Free Sugar and Spite by G. A. McKevett Page B

he continued in that lifeless voice as he pulled Dirk’s hands behind him and snapped the cuffs in place around his wrists. “You have the right to remain silent…”
    “You’re cuffing him?” Savannah said, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re arresting him and adding insult to injury by putting cuffs on him? He’s a cop, for heaven’s sake. He’s one of the good guys. What are you doing?”
    Even as she spoke the words, a quiet, less emotional, voice inside her head told her that if she’d had the unpleasant duty of arresting Dirk Coulter for murder, she would have cuffed him, too. The guy was known for having a temper and getting a bit physical when he felt he was being treated badly.
    But for some reason, Dirk wasn’t reacting much at all. He simply stood there, stoic, accepting his fate. Strange behavior for the fellow who roared with rage if McDonald’s gave him a hamburger instead of his double cheeseburger, skimped on his super fries or put too much ice in his Coke.
    Dirk had never had a problem defending himself before. Usually, his demeanor was that of a cranky bulldog. This wasn’t the time to lie down, roll over, and play dead like an obedient cocker spaniel.
    Savannah waited for Hillquist to finish his Miranda litany; then she jumped in, feet first. “Lawyer up, buddy. Don’t say a word until you’ve talked to Larry Bostwick. Call him right now.”
    She turned to Hillquist and Jeffries. “He gets his phone call now! Right this minute! He’s calling his attorney, and he doesn’t have anything to say until then.”
    “I think you’d better get out of here, Reid,” Hillquist said, his previously lifeless shark eyes lit with a strange light. Savannah recognized unadulterated hate when she saw it. “You drove him here. Your job’s done. Now get lost.”
    Savannah gave him a sickly sweet smile. “And you, my beloved former chief, may go to hell in a handbasket. You’re arresting Dirk prematurely, and you know it. The only reason is because the press has already decided he’s guilty and with your mayoral election coming up, you want to look good in print. The best thing for you and the department was to prove that your fellow cop was innocent. But since you couldn’t do that in five minutes, the next best thing is to prove how tough you are, willing to take down one of your own if necessary. That plays pretty good, too, huh?”
    Jeffries walked over to her and placed his hand around her upper arm. He squeezed her biceps and she was mildly satisfied to see the slight look of surprise cross his face. She had inherited Granny Reid’s stout physique. Her biceps were better than those of most guys she knew.
    “You heard the chief,” he said. “Time for you to go.”
    “Take your hand off me, and I’ll leave,” she said, imitating Hillquist’s deadly quiet voice.
    He did, quickly, and she turned to walk to the door. She paused, hand on the knob, and looked back at Dirk. More than anything else he looked tired… absolutely exhausted, empty, defeated. “Call Larry Bostwick,” she told him. Then she gave the chief and the lieutenant one of her snottiest, nanny-nanny-boo-boo looks. “Never mind. I’ll call him for you. From my cell phone in the car. He’ll be here in ten minutes.” To Dirk she added, “Don’t say anything. Not a word, you hear me?”
    Dirk nodded. It wasn’t much, but she had a feeling he had heard her and, even in his compromised mental/emotional state, she believed he understood.
    “It’s been lovely, gentlemen,” she said as she passed out the door. “But I have a few calls to make… and I should have a word or two with the press before I leave.”
    “You watch what you say, Reid,” Hillquist called after her, all pretense of nonchalance gone. “You’d better not—”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah, and your mother looks like she fell outta the ugly tree and hit every limb on the way down.”
     
    * * *
     
    Savannah decided not to say anything to the