10
Colt
So much for taking a whole week off. Rather than making Deon spend a night in a cell, I’d let him out on the condition that he came in for an interview today. It wasn’t much of a risk. For the most part, Deon was a good kid. Plus he had nowhere to go but home, and his pop would’ve kicked his ass if he didn’t show. This morning, I’d talked to him for near on two hours, and he’d stuck to his story—that he’d left the van’s side door open while he carried groceries to the Baldwins’ kitchen, four trips so the door stayed open for a good ten minutes, and the cat must’ve climbed inside while he was busy. He hadn’t checked the interior before he closed the door—why would he?—and the first time he’d heard the cat was when Dawg was issuing a ticket for a broken tail-light cover.
Damn by-t
