Will smiled. “I’m sure your chief already told you why I’m here.”
He saw her eye twitch. “Tommy.”
“Right, Tommy Braham, and by extension, Allison Spooner. I hope we can wrap this up quickly. I’m sure we’d all rather have this off our plate going into Thanksgiving.”
“This good-guy bullshit isn’t really going to work with me.”
“We both have badges, Detective. Don’t you think you should try to cooperate so we can get to the truth of this matter?”
“You know what I think?” She crossed her arms high on her chest. “I think you’re down here where you don’t belong, sleeping in places you have no right, and trying to get a lot of good people into trouble for shit that’s beyond their control.”
There was a loud knock at the open door. Marla Simms stood ramrod straight, a medium-sized cardboard box gripped between her hands. She walked to the desk and dropped the box with a thud in front of Will.
“Thank you,” he told her retreating back. “Mrs. Simms?” She didn’t turn, but she stopped. “If you don’t mind, I need the audiotape of the 911 call reporting Allison Spooner’s alleged suicide.”
She left without acknowledging the request.
Will looked over the top of the box, eyeing the contents. There were several plastic evidence bags, obviously taken from the scene of Allison Spooner’s death. A pair of white sneakers was in one. Streaks of mud went up the sides and stuck into the treads.
The ring and watch mentioned in Lena’s report were in the other bag. He studied the ring, which was cheap, the sort of thing you gave a girl when you were fifteen and spending fifty dollars on a piece of jewelry from the locked display at Walgreens was a big deal.
He held up the ring. “I gave my wife one of these when we were kids.”
Lena’s nasty look resembled the same one Angie had shown Will when he’d given her the ring.
He pulled another bag out of the box. There was a closed wallet inside. Will managed to pry it open through the plastic. He found a photo of an older woman beside a young girl and another photograph of an orange cat. There were some bills in the cash compartment. Allison Spooner’s student ID and driver’s license were tucked in the back sleeves.
Will looked at the girl’s picture. Faith had guessed right. Allison was very pretty. She also looked younger than her given age. Maybe it was her size. She seemed delicate, almost fragile. He flipped back to the photograph of the older woman, realizing now that the girl beside her was Allison Spooner. The picture had obviously been taken a few years ago. Allison looked like a teenager.
He asked Lena, “Is this all you found in the wallet?” He listed it out for her. “Two photos, forty bucks, the license, and student ID?”
She was staring at the open wallet in his hands. “Frank catalogued it.”
Not exactly an answer, but Will knew that he’d need to choose his battles. He saw there was one more evidence bag in the box. He guessed it contained the contents of Tommy Braham’s pockets. “Gum, thirty-eight cents, and a metal Monopoly game piece of a car.” He looked back up at Lena. “He didn’t have a wallet on him?”
“No.”
“Cell phone?”
“Is there one in the bag?”
Her combative answers were telling him more than she realized. Will asked, “What about his clothes and shoes? Any blood on them? Any stains?”
“Per protocol for a suicide in custody, Frank sent them to the lab. Your lab.”
“The Central GBI lab in Dry Branch?”
She nodded.
“What about the sheath?”
She seemed confused.
“In Tommy’s confession, he said he had a knife on him when he killed Allison. I imagine he had a sheath on his belt? A knife sheath?”
She shook her head. “He probably got rid of it.”
“He doesn’t mention in his confession what kind of knife he used.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Did you find any knives in the house where Tommy lived?”
“We can’t search his house without a warrant or permission from his father, who’s the owner of the property.”
Well, at least she knew the law. That she was choosing to follow it now was a bit of a mystery. “Are you assuming Tommy used the same knife to stab Detective Stephens that he used to kill Allison Spooner?”
Lena was silent for a few seconds. She had conducted enough interviews to recognize what a corner felt like when it was pressing against your back. “I’ve found in my career that it’s better not to make assumptions about what a suspect will and will not do.”
“That’s a valuable lesson for any officer,” he allowed. “Any reason why the Spooner evidence wasn’t sent to Central?”
She hesitated again. “I assume because the case is closed.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Tommy ran from the police. He stabbed a police officer. He confessed to the crime. He killed himself because he couldn’t take the guilt. I’m not sure how you do it in Atlanta, but down here we generally stop throwing money at an investigation once it’s closed.”
Will rubbed the back of his neck. “I really wish you’d sit down. This is going to take a while and I don’t think I can keep looking up at you without getting a crick.”
“What’s going to take a while?”
“Detective Adams, perhaps you don’t comprehend the import of this investigation. I’m here to interview you about the death of a prisoner who was in your custody, in your jail, in your town. In addition to that, a young woman was murdered. A police officer was badly wounded. This isn’t going to be a quick chat over coffee and doughnuts, not least of all because I’ve been advised not to take any food from y’all that isn’t sealed in a container.” He smiled. She didn’t smile back. “Would you please sit down so we can talk to each other like rational people?” She still didn’t move, and Will took it a step further. “If you’d rather go to one of the interrogation rooms instead of being in your dead chief’s office, then I’d be more than happy to accommodate you.”
Her jaw tightened. They had a long, drawn-out staring match that Will nearly lost. Lena was hard to look at. Her pain and exhaustion showed on every line of her face. Her eyes were swollen, the whites shot through with red. Her hand was resting on the chair in front of her, yet still she swayed, as if her knees wanted to give out.
Finally, she said, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I think you’re the enemy.” Still, she pulled out the chair and sat down.
“I appreciate your candor.”
“Whatever.” She kept opening and closing her fist. He saw two flesh-colored Band-Aids wrapped around the palm of her hand. Her fingers looked swollen.
He asked, “That happen yesterday?”
She didn’t answer.
Will took a red folder out of his briefcase and left it unopened on the desk. Lena glanced down nervously. “Would you like a lawyer present?”
“Do I need one?”
“You should know better than to ask an investigator for legal advice, Detective. How about your union rep?”
She gave a short, sharp laugh. “We don’t have unions down here. We barely have uniforms.”
He should have remembered. “Do I need to remind you of your Miranda rights?”
“No.”
“Should I mention that lying to a state investigator during the course of an active investigation is a felony that can result in fines and imprisonment up to five years?”
“Didn’t you just do that?”
“I guess I did. Where was she stabbed?”
He’d caught her off guard. “What?”
“Allison Spooner. Where was she stabbed?”
“Here.” She put her hand to the back of her neck, her fingers resting a few inches from the spine.
“Was that the only wound?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she answered, “As you said, Frank noticed ligature marks around her wrist.”