The ones that have been hanging in the cedar closet all this time?”
“Don’t be such a smartass.”
“I know.… Just go put on the suit, right?”
She sat there at the long butcher-block table, tapping her fingernails.
I went into our bedroom and changed.
When I came back down, Dolly’s smile was a sunburst. She got up and walked over to me. Stood on her toes and kissed me on the side of my mouth.
“I didn’t mean to act so … bossy, Dell. It’s just that this is so important. The media, they’re making it even
more
important already. And MaryLou’s all alone.”
“No, she’s not,” I told her, knowing it was a blood promise the second it came out of my mouth.
T he lawyer would have been waiting for me if I’d shown up at two. But I’d been standing in front of the jail since one-thirty, waiting for him.
“Let’s go” is all he said.
“Bradley Swift,” he said to the guard. “Counsel for MaryLou McCoy. This is Mr. Jackson. He works for me as an investigator.”
The guard gave him a “big fucking deal” look and buzzed us through.
The room they put us in was plenty big enough. Empty except for some chairs placed around a wood table.
MaryLou was brought in a few minutes later. Only one guard to escort her this time. And she wasn’t cuffed.
As soon as the door closed, Swift said, “MaryLou, this is—”
“I know who he is,” she cut him off. “And only my friends call me MaryLou. In here, I’m ‘Ms. McCoy.’ ”
She shot me a “Was that all right?” look, and I nodded. Then I told her, “Mr. Swift here had to bring me through. I’m his private investigator. Which means I can come back on my own. You understand, MaryLou?”
“Sure,” she said, flashing me just a little touch of smile, showing me she knew I got the “Ms. McCoy” bit.
“The Visiting Room, it’s okay for some things,” I went on. “But it’s not a safe place to talk about this case.”
“Got it.”
“Ms. McCoy.” Swift spoke up more to be part of the conversation than anything else—MaryLou had already made it clear where he stood with her. “Do you have any questions? Concerning the legal proceedings, I mean?”
“When will it happen?”
“When will what happen?”
“The trial. When will that get going?”
“Oh, not for a while. There are a number of options we have.”
“Like what?”
“Well, the facts don’t seem to be in dispute. You didn’t make any statement, true enough. But …”
“Yeah, I get it. So?”
“Well, if you were … coerced in any way, or acting under the influence of some drug,
“All right, honey. So when do you start?”
“Two this afternoon. I’m meeting him at the jail, and he’ll get me inside with him to talk to MaryLou.”
“But you told her not to talk to anyone.”
“I told her not to talk to anyone unless I gave her the okay. And she hasn’t. I just have to get in there with this lawyer once. Then I can come back anytime I want. Without him, I mean.”
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know,” I told Dolly. “But I will. And real soon.”
“Y ou’re not going out like that.” I knew Dolly wasn’t asking a question, but I couldn’t figure out what she meant. So I did what I always do when that happens—I just wait for whatever she’s going to say next.
“You have a perfectly good suit, Dell. The one I bought you. The one that’s been hanging in the cedar closet ever since.”
“You want me to wear a suit?”
“Yes, I want you to wear a suit. You’re not some visiting friend now, you’re a private investigator.”
“But the lawyer, his suit was like some corduroy crap. If I go in there looking like I make more money than him, maybe that wouldn’t work so good?”
“You wear more than just a suit, Dell. Sure, it’s a little fancy, but you want people to take you seriously. You don’t need a tie, okay? Just one of those—”
“—nice silk shirts you bought for me? The ones that have been hanging in the cedar closet all this time?”
“Don’t be such a smartass.”
“I know.… Just go put on the suit, right?”
She sat there at the long butcher-block table, tapping her fingernails.
I went into our bedroom and changed.
When I came back down, Dolly’s smile was a sunburst. She got up and walked over to me. Stood on her toes and kissed me on the side of my mouth.
“I didn’t mean to act so … bossy, Dell. It’s just that this is so important. The media, they’re making it even
more
important already. And MaryLou’s all alone.”
“No, she’s not,” I told her, knowing it was a blood promise the second it came out of my mouth.
T he lawyer would have been waiting for me if I’d shown up at two. But I’d been standing in front of the jail since one-thirty, waiting for him.
“Let’s go” is all he said.
“Bradley Swift,” he said to the guard. “Counsel for MaryLou McCoy. This is Mr. Jackson. He works for me as an investigator.”
The guard gave him a “big fucking deal” look and buzzed us through.
The room they put us in was plenty big enough. Empty except for some chairs placed around a wood table.
MaryLou was brought in a few minutes later. Only one guard to escort her this time. And she wasn’t cuffed.
As soon as the door closed, Swift said, “MaryLou, this is—”
“I know who he is,” she cut him off. “And only my friends call me MaryLou. In here, I’m ‘Ms. McCoy.’ ”
She shot me a “Was that all right?” look, and I nodded. Then I told her, “Mr. Swift here had to bring me through. I’m his private investigator. Which means I can come back on my own. You understand, MaryLou?”
“Sure,” she said, flashing me just a little touch of smile, showing me she knew I got the “Ms. McCoy” bit.
“The Visiting Room, it’s okay for some things,” I went on. “But it’s not a safe place to talk about this case.”
“Got it.”
“Ms. McCoy.” Swift spoke up more to be part of the conversation than anything else—MaryLou had already made it clear where he stood with her. “Do you have any questions? Concerning the legal proceedings, I mean?”
“When will it happen?”
“When will what happen?”
“The trial. When will that get going?”
“Oh, not for a while. There are a number of options we have.”
“Like what?”
“Well, the facts don’t seem to be in dispute. You didn’t make any statement, true enough. But …”
“Yeah, I get it. So?”
“Well, if you were … coerced in any way, or acting under the influence of some drug,
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