Chapter 9: Holding Cell

The county jail has a bail window with a slot in the glass, and at one in the morning the clerk behind it did not look up.

"Brooks Ferrin," I said. "Violation of a protective order. How much?"

"Twenty-five hundred. Ten percent through a bondsman, or cash in full."

"I'll do cash."

I counted twenty-five hundred dollars out of the shop's savings envelope, which I had gone home for on the way.

Teddy leaned on the wall behind me with his arms folded.

"You're bailing out the man who kissed your fiancée," he said.

"He didn't kiss her. She kissed him."

"That's the sort of detail that does not help your case."

The clerk stamped something and slid a receipt through the slot.

Forty minutes later a steel door buzzed, and Brooks walked out in his charcoal jacket with his belt and wallet in a clear plastic bag.

He saw me and stopped.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

"I know."

"Why did you?"

"Because I want to hear it from you, and I don't want to do it in a cell."

Teddy took the plastic bag from Brooks, looked in it, and handed it back.

"I'll be outside by the truck," Teddy said, and went.

The hallway was empty except for the deputy at the desk, who was reading something very carefully on his computer.

Brooks put his hands in his pockets.

"Ask," he said.

"The deputy was waiting for you."

"Since five thirty. He was parked across the street from the hall. I saw him from the taxi."

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