by Nancy Allen
“No promises,” she quipped, but when she saw his face take on a hurt look, she backpedaled to keep the peace. “Just kidding. Nothing is as much fun without you,” she said. She leaned over and kissed his earlobe, nearly injuring herself with the seat belt in the process.
They had circled the courthouse twice, and Noah pulled back into the side lot. When he pulled up next to Elsie’s car, she unbuckled her seat belt and scooted close to him. As they kissed, savoring the taste and smell and feel of him worked its customary magic. He’s not so bad, she reflected. A guy who could kiss like Noah had a lot to recommend him. I could do worse.
With regret, she pulled away, and reached for her bag. “You call me when you get free.”
“Don’t go yet,” he said, and hit the lock button.
“Don’t you have to go back on patrol?”
“Not this second.” He paused, stroking her leg, giving her a look that was part entreaty, part devilment. “We could spend some time together right here.”
She gaped at him. “You want to do it here? In the squad car?”
He raised his brows but didn’t speak.
She sputtered, “You mean in the backseat? That’s where criminals ride! That’s filthy.”
“No, honey, we don’t have to get back there; no way,” he said persuasively. “We can stay right here.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You could make me feel so good.”
He unzipped his pants.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said flatly. “You want me to blow you in the front seat of a police car here in the fucking courthouse parking lot.”
“Damn, baby, don’t cuss like that; it sounds terrible.”
“I am not believing this,” Elsie said as she struggled with the door handle. “Let me out of this fucking car.”
“I don’t see what you’re going on about. We’re not going to see each other all week. Why wouldn’t you want to be with me?”
“Don’t you understand how offensive this is to me?”
“No,” he said shortly. “Why don’t you want to make me feel good?”
She turned away for a moment and rubbed her nose with her scarf; she feared that her anger would turn to tears at any moment. “What woman wants to have oral sex in a car? In a public place?”
“We don’t have to do that,” he whispered, taking her hand. At his touch, she relaxed a trifle, until he pulled her hand into the opening of his pants.
She snatched her hand away, saying, “Oh, shit, this is ridiculous.” Still fumbling with the locked door, she said, “I gotta go.”
“Now? Just like that?”
“Yes, now. Ashlock’s waiting for me.”
His expression was sullen. “I tell you I can’t see you for a week, and you won’t touch me, and then you want to run off. Makes me feel real important.”
“Noah, I’ve got to go talk to Donita Taney.”
“Okay, then,” he said, his voice frosty. He reached across her and unlatched her door. “Later.”
The hell with you, she thought. “Later,” she said, and slammed the door without looking back.
Chapter Twenty-Five
ELSIE’S STOMACH GROWLED as she drove down the rutted street leading to Donita Taney’s apartment house. Though she didn’t believe in fasting, she had missed two meals so far that day, and suppertime was fast approaching. Had she not taken time to drive around and fuss with Noah, she could have grabbed a burger, she thought with resentment.
The Taneys’ block of High Street looked forlorn, as always. A few splintered trees dotted the yards, reminders of a recent ice storm that had taken its toll on the pin oaks and maples. Smashed soda cans and plastic cups and bags, still visible in the waning light, littered the gutters and blew around the yards. Parking her car on High, Elsie shook her head. Winter is double ugly this year, she thought, and January is going to last forever.
Bob Ashlock’s shiny car outside the apartment house was the lone bright spot. Elsie hustled up to the house and through the door, left slightly ajar for her.
In the front room, Ashlock tested his recorder. Donita stood against the cracked plaster wall as if she faced a firing squad. Tiffany’s face was buried in her mother’s side; the child’s body shook as she wrapped her arms around Donita’s waist.
“Hey, guys,” Elsie said, forcing a cheery tone. “Everybody ready to go?”
“She wants some reassurances, I think,” Ashlock said without looking up.
Elsie locked eyes with the older woman, whose closed face could not mask her fear. “What are you thinking, Donita?”
“I’m thinking I don’t want to go to prison,” Donita choked out. “I’m thinking I don’t know who’s gonna take care of my kids if you’ve got both me and Kris locked up.”
Raising both hands in a gesture of protest, Elsie said, “Whoa, settle down, Donita, you’ve got the wrong idea. This is not investigative. We’re not interrogating you about a crime we’re trying to charge you with. I just want to be prepared for anything the defense attorney might try to do to you.”
Donita jerked her head at the detective. “How come he’s got that recorder?”
Elsie looked at Ashlock. He settled back on the threadbare couch, regarding the women with a disgruntled expression. She walked up to Donita and laid an arm on her shoulder. “You don’t want the recorder?”
Donita hesitated, as if she anticipated a trick. “No,” she said.
“Okay then, no recording. I can take some notes on paper, if I need to. It will work out better anyway; that’s my protected work product.” Privately, Elsie agreed with Donita. She didn’t want hard evidence of the interview that she would have to hand over to Nixon. Her personal notes were not subject to discovery by the defense.
“Why am I here?” asked Ashlock.
“You just make the place look so good.” When he didn’t smile, she said, “How about you ask the questions, Bob.”
Tiffany regarded Elsie with enormous eyes. Squatting to the child’s eye level, Elsie said, “Miss Tiffany, everything’s A-okay here. I see that you’re upset, but there’s no need to be. Can you go upstairs and play?”
Tiffany squeezed her mother tighter. Donita disengaged the child’s arms, saying, “You heard her. Go on.”
When Tiffany didn’t move, Donita gave her a little shove. “Get.”
The three adults took their seats in the room, Elsie joining Ashlock on the couch, Donita in the plastic chair. Ashlock locked up his recorder and was ready to commence with questions, but Elsie stopped him.
“Donita, I need to ask you something before we get going. Did you tell me everything I need to know about Charlene and those boys at school?”
“Huh?” Donita said.
“The defense attorney said something today, about Charlene taking back the accusation, admitting that it didn’t happen. Why would he say that?”
Donita pulled her cigarettes out of a black vinyl purse resting at her feet. “Yeah, Kris probably told him so. He made her do it.”
“What do you mean? I don’t follow.”
“Because there was a big stink when it all came out; school made me come up there, and everything. And I had to tell Kris about it. Lord, he was mad.”
“Really?” Elsie asked, surprised to hear that Taney would rally to his daughter’s defense.
“Mad at Char.”
“Oh.”
“Called her a whore. Troublemaking whore. Whipped her good. And told her she’d go back the next day and say she made it up.”
“Donita, why?” she asked, struggling to comprehend how a parent could make his child confess a wrong she did not commit.
“Because he didn’t want anybody looking at us too close, I guess.” She looked at Elsie through hooded eyes. “He never worried too much about explaining himself to me.”
Elsie turned to Ashlo
ck, who regarded her impassively. “I’ll contact the school,” she said, nodding. “The teacher who came into the bathroom can back her up.”
“You want me to call?” asked Ashlock.
“No, I’ll do it. I need to hear this account myself.”
“Okay, then, let’s get down to business,” Ashlock said, turning to Donita. “You know why we’re here, Donita, what we want to know. Did you or your husband manufacture methamphetamine?”
She sniffed and folded her hands. “Yes and no.”
Elsie braced herself. How bad would it be? Was Donita about to reveal matters that would take down her case?
Ashlock frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s true. We tried to, but it didn’t work out. It didn’t make.”
Elsie scrawled on the notepad: Didn’t work out! She silently thanked the heavens as her visions of Donita’s drug enterprise faded.
Ashlock relaxed a bit; when he did, Donita eased a little as well. “Tell us about that,” he said.
She rubbed her eye as she said, “It’s been a while back. It was Kris’s big idea. He said we’d get rich off it. Said we could take two hundred dollars and turn it into, oh Lord, I don’t remember how much money. Of course,” she said ruefully, “two hundred dollars is hard to come by.”
“How did you get the money together?”
“It took some doing. We sold plasma, all of us, me and JoLee and Al, even Kris done it. Sold anything we had that was worth anything. Sold our food stamps.”
White trash, Elsie thought. Taking government assistance meant for your kids, and letting your man use it for drugs. She tried to hide her disdain but couldn’t keep it from showing on her face.
Donita paused, looking at her and Ashlock defiantly. “It was bad, I know. The kids went hungry. We done without. But we scraped that money together.”
Elsie shook her head and said, “I’ll sure hate for the jury to hear that. About the food stamps. That’s taxpayer money.”
Donita turned on her. “The taxpayer? You’re feeling bad for the taxpayer? How about hearing your kids cry because they’s hungry? Them going to bed with nothing to eat and I’m thanking God the next day’s a school day so they can eat there. Or making supper for six from a box of mac and cheese, and mix it up with water, not no margarine or no milk.”
Elsie was silent. Bob continued with the questioning.
“What did you do with the money?”
“Bought the stuff. The drain cleaner, the lye, acetone, the Coleman fuel, the tubing. The pills was the hard part.”
“That right?”
“Yeah, because they’ll only sell you so many, and you have to sign a paper. Kris said me and JoLee should do it, we should always tell that we had a sick kid. He said it would look funny for him or Al to do it. A man wouldn’t be taking care of a sick kid.”
Soberly, Elsie made a star on the pad. So Nixon was right; there was a paper trail that connected Donita, but not Kris, to the meth production. Nixon would be sure to use it on cross-examination.
“So you got the ephedrine at the local drugstores.”
“Yeah. Took a while, but we done it. And Kris was so excited. He treated me real nice, like old times. Al wasn’t sold on the idea. He said there was easier ways to make money.”
Donita paused, looking as if she might say more, when Kristy appeared in the kitchen door.
“Mom, I got to have a spiral notebook for school.”
Donita rose halfway out of her chair. “You get upstairs.” The girl disappeared instantly and clattered up the back stairway.
Ashlock continued, “How did you know how to make it?”
“He had a friend who told him. Somebody he knows, who said he got it off the computer. Kris had wrote it down on paper.”
With a nervous gesture, she grabbed another cigarette and lit it. “I was to cook it. Rest of them can’t cook nothing. Kris put me in charge. I made it on the stove.” She examined her cigarette. “I followed the directions on the paper, did it exactly like he said. Cooked it and strained it and dried it. Exactly.”
She tapped the ash in the ashtray, rolled the cherry of the lit end around to remove any remaining fragments. “It didn’t turn out right. It was supposed to make crystal, but it didn’t. Didn’t turn. Lord, did it stink, though. Made the kids sick.”
Donita began to tremble. Elsie softened toward her, finding that she was caught up in the story in spite of her disapproval. She glanced over at Ashlock, but his face was stern. Donita’s tale of woe made no impression on him.
Shaking, Donita jumped up from her chair and walked to the window. With her back to them, she said, “God, he was mad. He blamed me. It wasn’t my fault.”
Elsie echoed her in a sympathetic voice. “Well of course it wasn’t.” She stopped short when she saw Ashlock eyeball her as if she’d taken leave of her senses.
“He must have wrote it down wrong, left something out. He said it was all my fault.”
She realized that Donita was crying. She shifted in her seat, wondering whether she should go over to her. Would Donita want her to comfort her, or would she prefer to pull herself together? “Donita?”
“He beat me so bad I can’t even remember it. I was in bad shape for a while. Messed my jaw up pretty good. I couldn’t eat for a long time. That’s when I got so skinny.”
She paused. Turning to look at them, she smiled a little, showing her stained teeth. “Guess that’s a good thing, anyhow.”
The comment left Elsie speechless. Staring at the woman’s gaunt face and the skeletal figure under her T-shirt, she nodded, mute.
AS LUCK WOULD have it, Elsie’s cell phone rang just as the girl at the Sonic Drive-In walked up to the car with her order on a tray. She looked at the phone; it was Ashlock. She answered, “Hi, Ash,” as the Sonic waitress announced, “Extra long Coney with mustard and onion; regular onion ring; extra large Route 66 diet cherry limeade.”
Ashlock said, “What was that? I can’t understand you.”
“That’s my grub, dude,” Elsie replied, paying the girl gratefully before taking the warm fragrant bag into her car. “Just looking at poor old Donita’s collarbone makes me hungry.”
“Where are you?”
“The Sonic on the highway. I would’ve invited you, but you took off like a bat out of hell.”
“Yeah, well, that woman gives me the creeps.”
“Hey, I’m feeling pretty good about this interview, considering.” She poked her straw in the cherry limeade and took a long pull. “She’s not a drug lord. She didn’t even do it right.”
“It’s still an attempt. Could’ve been worse, though.”
“Ashlock,” she said in a pleading voice, “you’re not going to do anything with this, are you?”
He was silent for a long moment before he answered. “Guess not. Can’t make a drug case without physical evidence. No corpus delicti. What do you tell the defense about it?”
“Nothing. I didn’t make an offer of immunity I’d have to disclose. We’ll just be prepared when he attacks Donita with it, and we can throw it back on Taney.”
“And what about Tina Peroni?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
“Think she’ll remove the kids?”
“If they took every kid away from parents with a seedy past, the Ozarks would look like a ghost town. Besides, this meth thing is ancient history.”
She could hear a dog barking on Ashlock’s end of the line. “Get down, girl,” he said. To Elsie, he went on, “I didn’t ask her about that licking with the extension cord, the one JoLee talked about. I thought you’d want to broach that yourself.”
Elsie tried to block out the image his words created. After a pause, she said, “JoLee’s not credible.”
The silence on the other end of the line made her uncomfortable. Final
ly, he asked, “You not worried about the kids?”
“Oh, Ash,” she said quietly. “I’m worried about them. I worry about them all the goddamned time.”
“I know that, Elsie. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Grasping for a positive topic, she asked, “What do you think about that valentine I found?”
“Now that’s really something. Can’t hardly believe you uncovered that. You’re a regular Nancy Drew.”
Elsie smiled with satisfaction. She squirted a packet of ketchup onto an onion ring then licked it off.
Ashlock asked, “You worried about a Fourth Amendment issue?”
“No search and seizure problems with this stuff. She gave it to me voluntarily. I’ve got my ammo ready with a consent argument: U.S. v. Moon.”
“Didn’t you say there’s another box of stuff from the house?”
“Yes. I’m keeping it locked up in my office.”
“Do you think that’s wise? What about chain of custody?”
“I have a closet in there. I’ve got it under lock and key.”
“Is it secure in there?”
Was it? Concern nagged at her. “There’s probably nothing else to find in there, anyway.” She should have burrowed through the last box, but she’d been busy and put it off. And tonight she was dead tired, but if Ashlock was willing to take a look with her, she would forge ahead. “Want to meet me over at the courthouse tonight? We could go through it together.”
“No. Can’t tonight.”
She waited, expecting him to offer an explanation. When none was forthcoming, she shrugged it off. Ashlock was not at her beck and call. “No problem.” I can do it myself. Later, she thought.
Elsie crunched into an onion ring. Ashlock asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m eating, fool.” She dug in the bag for the salt packet. “Jealous?”
“I don’t know. What are you eating?”
“I’m about to bite into a foot-long wiener,” she said. “You want one?”
“Got one,” he replied, and she was still howling with laughter as he hung up.
Chapter Twenty-Six
