On the way, he called Ben, his cousin and sometime lawyer. Ben picked up on the first ring.
“Cormac. What’s wrong?”
Yeah, he guessed maybe he should call on birthdays or holidays or some time when he wasn’t in trouble. “I’ve just been pulled over by cops and I’m on the way to the police station in Rapid City, South Dakota.”
In the pause that followed, Cormac listened for background noise, but couldn’t make out anything that would tell him where Ben was, and what Cormac was interrupting.
“Okay,” Ben finally said. “How bad is it?”
“Don’t know yet. They say they want to ask questions, which probably means something’s happened.”
“And you’re the guy standing in the wrong place with a criminal record.”
“That’s what I figure. Just thought I should give you a heads-up.”
“Thanks,” he said wryly, almost but not quite chuckling. They’d had plenty of conversations like this before. Well, not just like this. More often than not, Cormac actually had done something that the police would be interested in. “And why are you in Rapid City, South Dakota?”
“It was supposed to be a job. Things aren’t going well.” Cormac blew out a sigh.
“Okay, if you want me to worry, I’m worried.”
“Let me see what these guys want. I’ll call you back and try to explain.”
“What’s Amelia say?” Ben asked.
He definitely didn’t want to talk about her just now. “Look, I can’t really talk. I just wanted to let you know where I am.”
“Do I need to drive out there?”
“No. Well, not yet.”
“Cormac. . .”
“Fine. It’ll be fine.” He clicked off before Ben could be any more admonishing.
At the station, Officer Frewer placed him in his very own conference room and offered a cup of coffee, which
Cormac accepted. Was desperate to accept. He didn’t feel sharp, wanting only to wrap his hands over his head and shut out the world. Amelia, what would she say, where was she, what was happening to her. . .
He waited another twenty minutes before the door opened and a woman in a pantsuit entered, a couple of manila folders in hand. A detective with a case, looked like. This definitely didn’t look good. Cormac straightened and was determined to be as polite and straightforward as he possibly could. He needed to get out of here.
“Mr. Bennett?” the woman said in a business-like manner. She was average height and build, maybe forty. Her brown hair was pulled back in a bun, and she wore dark-rimmed glasses. “I’m Detective Nielson. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Yeah, so I was told. What’s happened?”
Frowning, she looked him over. Sat across from him and set down the folders. “Where were you between three and six today?”
“I told Officer Frewer, I was driving. I don’t have any corroborating witnesses.”
“You sound like you’ve been questioned about this sort of thing before.”
She might have been making a joke. Then again, maybe not. He couldn’t win.
Opening one of the folders, she studied a page there. It was a show; she wouldn’t have come in without her questions already lined up. “You did time for manslaughter in Colorado?”
“I did,” he said, looking off to a corner of the room, wondering what he’d have to say to make this finish sooner. “Time off for good behavior even.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “What brings you to Rapid City?”