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As he headed toward the door, Drex caught him by the arm and whipped him around. “I beg you to reconsider.”
“Let go of me.” He tried to break free of Drex’s grasp, but Drex held on. “Twenty-four hours.”
“Let go, or I’ll have you held on an assault charge.”
“Charge me with whatever the fuck you want,” Drex shouted. “I’ll face the judge and plead guilty to anything you throw at me. Tomorrow. But I need today.”
Rudkowski worked his arm free. “Your plans for today are an arraignment.” He turned and opened the door.
Drex charged after him, bumping into Locke, who was on the other side of the threshold. He caught Drex in a bear hug, which Drex tried to escape with the fury of a madman. Locke ordered him to calm down. Drex only struggled harder to go after Rudkowski.
When Rudkowski reached the corner of an intersecting hallway, he glanced over his shoulder and shot Drex a triumphant grin.
“Don’t do it, Bill!”
Rudkowski went out of sight around the corner.
Drex’s head dropped forward. “The bastard’s really going to do it.”
The detective backed him against the wall and propped him there, keeping his hands on his shoulders. “If I release you, are you going to do something crazy?”
Drex shook his bowed head.
Gradually Locke eased his hold, then lowered his hands. “I take it you got nowhere.”
“He wouldn’t budge.”
“Did you really expect him to?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t go better for you.”
Drex raised his head, winked, and flashed a grin. “It went perfect.”
Chapter 37
Jasper had learned on the morning news the name of Drex Easton’s buddy whom he’d assaulted. Gifford Lewis was in guarded condition, but expected to survive the seemingly random and unwarranted attack.
“It was neither random nor unwarranted,” Jasper argued with the motel room TV.
Lewis was a ten-second mention. Much more to-do was made of the woman who’d been fatally attacked without any apparent motive. The reporter droned on and on about what a wonderful person Sara Barker had been. There were heartrending pictures of her surrounded by her children and husband, all smiling sunnily.
Jasper noted that a victim of unprovoked violence was never remembered as being a wretched reprobate, a cheat and liar, a subhuman leech on society whom the world was well rid of. They were always eulogized as self-sacrificing saints.
“Call me cynical.”
After watching the broadcasts, he spent the remainder of the morning making preparations to leave Charleston. But as noon approached, he grew eager to hear more about the havoc he’d wrought.
He tuned in just as the news was coming on the air. One of the anchors said, “Our own Kelly Conroe is coming to us live with an interview with a lead investigator. She files this exclusive report. Kelly, what’s the latest?”
The blond reporter’s mouth was a slash of carmine lipstick, which, in Jasper’s opinion, was an unpleasing distraction.
“I’m here with FBI Special Agent William Rudkowski, who is assisting local authorities with their investigation into the murder of Elaine Conner, whose body washed ashore the night before last.”
The camera shot widened to include a man who appeared to be in his late fifties, nothing remarkable about his appearance, although his stance indicated the bellicose attitude of a man who thought highly of himself, probably as overcompensation for insecurities and shortcomings.
The reporter asked him to explain the FBI’s involvement.
