what I saw. I ha d to go down once they found them. I didn’t think I would ever have to see something like that.”
His watch beeped. He waited until the food came out and took a few bites before pulling out a pill case and taking his three pills with water.
“You sick?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“If you need to take some time until you’re better , I’m sure—”
“No, it’s fine. It’s not that type of sickness. It’s the type that’s not going to get better no matter how much I rest.”
“Oh. One of those.”
“Yeah.” He took another bite of the sandwich. “So , what made you want to become a cop?”
“My dad was a cop , and my granddad was a cop. I have two brothers, and they’re both cops, too. Runs in my blood, I guess. Wasn’t what I studied for, though.”
He took another bite and wiped his lips with a napkin. “What’d you study?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I majored in 19 th -century American poetry. It couldn’t possibly be more embarrassing than that.”
She grinned. “I have a bachelor’s degree in dance.”
“Really? You wanted to be a dancer?”
“Briefly. But it was never really in the cards. I danced for a while, and my dad said I should get POST certified and have a job to pay my way through school. A couple years turned into a couple more and before I knew it, they made me sheriff.”
“You seem like you enjoy it.”
“Except for this, yeah. I do.”
He dipped a fry in a pink sauce and tasted it.
“How do you like it?” she said. “It’s a special fry sauce that I’ve only seen here. Barbeque sauce, ketchup , and mayonnaise with a secret ingredient.”
“It’s great.” He chewed for a moment. “You got offended when I was asking about Janessa before.”
“It was just hard to hear , is all. Sorry.”
He ate another fry. “If you get emotional or attached to the victim, it clouds your thinking. You’ll get a suspect, and you’ll want it to be them so badly that you’ll start seeing evidence where there isn’t any.”
“I know. It won’t happen again.”
He finished half his sandwich and gulped down the rest of the water. “I’d like to meet the man you thought was a suspect, if you have the time.”
“That’ll be easy. He violated his parole. When we searched his trailer we found some things. He’s being held at the county jail.”
“Then I want to stop somewhere first.”
14
The jail st ank like all jails did: sweat, urine, and the cleaning products trying to cover it. Mickey followed Suzan in and waited until she was done chatting with one of the guards. She led him to a small room.
“I’ll get him.”
A few minutes later, a guard and Suzan walked back in with a man in an orange jumpsuit. The man’s face was pockmarked, and he smelled strongly of mouthwash.
“ Casper,” Suzan said, “this is Mickey Parsons. He’s with the FBI. He’s here to help us figure out what happened with Janessa.”
“Told you everythin’ I knew, Sheriff.”
“I know. But he just wanted to ask a few questions.”
Mickey sat quietly, looking at the guard and Suzan. She got the hint and said, “We’ll wait outside.”
As the door shut, Mickey leaned back in the seat. He pulled out the package of cigarettes he’d bought at a convenience store on the way to the jail and procured the matches from his pocket.
“You want one?” he said.
“They don’t let you smoke in here.”
“No one needs to know.”
Caspar grinned and seemed to relax. “If you’re having one…”
Mickey lit two of them and handed one to Caspar, whose wrists were cuffed. He inhaled and held it a while before letting it out through his nose.
“ Four years,” Mickey said. “Seems kinda stiff for a parole violation.”
“Me and this judge don’t get along. Thi s judge here was the warden of the prison, and he just throws everybody in.”
“ Why doesn’t he like you?”
He guffawed. “I been dealin’ with him since I was kid.
His watch beeped. He waited until the food came out and took a few bites before pulling out a pill case and taking his three pills with water.
“You sick?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“If you need to take some time until you’re better , I’m sure—”
“No, it’s fine. It’s not that type of sickness. It’s the type that’s not going to get better no matter how much I rest.”
“Oh. One of those.”
“Yeah.” He took another bite of the sandwich. “So , what made you want to become a cop?”
“My dad was a cop , and my granddad was a cop. I have two brothers, and they’re both cops, too. Runs in my blood, I guess. Wasn’t what I studied for, though.”
He took another bite and wiped his lips with a napkin. “What’d you study?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I majored in 19 th -century American poetry. It couldn’t possibly be more embarrassing than that.”
She grinned. “I have a bachelor’s degree in dance.”
“Really? You wanted to be a dancer?”
“Briefly. But it was never really in the cards. I danced for a while, and my dad said I should get POST certified and have a job to pay my way through school. A couple years turned into a couple more and before I knew it, they made me sheriff.”
“You seem like you enjoy it.”
“Except for this, yeah. I do.”
He dipped a fry in a pink sauce and tasted it.
“How do you like it?” she said. “It’s a special fry sauce that I’ve only seen here. Barbeque sauce, ketchup , and mayonnaise with a secret ingredient.”
“It’s great.” He chewed for a moment. “You got offended when I was asking about Janessa before.”
“It was just hard to hear , is all. Sorry.”
He ate another fry. “If you get emotional or attached to the victim, it clouds your thinking. You’ll get a suspect, and you’ll want it to be them so badly that you’ll start seeing evidence where there isn’t any.”
“I know. It won’t happen again.”
He finished half his sandwich and gulped down the rest of the water. “I’d like to meet the man you thought was a suspect, if you have the time.”
“That’ll be easy. He violated his parole. When we searched his trailer we found some things. He’s being held at the county jail.”
“Then I want to stop somewhere first.”
14
The jail st ank like all jails did: sweat, urine, and the cleaning products trying to cover it. Mickey followed Suzan in and waited until she was done chatting with one of the guards. She led him to a small room.
“I’ll get him.”
A few minutes later, a guard and Suzan walked back in with a man in an orange jumpsuit. The man’s face was pockmarked, and he smelled strongly of mouthwash.
“ Casper,” Suzan said, “this is Mickey Parsons. He’s with the FBI. He’s here to help us figure out what happened with Janessa.”
“Told you everythin’ I knew, Sheriff.”
“I know. But he just wanted to ask a few questions.”
Mickey sat quietly, looking at the guard and Suzan. She got the hint and said, “We’ll wait outside.”
As the door shut, Mickey leaned back in the seat. He pulled out the package of cigarettes he’d bought at a convenience store on the way to the jail and procured the matches from his pocket.
“You want one?” he said.
“They don’t let you smoke in here.”
“No one needs to know.”
Caspar grinned and seemed to relax. “If you’re having one…”
Mickey lit two of them and handed one to Caspar, whose wrists were cuffed. He inhaled and held it a while before letting it out through his nose.
“ Four years,” Mickey said. “Seems kinda stiff for a parole violation.”
“Me and this judge don’t get along. Thi s judge here was the warden of the prison, and he just throws everybody in.”
“ Why doesn’t he like you?”
He guffawed. “I been dealin’ with him since I was kid.
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