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She says, “Are we going to find any weapons in there, Mr. Coughlin?”
So no more Danny, and she’s speaking loud enough for the lookie-loos to hear. Does she want them to understand Danny Coughlin is a suspect of something serious? Of course she does.
“.38 semi-auto in the bedside table. Colt Commander.” He wants to add he has a perfect right to a home defense weapon, he’s never been convicted of a felony, but keeps his mouth shut. He can see Bill Dumfries standing by his trailer, beefy arms crossed over his chest, face neutral. Danny decides he wants to talk to Bill when he gets a chance.
“Loaded?”
“Yes.”
“Are we going to find any drugs, syringes, or other drug paraphernalia?”
“Just aspirin.”
She nods to the forensics guys. They go inside, carrying their cases. A cop with a videocam follows behind. He’s wearing booties and nitrile gloves, but no all-over suit.
“Can I go in?” Danny asks.
Davis shakes her head.
“Let him stand in the doorway and watch,” Jalbert says. “No harm in that.”
Davis gives Jalbert another frown, but Danny is pretty sure they have done this dance before. Not good-cop bad-cop, but aggressive-cop neutral-cop. Only he doubts if Jalbert is neutral. Davis either.
Danny goes up the steps. They’re concrete block, even after three years he keeps thinking his Oak Grove trailer is temporary, but there are flowers on either side. He gave Becky money to buy the seeds. He and Darla Jean planted them.
He stands in the doorway and watches the forensics guys go through his private space, opening drawers and cupboards. They look in the fridge, his oven, the countertop microwave. It’s infuriating. He keeps thinking, This is what you get for trying to help, this is what you get.
From behind him, soft, Jalbert says, “They’ll give you receipts for what they take for testing.”
Danny jumps a little. He never heard Jalbert coming. He’s a quiet son of a bitch.
In the end, all they take are his gun and a butcher knife. One of the forensics guys bags them and the other forensics guy photographs them—video isn’t enough, apparently. Danny has three steak knives, but they don’t take those. He surmises that their serrated blades don’t match the wounds they found on Yvonne Wicker’s body.
Danny goes down the steps. Davis and Jalbert have their heads together. She’s murmuring something to Jalbert, who listens without taking his eyes off Danny. Jalbert nods, murmurs something in return, and then they walk back to Danny. Curious eyes are watching them. Police visits aren’t uncommon in the trailer park, but this is the first time Danny has been visited by them.
Ella Davis says in a casual tone, as if just passing the time of day: “Have you killed others, Danny? And it just got to be too much for you? Was it guilt instead of publicity? Was the Wicker girl the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
Looking her dead in the eye, Danny says, “I haven’t killed anybody.”
Davis smiles. “You need to come on down to the Manitou cop shop tomorrow. We have more questions. How does ten o’clock sound?”
Just the way I wanted to spend my Saturday morning, Danny thinks. “What if I refuse?”
She makes her eyes round. “Well, that would be your choice. For now, anyway. But if you didn’t do anything but report the body, I’d think you would want to get this cleared up.”
“Done and dusted,” Jalbert says, and brushes his hands together to demonstrate. “Ten o’clock, okay?”
“In case you didn’t notice, your guys took my truck.”
“We’ll send a car for you,” Jalbert says.
“Maybe I should rent one from Budget and send you guys the bill.”
“Good luck getting someone to okay paying that,” Jalbert says. “Bureaucracy.” The pegs of his teeth wink, then disappear. “But you can try.”
Davis says, “Stay close tonight. You can leave town but don’t leave the county.” She smiles. “We’ll be watching.”
“I have no doubt.” Danny hesitates a moment, then says, “If this is how you guys act when someone does you a solid, I’d hate to see how you act when someone does you dirt.”
