Barbara Sissel - Safe Keeping

Before Evan could answer, the duty cop reappeared, resuming his post. “Sergeant Garza’ll be out in a sec. You can sit over there on the bench, if you want.”

Evan sat, but Lissa didn’t. She paced and watched the big white-faced wall clock, marking the tiny jerks of the minute hand as it hooked each second, and when the door at the end of the counter opened again, she flinched. Evan stood up and came to Lissa’s side as the woman approached them. She appeared to be Hispanic, dark-haired, slim, maybe thirty-five, dressed in a dark gray jacket and skirt, a pair of low-heeled black pumps. She looked businesslike, professional. Lissa couldn’t read her expression. She didn’t give it much thought other than to assume it was deliberate, that looking impassive was part of Garza’s uniform. It didn’t occur to her then there might be more to it.

The woman introduced herself. “I’m Detective Sergeant Cynthia Garza. Lincoln County Criminal Investigation Division. What can I do for you folks?”

“You’re questioning my brother about Jessica Sweet’s murder, is that right?”

“Yes, we—”

“Does he have a lawyer?”

“He hasn’t asked for one.”

“Well, I’m asking for one on his behalf.” Lissa spoke strongly, surprising herself. In hindsight, it would seem laughable, her idea that she could control any of what was happening.

“I think it’s a bit premature, but even if it weren’t, it’s actually his call,” Garza said.

“Are you arresting him?”

Evan moved more closely to Lissa’s side; she felt his warmth, his radiant calm. He said, “The family is understandably upset, so anything you can tell us—”

“Look, we’re just talking to him. It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Garza added, walking away.

“Wait!” Lissa trailed in Garza’s wake.

She didn’t respond, didn’t so much as glance back. She went through the door, and it snapped shut behind her.

Evan walked Lissa to the bench and sat her down. She put her face into her hands. She didn’t want to feel the panic that was trying to stand up in her stomach. “Tell me this isn’t happening,” she said. “It feels like déjà vu all over again.” Her voice broke.

Evan put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. He murmured things, nonsense mostly. She felt his breath stir the hair at her temple. It both comforted her and made her impatient when he said it would be okay. Twenty minutes passed and when the door opened in the wall behind the duty desk a second time, Lissa straightened.

Her eyes collided with Tucker’s; he lifted his chin, and his expression was at once chagrined and belligerent. But underneath, Lissa could see that Tucker was scared. Evan stood up and Lissa did, too, along with her panic. It made her feel light-headed and hot all at once. Her stomach rolled, and she put her hand there.

“Hey, guys,” Tucker said. “Can you dig this? That I’m back here again? It’s Sergeant Garza’s fault.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the detective. “She can’t get enough of me.”

“Tucker...” His name when Lissa said it was protest; it was despair. She glanced sidelong at the detective. Garza appeared unaffected, but who could say for sure?

“Don’t make any plans to leave the area, Mr. Lebay,” she said. “We might want to talk to you again.”

He raised his arm in acknowledgment. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” he said, but he was looking at Lissa and Evan. “Where were you, anyhow? You get that mess straightened out with Pederson? You guys know I’m sorry, right?” He shifted his feet, lifting the faded red Astros ball cap he wore, slapping it against his thigh, resettling it. “This?” He pronounced the word as if they had asked for an explanation. “It’s a bunch of shit. Big misunderstanding. Cindy here has got a bad case of the hots for me. She likes my company. Right, Cindy?” He turned to her and laughed, pushing the joke.

Lissa’s throat narrowed with the threat of tears, the heat of exasperation. Tucker did this when he was frightened; he made an ass of himself, but she could hardly explain that to the detective. She took Tucker’s arm. “Come on,” she said.

“Yeah, okay,” he answered. “I guess you better get me out of here before they change their minds and toss me in the slammer.” He laughed, but when he lifted his cap again, his hand was shaking.

Lissa led the way to the door, and Evan held it open, so it was her and Tucker going down the steps, shoulder to shoulder.

“When are you going to learn to mind your mouth, Tucker?” Lissa asked.

“It’s got nothing to do with my mouth, Liss.”

“Your shoes are untied.” She pointed this out as if it were important.

Tucker kept walking.

Lissa tried to catch Evan’s eye as they got into the truck, but he wouldn’t look at her. He never liked it when she and Tucker squabbled like children.

“You’d think someone from the media would be here,” Lissa said.

“Maybe we got lucky,” Evan said.

“Why?” Tucker glared at Lissa. “Because I’m a psycho?”

“I never said that, Tucker.”

“You might as well have.”

“Don’t make this about me. Okay? Tell me why the police are talking to you about this.”

“Because—” Tucker broke off, and Lissa heard him sigh as if he was reluctant but knew he wouldn’t get away without answering.

Evan glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

Tucker said, “I was with Chantelle the Saturday night before she disappeared, okay? I was the last person to be seen with her alive, according to the cops.”

“Chantelle?” Evan said.

“I thought you were in Austin,” Lissa said at the same time. “I thought you said you hardly knew her.”

“Chantelle is Jessica’s—it was Jessica’s stage name.” Tucker tapped Evan’s shoulder. “Dude, you should have seen the deck on her.”

“Tucker!” Lissa turned around as far as the seat belt would allow. “Please tell me you didn’t lie to me.”

“I didn’t. There was a party, okay? In Galveston. Before I went to Austin, I went down there with this other dude, and that’s where I hooked up with Chantelle. I didn’t want to tell you because you’d just give me shit about her.”

“What other dude?” Lissa asked.

“Hooked up how?” Evan asked.

“Have y’all been home? I bet Pop is beyond pissed.”

“Tucker, come on! This is serious.” Lissa hit the seatback with the heel of her hand. “There’s more to it than the fact you were with her, isn’t there? Isn’t there?” She insisted, because she could feel it. “Tell me,” she demanded.

“Okay, okay. Chantelle was into some kind of bad shit.”

“What do you mean exactly?” Evan looked in the rearview at Tucker again.

Lissa stifled an impulse to cover her ears.

“She did stuff just for kicks, like once she robbed a liquor store to see if she could get away with it.”

“And you were dating her.” Lissa didn’t bother hiding her disgust.

“It wasn’t dating, really. I just missed Miranda so damn much. Chantelle loved her, too. We helped each other.”

Lissa might have scoffed at that, but Evan cut her off, and it was just as well, she thought.

“The stuff she did,” Evan said, “you think there might be somebody who had it in for her, maybe bad enough to kill her?”

“It’s possible. She was hooking—”

“As in prostitution?” Evan asked.

“Prostitution!” Lissa was stunned, but then she wondered why.

“Miranda never went that far. I know how it looks—you probably don’t believe me, but just because you work for an escort service doesn’t mean you’re turning tricks. I tried to tell Jessica she was playing with fire. Looks like she got burned.”