Free Killer Fudge (A Callahan Garrity Short Story) (Callahan Garrity Mysteries) by Mary Kay Andrews, Kathy Hogan Trocheck Page A

mother riding
shotgun with me to the cop shop. "I may need you to do some phone
work for me," I said tactfully. "Stay here and I'll call you after
I know if they intend to keep him."
    She pooched out her lower lip, took another
drag on her cigarette, and regarded me through narrowed eyes. "I
know a brush-off when I hear one."
    As luck would have it, the only soul occupying
the homicide detective's office was a friendly face, Bucky Deavers,
an old friend from my days as a burglary detective.
    We traded good-natured insults, then I got
down to business. "I'm looking for information on the Merritt Ragan
homicide. I'm working for the kid you picked up and charged this
morning. His grandmother, Ruby, is one of my House Mouse
girls."
    Bucky leafed through some papers in a box of
reports on his desk. "Oh yeah. Merritt Ragan. He's the old dude over
off of Hooper Avenue. Kid came in the house, saw all this money,
bopped him on the head, took the money, and split."
    I reached over and plucked the report from his
hands. "I doubt that the report says that."
    He leaned back in the chair and folded his
hands behind his neck. “Read it and weep," he said. "The kid did
it, Callahan. His fingerprints are all over the kitchen and the
murder weapon. Which was one of those heavy old-fashioned irons, by
the way."
    “Darius worked there," I said. "Yard man. And
Ragan invited him in all the time. He probably saw the iron some
other time and picked it up to ask about it."
    “He's got a sheet," Bucky said. "Did time at
the Youth Detention Center up in Alto for burglary and
assault."
    '"Misspent youth," I said, scanning the
report. "He's lived with his grandma for a year, cleaned up his
act, works all the time, goes to church regular. He's a new
kid."
    “He's a rotten little killer," Bucky said. "We
found the cash on him, six hundred dollar bills. Had it stashed in
his Air Jordans. He admitted he took it from Ragan."
    "What?" I said, startled. "His grandmother
doesn't know about any confession."
    "Grannies don't know a lot of stuff," Bucky
said, a touch too smugly. "Your friend Darius says he went to the
house yesterday afternoon to see about getting paid early. He says
he went in, saw a bunch of money laying around by the front door,
and left."
    "But he doesn't admit he killed the old
man."
    "Not yet," Bucky said. "But we know he did it,
and he knows it too. Homicide in commission of another felony.
Robbery. He's seventeen now, eighteen next month. We can try him as
an adult. The DA's looking at the death penalty."
    I sat up straight at the mention of Old
Sparky, which is what they call Georgia's electric chair, the one
they keep warmed up down at the state prison at Jackson. "Jesus,
Bucky! The death penalty?"
    He was suddenly busy tidying things on his
desktop. "I saw the grandmother this morning when we picked the kid
up. Nice lady. She's lucky Darius didn't turn on her."
    I stood up to leave. "Ruby knows the kid and
she says he didn't do it. That's enough for me. Can you get me in
to see him?"
    Darius Greene wasn't overjoyed to see me. He
was slumped over in a chair when the guard escorted me into the
visiting area. Long, blue-clad legs stretched out in front of him.
He had one of those trick haircuts the kids were into lately, with
the hair shaved to the scalp in the back, moderating to a wedge
shape that angled sharply to the left.
    "Darius, I'm Callahan. Your grandmother works
for me. She thinks I can help you."
    He cocked his head to the side and ran a
practiced eye over me, then turned his attention back to the
floor.
    "You're the one who keep Grandmama washing
toilets," he said tonelessly. "How're you gonna help me? Gimme some
toilets to scrub?"
    I felt my face flush hot with guilt. And then
I got mad. "I'm the one who takes your grandmama to the hospital
when her blood pressure goes up. I'm the one sees she gets paid a
decent wage for her work, so she can buy fancy basketball shoes for
some snot-nosed kid she loves. And I'm also a former