okay? It’s all set up. ’Sides, they’re bringing Eales in now.”
She heard the chains first. Then another steely slam.
And finally, in the convex mirror mounted high in the corner of the corridor, she watched the image of two uniformed guards leading a large white mass in a tangerine-orange jumpsuit.
Eales.
14
HE WAS HUGE.
In full irons, Eales lurched between the guards. The unmistakable jailhouse shuffle. As he cleared the wall and lumbered past the bars of the holding cell, he focused dead ahead, as though refusing to acknowledge Kay’s presence.
Only his size was imposing, Kay tried to convince herself. Eales was white-trash redneck, not some embodiment of evil.
Nice try, Delaney. He pulled the trigger of your duty nine and gunned down your partner.
Kay drew in a solid breath. Felt it tremble as it left her body. Until Bernard Eales, Kay had never known true hate.
The guards stopped him in the doorway. Only then did Eales look at her. Expressionless. He’d gained weight. A lot of it. And he’d gone soft and pasty. An ugly son of a bitch .
The heavy brows cast his eyes in shadow, but Kay knew them from her nightmares, raw blue and lifeless. The corners of his mouth curved severely down, the thin lips bracketed by a slovenly trimmed beard. He’d shaved his head. The stubbled regrowth revealed the receding hairline along his glistening pate. A one-inch scar, red andragged, marked his right cheekbone. It didn’t look very old. Kay wondered if he’d gotten it in prison, or if maybe she’d put it there herself fourteen months ago. She hoped the latter.
“You want the cuffs on or off?” one of the guards asked her.
Eales’s slow eyes sized her up. She thought she saw a glint of recognition before the challenge shadowed it. He was daring her.
Well, fuck him . “Leave ’em on. This won’t take long.”
She turned her back to him, trying to contain a shudder of loathing and uncontrolled fear. How many interviews had she conducted in her career? Hundreds? Thousands?
That’s all this was. Just another interview.
Eales shuffled behind her, coming to the table. She could sense his closeness as she lay the cigarettes and a book of matches on the table. Sense the presence of the man who had beaten her to within an inch of her life. She almost wished Finn were here. But it was better this way.
Kay pulled out the chair farthest from the door, the legs grating across polished concrete. “Have a seat, Bernard.”
While driving here she’d already made the decision to address him by his first name. Keep it cool. Professional, yet casual.
“You remember me, Bernard?”
“Sure.” Eales’s mass poured over the edges of the seat, dwarfing the chair. His irons clattered against the table and the chair’s legs. Elbows planted, he balled one hand into the other, rested his chin against his thumbs, and slumped forward onto the table.
She circled back, but didn’t pull out the other chair.
Fresh abrasions marked three of his knuckles, she noted, and there was dirt under his nails. Other than the scar on his cheek and the bloodied knuckles, it didn’t appear Ealeswas having a tough time behind bars. She’d have thought a dumb-ass like him would have been the brunt of more attacks and ridicule. Then again, maybe he was too big for anyone to consider fucking with.
From her briefcase, Kay took out a Miranda waiver and slid it across the table. “You know the drill, don’t you, Bernard?”
He took the pen she offered, clasped it between thick fingers, and initialed each warning as she read them out.
“You understand, Bernard, you don’t have to speak with me today, right?” she asked him when they got to the end of the list.
He made a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yeah.”
“You also understand that you can, and in fact are advised to, have your lawyer present?”
Again, a nodding shrug.
“And your presence here this
She heard the chains first. Then another steely slam.
And finally, in the convex mirror mounted high in the corner of the corridor, she watched the image of two uniformed guards leading a large white mass in a tangerine-orange jumpsuit.
Eales.
14
HE WAS HUGE.
In full irons, Eales lurched between the guards. The unmistakable jailhouse shuffle. As he cleared the wall and lumbered past the bars of the holding cell, he focused dead ahead, as though refusing to acknowledge Kay’s presence.
Only his size was imposing, Kay tried to convince herself. Eales was white-trash redneck, not some embodiment of evil.
Nice try, Delaney. He pulled the trigger of your duty nine and gunned down your partner.
Kay drew in a solid breath. Felt it tremble as it left her body. Until Bernard Eales, Kay had never known true hate.
The guards stopped him in the doorway. Only then did Eales look at her. Expressionless. He’d gained weight. A lot of it. And he’d gone soft and pasty. An ugly son of a bitch .
The heavy brows cast his eyes in shadow, but Kay knew them from her nightmares, raw blue and lifeless. The corners of his mouth curved severely down, the thin lips bracketed by a slovenly trimmed beard. He’d shaved his head. The stubbled regrowth revealed the receding hairline along his glistening pate. A one-inch scar, red andragged, marked his right cheekbone. It didn’t look very old. Kay wondered if he’d gotten it in prison, or if maybe she’d put it there herself fourteen months ago. She hoped the latter.
“You want the cuffs on or off?” one of the guards asked her.
Eales’s slow eyes sized her up. She thought she saw a glint of recognition before the challenge shadowed it. He was daring her.
Well, fuck him . “Leave ’em on. This won’t take long.”
She turned her back to him, trying to contain a shudder of loathing and uncontrolled fear. How many interviews had she conducted in her career? Hundreds? Thousands?
That’s all this was. Just another interview.
Eales shuffled behind her, coming to the table. She could sense his closeness as she lay the cigarettes and a book of matches on the table. Sense the presence of the man who had beaten her to within an inch of her life. She almost wished Finn were here. But it was better this way.
Kay pulled out the chair farthest from the door, the legs grating across polished concrete. “Have a seat, Bernard.”
While driving here she’d already made the decision to address him by his first name. Keep it cool. Professional, yet casual.
“You remember me, Bernard?”
“Sure.” Eales’s mass poured over the edges of the seat, dwarfing the chair. His irons clattered against the table and the chair’s legs. Elbows planted, he balled one hand into the other, rested his chin against his thumbs, and slumped forward onto the table.
She circled back, but didn’t pull out the other chair.
Fresh abrasions marked three of his knuckles, she noted, and there was dirt under his nails. Other than the scar on his cheek and the bloodied knuckles, it didn’t appear Ealeswas having a tough time behind bars. She’d have thought a dumb-ass like him would have been the brunt of more attacks and ridicule. Then again, maybe he was too big for anyone to consider fucking with.
From her briefcase, Kay took out a Miranda waiver and slid it across the table. “You know the drill, don’t you, Bernard?”
He took the pen she offered, clasped it between thick fingers, and initialed each warning as she read them out.
“You understand, Bernard, you don’t have to speak with me today, right?” she asked him when they got to the end of the list.
He made a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yeah.”
“You also understand that you can, and in fact are advised to, have your lawyer present?”
Again, a nodding shrug.
“And your presence here this
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