Murder in Montauk by Carter Fielding

Author:Carter Fielding [Fielding, Carter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bublish, Incorporated
Published: 2021-06-21T15:43:36+00:00

Six

The Montauk jailhouse was tucked away in a ramshackle Quonset that looked like it would blow away in a good wind. Any savvy criminal with even half a brain could easily kick through the wall or jimmy the lock and be out before the officers had a chance to park the squad car.

But Rachel wasn’t that kind of criminal. Whitt and Finley suspected that she wasn’t a criminal at all, just someone caught up in a cycle of circumstance and innuendo that led the police to claim her their prime suspect.

Captain Harris met Finley at the jailhouse promptly at 8 a.m. He was clearly in a mood.

“Come on in.” He unlocked the door and threw it open so hard that it bounced off the jam. “Let’s get this over with.”

He led her to a small desk and passed her some papers to sign. She scanned them briefly before signing and passing them back. He then knocked on the metal door that separated the office from the cells.

A solidly built woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun came out into the office. She looked to be forty, but Finley suspected that she was probably only in her early thirties. The cut of her uniform and the severity of the hairdo brought out a tightness in her face that aged her.

“Clara, can you pat her down and be sure she hasn’t brought anything in?” Harris nodded at Finley.

“Please step in here.” The woman led her to a small curtained-off area where Finley presumed body searches were conducted. When she had been patted down, Clara returned her to Harris with a grunt, nodded, and opened the metal door leading to the cells.

“You can have fifteen minutes. Exactly. No more, so don’t ask for it,” Harris snapped as Finley walked into the cell area. As soon as she was through the metal door, it shut, and the lock clicked into place.

There were three cells, all empty except for Rachel’s. She sat on the edge of a metal cot that was covered with what looked like an old Army Surplus blanket. A tray with non-descript yellow and gray mounds of food sat largely untouched on the small table beside the bed.

Finley tried to break the palpable tension in the room. “Not hungry?”

Rachel shook her head. She resembled a rag doll. A forlorn-looking, second-hand ragdoll. Her corkscrew curls hung in her face. Her face, still ribboned with tear-tracks, was now vacant of emotion.

“Rachel, we don’t have much time. I want to help you because I don’t believe you did this, but I need to know everything you know so I can figure out what the next steps should be.”

“Are you a lawyer? I can’t pay you.”

“I am. I’m not the kind of lawyer you need—but I will find the right person,” Finley vowed. “Don’t worry about the money. Let’s get you out of here first.”

“Why do you want to help me?” Rachel had moved away from Finley, seemingly suspicious of even her physical presence, never mind her motives.

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