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After talking with Joe, I drove to the Hall and took the elevator to the sixth-floor jail, where I asked to see Wayne Broward.
Broward was in jail because I’d breached his chain-link-barking-dog-no-trespassing-and-that-means-you security system, and I was going to be at his arraignment in the morning. However, he’d never answered my question.
I pulled rank on the desk sergeant, applying a little pressure, and Wayne was taken from his cell past visiting hours and shown into an interview room. When he saw me, he called out, “Sweetheart. Give me a kiss.”
“Against the rules, Wayne.”
His guard sat him down in the chair and locked his handcuffs to a hook in the table. The guard knew why Broward was in lockup, and he asked me, “Do you want me to hang in with you here, Sergeant?”
“Thanks, Santino, but I’ll be OK.”
It was embarrassing to be reminded, but it was true. The man sitting across from me might have killed me.
“Wayne, I have a question for you.”
“Isn’t my lawyer supposed to be here?”
“This has nothing to do with your case. You’re being charged for assaulting me with a deadly weapon.”
He laughed. “Assault. That’s an overstatement, don’t you think?”
I kept going. “I’m sure that’s the position your lawyer will take tomorrow. Meanwhile, remember why I came to see you at your house?”
“Nope. Remind me.”
I took Tina Strichler’s picture out of my jacket pocket. It was creased but still recognizable. “This woman. Have you ever seen her?”
“Not that I recall. Refresh my memory.”
“Do you know her, Wayne? Have you ever seen her?”
“She looks familiar.”
Really? I felt a little spark of hope.
“Wait,” he said. “Didn’t you show me her picture before?”
I nodded. “Yep. I showed you the picture before.”
Was Wayne Broward really this loony? Or was his crazy-guy persona a well-honed act? I’d dealt with crazy killers before. And actually, Wayne Broward wasn’t as crazy as some of them.
I told Wayne I’d see him around and called the guard.
I left the Hall around 8:30 p.m. and made the drive home, the whole time trying to shake Dr. Tina Strichler out of my head, and not managing it at all.
CHAPTER 78
JOE WAS NOT in a good mood.
“You said you’d be home at seven, Lindsay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“OK.”
His face was stiff, like he’d been fuming for a while. Embracing him was like hugging a tree.
“I’m sorry. Did something happen?”
