Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery (39 page)

“Couldn’t get out of it?” Andres asked.

“Dinner was my idea. Ellen’s trying to be helpful. And she hasn’t been entirely wrong,” I admitted.

Andres laughed. “Mark this on your calendar, Victor. Kate said she was wrong about something.”

“And get this,” I said. “Ralph at the Business Channel went crazy for the footage we brought. We’re going to get a lot of business from him.”

“Wow, more shows about pretentious idiots opening restaurants.” Victor rolled his eyes. “Makes being a murder suspect worth all the trouble.”

I laughed.

“You guys are having a time.” Brick walked in the room with Russell. He was cuffed, legs and hands.

“Is that necessary?” I asked Russell.

“Just a precaution we’re taking with every inmate while we investigate Tim’s death,” Russell said. “I can remove them for the interview.”

“You don’t know who did it?” I was asking Russell, but I was looking at Brick.

“Probably never will,” Russell said. “But we go through the motions.”

Brick sat in the chair facing mine, waited for Russell to remove the cuffs, and then relaxed. “You got the killer,” he said.

“Channel Nine news?”

“That’s right. They said the police nabbed the lady, but I knew it was you figured it out.”

“I’m
smart that way. But sometimes I’m a little late.”

There was a slight smile, but it quickly disappeared. “I was sorry about Tim,” he said. “But from what I heard, he messed up with some people on the inside. Messed with people’s food—you know what I’m talking about. The guards found shit in his cell that makes people sick.”

“So that’s the reason.”

“You think there was another reason?”

I took a deep breath and looked at Brick. There was no emotion in his eyes, no warmth. It was as if a window had opened for a brief time and now it was closed. “Caring about people is a slippery slope,” I said. “But I couldn’t live with the idea—”

“You don’t have to.” His voice was firm. The subject was over. “Do me a favor, Kate,” he said.

“You want more books?”

“Don’t come back to Dugan. Don’t be thinkin’ about me or Tim or anything about this place. Just walk outta here and keep going.”

Most of my interview subjects ask me to keep in touch. Some of them just shake my hand and say good-bye. No one had ever asked me never to contact them again.

“Okay, Brick.” I asked him for one last statement about the death of his fellow inmate, something I could use on the show.

“Someone told me that when Tim was confronted,” he said, “he didn’t fight. He just opened up his arms and smiled. I think maybe he was happy to be done with all this.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t think deep down he was all bad. I think he had regrets,” Brick continued. “His mistake was not dealing with his present situation. Not facin’ the reality of it. You want to survive, you have to let go of the past. Let go of what coulda been.”

Andres turned off the camera. Brick got up and I did too. I shook his hand and held it for just a second longer than necessary. “I hope…” I left the sentence unfinished.

Russell handcuffed Brick and they left. Andres, Victor, and I just stood for a moment.

“
It will be a good show,” Andres said. “You got some great bites.”

“And Tim’s death adds a nice finish to it,” I said, trying to sound like a producer. “So I guess we got lucky.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“I know,” I said, “but someone will.”

We packed up the lights and camera. The guys loaded everything into the van in the parking lot. The wind was picking up and the temperatures were dropping.

“I don’t think we’ll make it home before the storm,” I said.

“I’ll drive behind you,” Andres said. “If that car breaks down again you’re going to need someone to take you home.”

I looked at my ten-year-old dented blue Toyota, the car Frank had said would last until our twentieth wedding anniversary. “Actually, you can follow me to the dealership near my house,” I said. “It’s time for something new.”