Stand By Your Man

Chapter Twenty

Carlucci drove down Washington Street to the front of the Municipal Plaza, bumped his Harley up onto the sidewalk, and guided it across the concrete, almost to the broad steps that led to the police department. He stopped the bike in front of a statue of a policeman patting a little boy on the head.

"You're nuts," I said as I pulled off my helmet. "You're surrounded by cops and here you are begging for a ticket. What's wrong with you?"

He looked around the empty plaza. "I don't see anybody coming to take me in. They probably do it all the time themselves."

I shook my head, remembering how Weathers pulled up on the sidewalk exactly as Tony had, but the difference was that he was a police officer and Tony was definitely not one of them.

I handed him the helmet and walked away. Tony Carlucci was strange, and I didn't know that he was any of the things he said he was, or that I could trust him any further than I could throw him. But he was only one of my worries. Vernell and the Redneck Mafia were my main concerns.

By the time I'd worked my way up the stairs and into the lobby of the police department, I'd worked up a good head of steam. When I presented myself to the receptionist in the Criminal Investigation Department, I was almost shaking, I was so mad.

"Detective Weathers, someone's here to see you, says she's a Miss Reid."

I glared at her. "I am Ms. Reid," I snapped.

The receptionist looked startled.

"He'll be right out. Just have a seat over-"

"I'll stand right here," I said.

Weathers rounded the corner and found me waiting, my hands on my hips and a frown on my face.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Across the street." He said it like maybe Vernell had stepped out for coffee, and not been locked up.

"Take me to him."

Weathers walked right on past me, opened the black door out into the corridor and held it open for me.

"Right this way."

I followed him, not trusting myself to look at his face. I stared at the wall as we walked, noting all the pictures of ex-chiefs and old police cars.

"Maggie, are you going to talk about this or not?"

I still couldn't look at him. "I'm listening."

Weathers opened the front door, led me around the corner of the building, and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"We have the gun, Maggie. It's registered in Vernell's name. He hadn't reported it missing or stolen. Maggie, you've got to face up to this. Vernell killed Nosmo King. He went over the edge. He's been headed this way his entire life."

I looked at the third button on his white oxford shirt.

"Maggie, look at me, damn it!"

I raised my eyes slowly, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't give my feelings away.

"Vernell Spivey has as much as admitted that he killed Nosmo King. The man you put up with for all those years isn't who you thought he was. He tried, and I know you loved him for who you thought he might become, but Maggie, he killed Nosmo King."

"No, he didn't!" The tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn't see. Marshall Weathers began walking down a long outside corridor that led to a set of steps into the parking lot.

"Then I think you should talk to him. Let him explain it to you."

Weathers was calm, too calm. It was as if he trusted Vernell's reaction and I couldn't for the life of me see how. Vernell didn't kill Nosmo King.

We walked across the street, up a wide ramp to the glass doors leading into the sheriff's department and the city jail.

Weathers pulled open the front door, stepped inside, and turned left. He walked up to a small glass window, and spoke to the uniformed officer inside.

"We're here to interview Vernell Spivey," he said. He looked at me apologetically. "It's the only way I can get you inside," he said. "These aren't regular visiting hours. I have to go with you."

A buzzer sounded and Marshall pushed another door open, admitting us to a small room.

"Put your purse and anything in your pockets up on the counter," he said. He reached for his gun, put it in the tray that the jailer extended and then waited for me.

"Okay," Weathers said. "Here goes."

The heavy steel door in front of us swung open, revealing the jailer and a narrow, beige corridor. Weathers and the short, fat man exchanged pleasantries as we walked to the interview room, but I wasn't listening. The jail smelled of disinfectant. I could hear the clang of metal in the distance, the drone of a TV and the sounds of men's muffled voices.

We were led into a small room, just like the movies, with a Plexiglas shield, wooden chairs, and a scarred wooden counter between our side and the prisoner's.

How could Vernell Spivey have come to this?

The door swung open a few minutes later and Vernell stepped into the room, clad in a bright orange jumpsuit, a two-day growth of beard and a hangdog look on his face.

His eyes brightened when he saw me, then dulled as he took in Marshall Weathers. I picked up the handset and waited for him to do the same.

"Hello, darlin'," he said, just like George Jones sweet-talking Tammy Wynette.

"Vernell, why are you in jail?"

He smiled a weak, wishy-washy smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Aw, you know, honey, fate, I guess."

"Fate, you guess? What does that mean, Vernell?"

His eyes wandered over to Weathers then back to me. "Get me a real good lawyer, Maggie."

"That would take money, Vernell. Where is it?"

A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Vernell's forehead. "Use the dish business as collateral. Get a loan."

"You know we can't do that! Where's the money?"

Vernell switched the phone from one hand to the other, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. What was the matter with him?

"Tell me the truth. What happened? It's all right, honey, the truth will set you free."

He gulped. "I don't think so, Maggie," he said. "Not this time."

A chill ran up my spine. "Sure it will, tell us what happened."

Vernell looked at me. He was pleading silently, but I wouldn't give.

"Maggie, the money's going to work out. I'm working on something." His gaze shifted to Marshall. "I'd rather not go into it just now."

"Honey, now is the only time you have. Nosmo King is dead, shot with your gun, in your truck, and you don't want to talk about it?"

Vernell smiled nervously. "Not really."

I pointed my finger at him. "This is your daughter's future we're talking about, Vernell Spivey! I have half a mind to go ahead and work that deal with Archer VanScoy and have done with it!"

That got a reaction. "Maggie, don't you dare! You can't sell without me! The lot's not for sale, not at any price. I told him that!"

I glared at him. "Oh yeah, well, when you're sitting in prison, I can do whatever I want! I'll take his hundred thousand dollars and run. At least that way I know Sheila will be taken care of!"

Vernell jumped to his feet, the receiver pressed to his ear. "I will take care of my family! I have a plan!" Then he paused, frowned, and stared straight at me. "VanScoy told you a hundred thousand? That business is worth hundreds of thousands more than that. See why I have to handle it?"

"VanScoy said you took too long, and now he knows you're in trouble, so it's one hundred thousand. See?"

Marshall Weathers was watching me, I could feel it, but I wouldn't look at him.

"Where's Nosmo King's money?" I demanded.

Vernell sighed. "I don't know nothing about that," he said. "I don't have it. I told him I didn't need it after all."

Now we were getting somewhere. I looked at Marshall. "Can you not step outside for a moment?" I said. "You'd have to leave if I was his lawyer."

Weathers shrugged, looked at the window, and motioned to the jailer. "I'll give you three minutes," he said, "then I'm back inside."

The second the door closed I was on Vernell like ugly on an ape. "All right, you low-life pond scum, this is for Sheila. You remember her, don't you, the daughter who thinks you walk on water?"

Vernell's eyes reddened and for a second I thought he might cry. "Maggie, I'm working for the higher good here. I didn't kill King. I didn't take his money. And I'm working on something with the money, so lay off! Get me a lawyer."

"Were you there when Nosmo got killed?" I asked.

Vernell shook his head. "Last thing I remember, me and Nosmo and his girlfriend were drinking. I woke up and it was dark and I was in a field and my truck was gone. I swear, baby, I wasn't working no deal with Nosmo."

"Then why didn't you come straight out and tell the police your truck was missing?"

Vernell wouldn't meet my gaze. "On account of I wasn't sure what happened. I had a bad feeling about Nosmo. I was waiting to find out if anything was wrong." He looked up for a second. "I've been drinking too much lately, Maggie. Sometimes I don't even know what day it is. By the time I came out of it, everybody was looking for me."

Vernell looked pitiful.

"Did you tell Detective Weathers?"

Vernell snorted. "Yeah, and what did that get me? Murder One, Maggie." He leaned in closer, raised his hand to touch the glass and stared straight at me. "I didn't kill him, Maggie. I went to see him to square a few things."

I could see Marshall standing out in the hall, entertaining the jailer.

"What were you trying to square, Vernell?"

Vernell looked down at his lap, then back at me. "I wanted to ask him to let go of Bess."

Oh great, give Vernell yet another motive to murder Nosmo King.

I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. The doorknob twisted and Marshall Weathers was back in the room with me.

"I'm sorry, Maggie," Vernell said. "I didn't mean for it to come out like this."

The door opened and the jailer appeared behind Vernell, motioning for him to come. I stared at Vernell, watching the way his jumpsuit hung on his bony frame, memorizing the way his eyes sought out mine, begging me to understand him.

"Baby, get me the best lawyer they got. I didn't do it."

Marshall Weathers waited until Vernell left the room before he spoke.

"See what I mean?" he said softly. "I didn't have another choice."

I stood up, squared my shoulders, and stared right into his eyes. What else was there left to say?

"Thank you for your time," I said. "I appreciate you getting me in to see him like this."

The jailer returned for us, opened the door, and led us back through the system of doors to the front of the building.

I stepped ahead of Weathers, who stopped when another deputy called his name, walked out the front door and down the ramp to the sidewalk. I didn't hear the motorcycle coming. Didn't track that Carlucci was there until he pulled right in front of me.

"Here," he called, handing me my helmet. "Let's go."

He didn't have to ask how it went. It was written all over my face.

As he pulled away from the curb and into traffic, I saw Marshall Weathers step out of the jail and walk toward the sidewalk. I looked in Carlucci's side-view mirror and watched him stand there and watch as we rode off. Then I closed my eyes and tried not to think of him at all.