Founder

Chapter 3-2

Luther nearly jumped over the reception desk with enthusiasm when the Sheriff stumbled through the front door. If he’d had to hear that damned bore of a prosecutor talk about trout fishing much longer, Luther might have strung himself from the overhead pipe in the bathroom with his own belt.

Grant’s pale cheeks were flushed and his auburn hair unruly, his broad-brimmed hat nowhere to be seen. The man’s eyes skated around the room, as if he’d forgotten why he was there as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. Luther moved quickly to intercept him.

“The attorneys—and Iris—are here about Virgil Rutledge,” Luther said, voice low. “You okay?”

Grant nodded, but still didn’t seem entirely present, not acknowledging anyone as he approached the reception desk. Beth glanced at Luther uncertainly.

Luther said, “Sheriff, Mr. Rutledge has been secured in Interview Room One. I believe Ms., uh…” He stared at the public defender, waiting for her name to drop from the sky. “Virgil’s attorney would like Iris to go in with her.”

“Actually, Deputy Breck, I’ve changed my mind,” the lawyer said. “I’d like to meet with Mr. Rutledge alone first.”

She smiled at Luther as she spoke, and seemed surprised when he couldn’t help but smile back. He was certain she knew his proper name (nicely played), and now he was determined to find out hers. In fact, he was so determined, it took him a moment to realize that Grant still hadn’t spoken.

“Shall I lead the way, sir?” Luther asked, hoping the rarely used formal address would snap Grant out of his fugue.

Grant’s eyes finally focused on Luther as he said, “Thank you, Deputy.”

The prosecutor stepped outside to make a phone call, but everyone else followed Luther. The Beecham County Sheriff’s Department was small. They only had one true interview room, halfway down the short, broad hallway, but sometimes used a file room or conference room in a pinch. A simple bench stood against the wall opposite the interview room, bolted to the floor.

Luther motioned Iris to sit, but she shook her head. The one-way mirror, a staple of cop shows, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the interview room had a small, high window in the wall with recording equipment installed inside, tucked away from angry, grabby hands. The window had an adjustable Venetian blind on the outside and was broad enough to accommodate a couple of people standing side-by-side. The officers used it for security purposes when the cameras weren’t on.

Standing by the door, waiting to enter, the defense lawyer asked, “You’ve turned off the monitoring equipment?”

Luther found himself smiling again. “Of course,” he said.

The Sheriff nodded his approval, and Luther stepped in front of the lawyer to open the door. Virgil sat with his back to the wall, wearing a blue jumpsuit and restraints, in a chair behind a bolted table. Deputy Gerald Hayes, a big sonuvagun with a neck nearly as thick as his bearded, blonde head, stood next to him. The room was so small, Luther stepped back outside once the lawyer cleared the entry. Deputy Hayes left her alone in the room with her client once he was satisfied everyone was settled and secure. Luther twisted the blinds slightly, just enough to see inside.

“Are you supposed to be doing that?” Iris asked.

“I don’t know how you feel about his lawyer, but would you want to be left alone with your son in his current mental state, with nobody watching?” Luther asked. He motioned for Iris to take a place at the window, and she reluctantly joined him.

Physically, Virgil looked healthy, more healthy than he would’ve expected. It struck Luther that, while Virgil was older than him, he and Virgil were probably closer in age than he and Adam. Deep lines in Virgil’s face contradicted an overall sense of raw vitality about the man. His hair hadn’t been cut yet, so it hung to his shoulders, but it had been washed, with shades of gray and brown and blonde fighting for dominance. Luther watched Iris as Iris watched her son intently. Her demeanor gave away nothing, but within moments she turned from the window.

“She’s wasting her time,” Iris said.

Grant stepped to the window, taking the spot she’d vacated. “Why? What do you see?”

“I can just tell,” Iris said.

Luther and the Sheriff observed as Virgil interacted with his attorney, or rather, failed to interact with her. The public defender’s back was to them as she spoke to Virgil, shoulders and upper body shifting slightly, occasionally using her hands. He sat immobile and never responded, just stared at the window, as if he could feel the officers watching. No doubt he could—anyone could—with their silhouettes visible through the narrowed blinds. But those eyes… Those damned, uncanny eyes of his belong in another world.

Soon the Sheriff shuffled over and sat next to Iris, and Gerald took his boss’s place at the window. Grant rested his head in his hands, as if massaging the back of his skull. It did nothing to improve the tidiness of his hair.

“What’s wrong, Grant?” Iris asked.

“I just left the hospital,” he admitted. “Dad had a bad fall this morning.”

“Is he all right?” Iris asked, before Luther had a chance.

Grant simply shrugged.

“Bonnie should have called me,” Iris said.

“I doubt she’s had a chance,” Grant said.

The old Sheriff Mason had been good to Luther, both when he’d hired him and in their years working together. Better than Luther had any right to expect. Luther said, “You know, I can handle this. You don’t have to be here.”

The ghost of a smile lit Grant’s face. “Thank you, Luther. But my mother is with him now, and he’s pretty out of it. They’ll be doing hip surgery tomorrow. His prognosis is good.”

“I’ll drop by the hospital later,” Iris said. “See if she needs some relief.”

Movement in the interview room caught Luther’s eye—Virgil was leaning across the table—and Gerald yelled, “Sheriff!”

Rather than wait for the man’s response, Gerald strode to the door of the interview room and charged inside, allowing Virgil’s yells to carry into the hallway. Luther followed quickly to the open door, but waited for a request for assistance to enter. With an inmate restrained in such a small room, Luther could easily do more harm than good by adding his bulk to the space.

“He’ll do it again!” Virgil’s voice was pleading.

“Sir, you need to settle down,” Deputy Hayes said, and motioned Virgil’s attorney to move slowly toward the exit.

Luther helped her through the doorway then stood, watching and waiting. The soundproofed walls seem to absorb the sliding, clattering of the metal chain as Virgil’s hands came together. He started to rise, but Gerald put his hands on Virgil’s shoulders and firmly pushed him back into his chair.

“You need to stay seated, sir,” the deputy said.

“But he’s not finished! You have to stop him, because he’ll never stop on his own.”

“Hey! I don’t want to hear it.” Gerald was an easygoing guy, but an edge had crept into his voice.

Luther was reminded of the moment when Virgil tried to reason with him in the cave on the mountain. But the man didn’t seem to have any more common sense than he’d had a week and a half ago. Luther braced himself, ready to move, until Virgil reached across the table and pressed his forehead flat against its surface between his outstretched arms. Luther let out his breath and looked to the other deputy. “You got this?”

Gerald nodded, and Luther went back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t understand,” Iris was saying. She and Grant were the only people in the hallway.

“Where’s the girl? I mean, the woman,” Luther stuttered. “His lawyer. Where is she?”

Grant inclined his head, indicating she’d gone in the opposite direction. Luther headed that way, knowing he didn’t have much building to search. He found her in the reception area, sitting in Beth’s chair.

“Ma’am, is Beth—”

“Deputy Marshall went to get me a glass of water,” the lawyer said. Her face was pale, except for two red spots on her cheeks.

Luther kneeled next to her chair. “Are you okay, Ms.…? I don’t recall that we were ever properly introduced.”

“I’m Faith Callaway. And you’re —”

“Not named after a haircare product,” Luther said, earning a smile. “I’m Deputy Luther Beck.”

“I know,” she said. “But you’re not quite what I expected.”

Luther, unsure what to make of that, felt a flush of his own and tried not to be distracted by it. “Did he hurt you?”

“No! Not at all. He just wasn’t…”

“He wasn’t what you expected either?” Luther grinned. He might not have Adam Rutledge’s dimple, but he could be charming when the occasion called for it. “If you’re going to stay in this business, you might need to work on managing your expectations. So what was all that about back there?”

She looked down at her lap and shook her head, hair swirling around her chin. “You know I can’t tell you.”

Before Luther could follow up, he felt someone behind him… Iris, flanked by the Sheriff. Luther stood slowly, ignoring the angry pop of his knee.

“What was he saying?” Iris asked. She was nearly as pale as her son’s attorney. “Who was he talking about?”

“I’m sorry—as I told the deputy, I can’t share privileged communications,” Ms. Callaway said. Then she softened and added, “Besides, trust me, Mrs. Rutledge, you don’t want to know.”