“She doesn’t want a lawyer. She’s waived the right—”
“She’s too young for that. I’m her father. These are her lawyers. Right here! Right now! I demand to see her!”
“Sir, I need you to calm down, and I’ll explain again. Your daughter’s eighteen. She doesn’t want a lawyer.”
But Alsace Shore was not the calming kind. He had his own suspicions, Beckett thought. And, why not? He knew what Channing could do with a gun. That meant he knew the danger she was in now, that one wrong word could change her life forever. Beckett felt sick from the thought, but mostly that was about Liz. He’d made a promise and wasn’t sure he could keep it.
“How long has this been going on?” Beckett leaned into the sergeant, who shrugged.
“An hour.”
“Has Dyer been out?”
“Shit rolls downhill. You know that.”
“Call me if it gets worse.”
Beckett left the front desk and worked his way toward the interview rooms. Hamilton and Marsh had the girl in isolation with the local cops frozen out. Uniformed troopers barred the door. Even Dyer was banned, and that made the tension unmistakable, as if the AG thought the locals were covering for one of their own and only the state cops knew right from wrong, as if God himself wanted Liz to fry.
It tied Beckett into knots.
Liz was clean.
How could they not see that?
But they didn’t. Occam’s razor. The obvious explanation. Whatever. The truth was a coal he wanted to puke from his chest.
The kid is the goddamn shooter!
Twenty feet from the troopers, Beckett stopped and checked his watch. They’d had the girl inside for ninety-three minutes. The all-points on Liz was two hours’ old, and every detail was on the wire. Name. Description. Vehicles. Elizabeth was officially wanted for double homicide. Every cop in the state was looking for her, and that was not the worst part.
Suspect considered armed and dangerous.
Approach with caution.
“Where’s Dyer?” Beckett caught a uniformed officer by the sleeve as she passed. She pointed, and Beckett bulled through the hall, people scrambling to get out of his way. He found Dyer near the conference room. “Where’ve you been?”
“Making phone calls.”
“Have you seen this?” Beckett pushed a copy of the all-points at Dyer.
“It’s why I’m making calls.”
“Those state cops are going to get her killed.”
“What do you want me to do, Charlie? They have an indictment for double murder. She’s on the run and armed, and the state cops know it.”
“She didn’t kill anyone.”
Dyer’s eyebrow went up. “Are you sure?”
“Just find her.”
“I have people on the street.”
“Send more. We need to be the ones to find her. Us. Her people.”
“She could be out of the county by now, out of the state.”
“Not Liz.” Beckett was certain. “Not with Channing Shore in custody.”
Dyer crossed his arms. “Is there something I should know?”
Beckett looked away and choked on the same hot coal. “All I can say is, she’s got a crazy-strong connection to this kid.”
“Like the Gideon thing?”
“Stronger, maybe.”
“That’s not possible.”
A day ago Beckett would have said the same thing. Now he wasn’t so sure. “There’s a connection there, Francis. It’s deep and instinctual. Primal, even. She won’t leave the girl.”
“Whatever the case. Best thing we can do is to bring her in and straighten this out through channels. Counseling. Lawyers. Everybody runs dark at times, and anybody can snap. All we can do now is work the fallout.”
“You really think she killed those men?”
“Animals, Charlie. That’s what she said.”
“Francis—”
“Let’s just get her home and safe. Deal?”
“Sure. Yeah. Deal.”
Beckett watched Dyer all the way to his office, then talked to the first trooper he could find. “I want to talk to Hamilton.” The state cop was six-three and solid, unflinching in the brimmed hat and dove-gray uniform. “Don’t give me that dead-eye, state-cop fucking stare. Go find him.”
It took a few minutes. When Hamilton came out, Beckett didn’t waste time. “Is she talking?”
“That’s why you brought me out here?”
“Has she given you anything? Yes or no?”
Hamilton studied Beckett’s face, thinking about what he saw on it. Determination maybe. Maybe desperation. “She’s staring at the table. Hasn’t said a single word.”
“You’ve had her for two hours.”
“She’s a tough little nut.”
“Walk with me.” Beckett moved for the back stairs.
Hamilton trailed along. “There’s nothing I can do for your partner. You know that.”
Beckett led him into the break room downstairs. “You want a Coke?”
“Indictment, man. Come on. My hands are tied.”
“It’s all right. Have a Coke.”
Beckett fed a bill into the machine, pushed a button, and waited for the bottle to drop. When it did, he opened it and took a sip. “What does your boss want?”
“Your partner tortured and executed two men. What do you think he wants?”