Page 114 of Sting
“You’d be surprised. What people aren’t looking for, they rarely see.”
Still concerned, Morrow said, “If an officer does spot you, he might shoot first and ask questions later.”
“If it comes to that, feel free to blow my cover.”
“At least you shaved.”
“Part of the hospital’s grooming and personal hygiene service.” His identifying scar didn’t show up as well without a scruff, so he hadn’t objected when the guy who’d given him the bed bath started lathering his face.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Morrow ushered them into the building and led them down a short hallway to a doorway with a wired window. “Take a look.”
Wiley and Hickam looked first, then it was Shaw’s turn. He tipped down the sunglasses in order to see better. Inside the interrogation room, two officers were unsuccessfully trying to calm down a young woman whose head was bent low over her chest as she sobbed into her hands.
“Linda Meeker,” Morrow said. “The girl who left the bar with Royce Sherman last night.”
At that moment, she lowered her hands and raised her head to accept a tissue from a female deputy.
Shaw’s first sight of her face came as a surprise. He had expected an entirely different sort. “She’s just a kid.”
“Sixteen. Barely. Turned last month.”
Shaw watched Linda Meeker’s apparent distress for another few seconds, then said, “Friday night while I was at it, I should’ve killed Royce Sherman, too.”
The other three turned to him, but he didn’t take back what he’d said.
Morrow covered an awkward silence by clearing his throat. “In here.” He led them to the neighboring door and entered a small office. “I share it with another detective. He’s off today.”
They crowded into the already crowded space. Morrow closed the door and began his explanation without preamble. “Linda Meeker came in about half an hour ago under her own volition but at the urging of a friend, who drove her here when they learned about the murder.”
“Who told her?” Shaw asked.
“They overheard people talking about it at the Dairy Queen.”
Nobody said anything, but Shaw, Wiley, and Hickam exchanged glances.
Reading their dubiety correctly, Morrow chuffed. “It gets better. All of what I’m about to tell you came from the friend, because Linda isn’t talking. According to the friend, Linda owns up to underage drinking, intoxication, getting chummy with Royce, and walking out of the bar with him. But she couldn’t very well lie about that because there are three dozen witnesses to it.
“From there, the story goes murky. The friend contends that she was waiting for Linda outside. Linda and Royce exchanged fond farewells and parted ways. He took off in his pickup. The friend drove Linda to her—the friend’s—house where they were supposed to have been all along. Linda upchucked a couple of times. The friend put her to bed. They slept until after ten o’clock this morning.”
Wiley said, “Then picked up news of the murder at the Dairy Queen.”
“Right.”
“Wrong.” Shaw, who’d propped himself against the doorjamb when they came into the room, left it for the corner of Morrow’s desk and planted his butt on it before he fell down. “That girl’s hysterical.”
Hickam said, “Understandable. The guy she was mugging with twelve hours ago has since been shot in the head.”
“I get that, but still.” Shaw conjured an image of Linda Meeker. “Her teeth were chattering. She’s out of her mind scared.”
“Of her daddy,” Morrow said. “He’s a preacher. Hellfire and brimstone. Live snakes. Like that. Linda and her friend attended last night’s Sunday evening services at the tabernacle, but I guess Daddy’s sermon didn’t take. Rather than going straight to the friend’s house to watch TV, they sneaked off to the bar. She says her daddy will kill her for drinking, much less for—”
“—tangling tongues with Royce,” Wiley said.
“Words to that effect. The friend says the reverend isn’t the forgiving type, that his punishment will be harsh. Even though Linda knew that coming to us was the right thing to do, the friend said she practically had to hogtie her to get her here.”
Morrow raised his chin toward the interrogation room next door. “Those two officers have been at her, singly and together, since she walked into our lobby and identified herself. All she’s done is cry. Sob. Hasn’t told us squat. Refuses to talk about it.”
Wiley thoughtfully pulled on his lower lip. “She’s a minor. Have her parents been notified that she’s here?”
