all the rest And the tape recorder proves that Bob Schneider thought he was talking to Vanessa Singer just before he died. Now you and your lawyer can figure out how you’re going to answer that coincidence and see if you can explain how the gun with your fingerprints on it wound up back in Hunter’s apartment after Doug Sanders’ murder.” Miki stood abruptly, shaking, a trapped look on her face. “I’m getting out of here.” “You are not free to go. You are only free to call your lawyer.” Grayson shoved the telephone toward her. She sat back down, and somewhere behind the tears and the terror, Grayson saw the college kid Hunter had brought with him to Beaufort. Grayson did not look back as he walked out of the room. Maybe that kid would be grateful to know that she’d been a sacrifice. She had bought a few more days of freedom for Hunter. It wasn’t likely another agency would arrest Hunter for the same murder for which Grayson had arrested Miki. Not just yet, anyway. And all Grayson needed was a little more time. * * * “You have no cause to hold her without bond.” Jack Franklin’s voice was loud, and it exploded through the hallways of the county courthouse. “I have her prints on the probable murder weapon.” “You have Kittrell’s too.” “It was his gun. His prints should have been on it, and he has an alibi. She has yet to explain why she had the gun or where she was the night Doug Sanders died.” “Let’s hear you explain where you got the gun.” “You’ll find out at the bond hearing Tuesday.” “You cannot hold that girl four days on such load-of-crap evidence.” “Wanna bet?” “Yeah, I’ll bet.” Jack’s face was contorted with rage. He was standing close, and he pushed at Grayson’s chest with his knuckles. “I’ll bet her daddy’s big city lawyers will have her out of your dinky jail before the sun sets on this town.” Grayson held his ground. “And I’ll bet even your good old boy judge will throw you and your evidence out of court two seconds after you stumble in. And I’ll bet the national news will call you the South’s stupidest police chief while I arrest your cocky little Kittrell friend and, by God, his ass won’t see daylight again until doomsday.” “You might not be so quick to bet,” Grayson said in a carefully controlled voice, “if you knew how high the stakes really are.” And then he turned slowly and walked away. Sheri Wren Haymore lives near Mt. Airy with her husband, Clyde, and has been scribbling her entire life. A DEEPER CUT is her second novel. To read the next installment in the book, pick up the latest issue of Surry Living Magazine. You can find A DEEPER CUT at Pages in Mt. Airy, Chapters in Galax or at your favorite online bookseller.
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