Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,113

then this part’s over.

Another bare white space, this one an interview room with a mirror on the wall that wasn’t really a mirror. Harlan asked, “Is somebody watching on the other side of that?”

“No,” Johnson said. Who knew if it was true.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jennifer said. “Maybe it’s better. Time for all the secrets to come out.”

“Can I get you two a cup of coffee?” Johnson asked.

“Sure,” Harlan said. “Black. Not for her, though. She’s pregnant.” He looked at Jennifer. “Water? Something else?”

“Water’s good,” she said. She was still holding his hand, or he was still holding hers, when he realized that he’d said it. He’d told somebody.

She’s pregnant.

A pause, then, while they waited for the detective to come back, and he tried to think of something to say and couldn’t. She said, “Fifteen minutes, and whatever it is, this part will be over. Even the worst moment ends sometime. I hope you’re still planning to take me to lunch afterwards, though, because it’s after noon, and I’m starved.”

“The pregnant thing,” he said. She’d said the same thing he’d been thinking, about the fifteen minutes. Huh.

“Yep,” she said. “I like that you told him so. Thanks for looking out for me.” She smiled at him, and that was so much better.

The detective came back with a bottle of water for Jennifer and a paper cup of coffee for him, which turned out to be hot and strong and exactly what he needed. He took a sip, left his hand curled around the cup for warmth, laced the fingers of the other hand through Jennifer’s under the table, and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Johnson turned the recorder on, gave their names, the date, checked the clock on the wall for the time, sat back, and said, “So, please. Tell me what this is about.”

“I went to see my dad at the jail this morning,” Harlan said. “He’d been calling me, telling me he had to talk to me. I guess you don’t actually only get one call.”

Johnson said, “What did he say?”

Harlan had spent the drive over trying to organize his thoughts. They still weren’t all that organized, so he just started at the beginning. “He wanted me to pay for a defense attorney. A hundred thousand, he said.”

“At the very least,” Johnson said. “If it goes to trial. How did you respond?”

“Told him hell, no.” He took a breath and said, “You probably know I play for the Portland Devils. NFL.”

“Yes,” Johnson said. “I do.”

“Which means he thought I should do it,” Harlan said, “because the money doesn’t mean that much to me.” He felt the stiffening in Jennifer, tightened his hold on her hand, and said, “I’m used to that. But not like this. I told him that he owns property, plus whatever he has saved up. Told him to use that. He said there was the bail, too. Is he going to get bail? For murder?”

“Probably,” the detective said. “The judge could deny it, but it’s a first offense, and it happened a long time ago. He’d have an ankle bracelet. The judge could call him a flight risk, though, because of your financial resources.”

What was he supposed to do about that? What could he do about that? He didn’t want his dad out, back in the house, back around town. It would feel like leaving a black-widow spider in the corner of your shed, just waiting for a kid to stick his hand in there. It would feel like failing his mom again. If he told the judge he wasn’t helping with bail or anything else, though, they’d probably be more likely to grant it.

He needed to talk to his lawyer.

A problem for later. “I’m taking my sister out of here,” he said. “To Portland. If you need us, you know my number.”

“Seems like a good idea,” Johnson agreed. Harlan could hear him thinking, You got me all the way over here on Sunday for this?

Harlan put his elbow on the table and drew his hair back from his face. “I’m going to tell you some stuff he said.”

“I’m listening,” Johnson said.

Harlan closed his eyes a second to get it straight in his brain. Like memorizing a playbook, and he was good at that. Recall under stress, and he was good at that, too. “He told me that it must be somebody else. He suggested Austin Grant, the bookstore guy, but I wouldn’t say he was focused on that. He gave me a scenario of what the guy