me in the side. “You awake?”
“Yes.”
She nodded toward the windshield to show me that we’d arrived.
The officers parked the squad car and opened the doors to remove Myra and me. Officer Kendall, the nice one, said Dr. Huffington would fix Myra’s tooth while they were interrogating me.
Officer Halligan punched in a code, and we entered the jail. We were in the back part, so we walked down a concrete floor past holding cells on the way in. It wasn’t pleasant. In fact, it was downright creepy. The entire area smelled like urine and sweat. A few disheveled, drunken people (mainly men) yelled things (mainly obscenities) at us as we passed by their cells. I so did not want to wind up sleeping over at this establishment.
An oversized man barreled down the hall and exuberantly greeted Myra. “Hey, Ms. Jenkins! Remember me? Mark Huffington?”
Myra’s eyes widened. “Btter?”
“Yeah!” He laughed. He looked at me. “Back in the day, Myra’s son Carl Jr. and the other kids called me Butter—you know, short for ‘butterfingers’—because I couldn’t hold on to a football or a basketball to save my life.” He chuckled again, reminding me of a cross between John Candy and Christian Slater. “Better hope I’m not as clumsy with a drill, eh, Ms. Jenkins?”
I recalled Myra saying that Carl Jr. had attended Abingdon High School. They hadn’t moved to Brea Ridge until he was in college.
Poor Myra looked terrified as “Butter” led her away. I didn’t feel much more at ease as I stepped into the interrogation room and heard the heavy metal door slam shut behind me.
CHAPTER
Two
MYRA AND I spent the next several hours at the police station. We were fingerprinted, so our prints could be compared with others found in the office. They questioned me, then waited for Dr. Huffington to fill Myra’s tooth and for her anesthesia to wear off so they could talk with her alone and understand what she was saying. After interrogating us separately, they questioned us together. This after leaving us alone in the interrogation room for an hour or so to see if we would say anything incriminating. We’d both seen enough crime shows to know better than to say anything at all to each other.
Naturally, our stories matched up. We were telling the truth. And we had both—separately and jointly—told the exact same story, down to where we’d picked up the dental props because we’d heard something in the office. They had then taken our formal, sworn statements. Finally, they’d agreed we could be released. Officer Kendall had kindly offered us a ride to the dentist’s office to pick up my car.
“It’s been a long night,” Officer Kendall said as he ushered Myra and me into his patrol car. “I’m used to it. I work twelve-hour shifts from six P.M. to six A.M. every evening. But I reckon you ladies are tuckered out.”
“We’re tuckered, all right,” Myra said.
“I could probably take you home rather than to the dentist’s office,” he said. He turned to look at me. “Is there somebody who can drive you over to pick up your car later today?”
“No,” I said. “I mean, yeah, somebody could, but I want to get my car now.”
“You’re sure you’re up to driving home?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“How about you, Ms. Jenkins? Would you like me to take you home?” he asked.
“Gosh, no,” Myra said. “After being out all night, can you imagine what god-awful things folks would say if I came rolling up in a police car? I’d rather take my chances with Daphne.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. “You so give me the warm fuzzies.”
Officer Kendall drove us back to . . . well, to the scene of the crime, where yellow police tape had been affixed across the front door.
I ran my hands over the knees of my jeans. “How did Dr. Bainsworth’s assailant get in?”
“The crime scene techs said there was no sign of forced entry,” Officer Kendall said. “They figure either Dr. Bainsworth allowed the person or persons in, that the murderer had a key, or that someone had neglected to lock all the office doors when they left yesterday.”
“Then you think it might’ve been an inside job,” I said.
“It’s too early to form a definitive conclusion at this time,” he said.
“I wanna go home,” Myra said.
“All right. Let’s go.” I thanked Officer Kendall for the ride as he let us out of the patrol car.
We got into my car, and I started the engine. It felt good to be behind