“That I did.”
“He didn’t give you what you came for, am I right?”
“He gave me what he had. It just wasn’t what I had hoped for.”
“That’s because he’s a literal-minded half brain. You asked if Inman had taken any poetry classes. So Nelson pulled the poetry class rosters.”
“And?” DeMarco said.
“He should have searched using Inman’s name instead of the type of class. We offer lots of classes here. Most everybody takes one from time to time. We encourage it.”
DeMarco took a long, slow breath. “Quit fucking with me, Del. What did you find?”
“Adult literacy class. January through May of this year.”
“Last spring?”
“Yep.”
“I thought Denton only taught poetry.”
“You got a hard-on for Denton or what?”
“Who taught the fucking class?”
“Conescu. Looks like Roman Polanski with a thyroid problem?”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
For a few moments DeMarco was unable to speak. His brain was whirring, spinning like a rock tumbler. But the pinch in his cerebellum was gone.
Woods said, “They have you on leave for a few days?”
“Yeah,” DeMarco said. “SOP.”
“Sure. You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. Even better now.”
“You better be fine. Nobody deserves a bullet more than Inman did.”
“So why’d you let him go?”
“Model prisoner, I had no choice. Parole board says cut ’em loose, I cut ’em loose. But Inman. I always thought of him as a kind of pet shark, you know? Just keeps grinning and showing you his pearly whites. Thing is, you know sooner or later he’s going to bite off your fucking arm.”
“Unfortunately he did a hell of a lot more than that.”
“That’s what I’m saying. About time somebody aerated his chest.”
DeMarco nodded. He considered the goose bumps pimpling his arms, the chill of excitement playing down his spine. “I got to get dressed now,” he said.
“Would it do any good for me to remind you that you’re on temporary suspension?”
“I think it just got canceled.”
“Knowing you, it never went into effect.”
DeMarco made a move to hang up, then he remembered something. “Hey. About J. J.”
“About who?”
“Your deputy. That’s his nickname.”
“Numbnuts? Since when?”
“Since he told me.”
“First I ever heard of it.”
“I think he prefers it to Nelson. And to Numbnuts.”
“Christ, who wouldn’t?”
“Don’t chew him out over this, okay?”
“Why the hell not? It’s not the first mistake he’s made, I can tell you that.”
“He’s scared shitless, that’s why.”
“With good reason.”
“Well, I’m going to take him out some night and get him hammered. See if I can’t shake some of that stiffness out of him. Maybe you should join us.”
“You buying?”
“Listen, your expense account is four times the size of mine.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s four times the size of yours.”
DeMarco laughed. “Hey, I appreciate the phone call. This is good information you gave me. I’ll let you know how it plays out. Say hi to J. J. for me.”
“You kind of like the kid, don’t you? Think he’s pretty cute?”
“You still driving that green Cherokee Laredo? I’ll be sure to tell the boys out on the interstate to keep the radar guns ready.”
“And I’ll tell J. J. how much you miss him. Have a good day, Ry.”
“You too, sport. I’ll call you about that pitcher of beer.”
Sixty-Eight
The first thing DeMarco had to do was to clear the morning’s events with his station commander.
“You are officially on suspension,” Bowen told him. He had not yet removed the plastic lid from the extra large crème br?lée cappuccino DeMarco had purchased for him at the convenience store. Bowen sat at his desk, hands in his lap as he looked up at DeMarco. The sweetness of the drink wafted up through the sipping hole in the lid and was discernible with every breath.
“Don’t even think about denying me this,” DeMarco said.
“I don’t know how to justify it. I’m the one who’s going to have to answer for it.”
“How about if you just tell everybody to kiss your rosy red ass.”
“You have no idea what color my ass is. Don’t pretend you do.”
“I want this, Kyle. I fucking need this.”
Bowen thought about it for thirty seconds. He peeled the lid off the coffee. A thin layer of foam still floated atop the liquid. The rising steam was sweet and heavy. He said, “Your presence is sure to rattle him. There’s some value in that.”
“You better believe there is.”
“Or we could just bring him in for questioning. Let you stand in the corner and watch.”
“You don’t know this guy. He feels safe in his little cubicle. It’s his fucking cave. We need to do it there.”
“I could get my rosy red ass in a sling over this.”
DeMarco smiled. “Trooper Morgan can do it all. I’ll just be a spectator.”
Bowen raised the paper cup to his lips. He allowed the foam to touch the tip of his tongue. The smoky caramel warmth filled his mouth. Then he said, “Yeah. Like that’s really going to happen.”
Sixty-Nine