“Say no more. There’s no one back there, so you have the place to yourselves. I need a coffee. Will fifteen minutes be enough for you to give Ten atour?”
Blushing, Ronan nodded. Ten had no idea how his husband did it on command. He probably didn’t want to know.
Tim hit the button to let them in.
“Thanks, man.” Ronan fist bumped Tim as he headed for the door.
“Don’t mention it. My mother’s been interested in making an appointment with Tennyson for a while now.”
Ten grinned. Nothing was free, as his father had been fond of saying. “Text Ronan her name and number and I’ll call in the morning to set something up. On the house, of course.”
“You got it.” Tim grabbed his coffee mug and keycard. He left the room whistling.
“What happened to telling the jailer you needed to take pics of the cell?” Ten asked. “Wait, don’t answer that. Did Cope and Jude really get it on back here?” He held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Ronan hurried Ten into the jail area. “Which cell was Aurora’s friend held in?”
Third on the left.” Ten pointed. The jail block had ten cells, five on each side of the corridor. The set up reminded Ten ofThe Green Mile. Thankfully the floor tiles were a dull beige. “Mr. McGrath? My name is Tennyson Grimm. I’d like to talk to you. My friend Rhys James said he met you last night. I’m here to help, if you’ll let me.”
“Your husband’s a cop,” a voice said from out of the darkness.
“He is. Ronan works on the cold case team. After Rhys told me what happened last night we looked into what happened to you on the night you were arrested.”
“On the night I wasmurdered, you mean.” McGrath stood in behind the bars. He was of average height and weight. With green eyes and a receding hairline. He rattled the bars in front of him before returning to sit on the hard bunk.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Ten asked, knowing he needed to take things slow and easy. McGrath was already on edge where Ronan was concerned and he didn’t want to give the flighty ghost any reason not to speak with him.
“Sure, buthestays out there.” McGrath crossed his arms over his chest.
“Mr. McGrath would be more comfortable if you stay here in the hall.”
“You got it,” Ronan said softly.
Ten shivered as he walked into the jail cell and took a seat opposite McGrath on the bunk. He wasn’t a big fan of places he couldn’t voluntarily leave, but he wasn’t about to let his mild claustrophobia stop him from speaking to this spirit. “Can you tell me what happened the night you were arrested, Mr. McGrath?”
“I was a drunk,” he said plainly. “I’d been married for ten years to my wife Bethann. She was the love of my life. We were happy. At least Ithoughtwe were. A transformer blew near my office shutting off power to the entire block. My boss told us it would be hours before the power was back on and since it was already half past three, we could all go home, which was exactly what I did. When I got there, my brother Saul’s work truck was parked in the driveway. He was a plumber. I assumedthere was something wrong with our pipes, but when I walked into the house, Saul had her bent over the dining room table. For a minute I thought he was forcing her, but then she started moaning his name the same way she used to moan mine.” McGrath shrugged, as if he had nothing else to say on the matter.
“Is that why you started drinking?” Ten asked.
“Yeah, pretty fucking pitiful, right? I divorced her and she married Saul. The last I knew they’d relocated somewhere in North Carolina, near Raleigh, I think. They wanted a fresh start in a place where no one knew them or their story.”
“I don’t think it’s pitiful at all. The same thing happened to my husband with his first marriage. He nearly lost his job. He went to rehab and fought to get his life back on track.”
“I went to rehab a couple of times. My sister set it up. She hated Saul and Bethann for what they did to me, but Stacy being angry wasn’t going to change the past. After the divorce I drifted from job to job. House to house. Got arrested a bunch of times.”
“Do you remember what happened to you the night you were murdered?” Ten knew the medical examiner hadn’t classified McGrath’s death as a murder, but Ten didn’t want to do anything that would cause McGrath to stop telling his story.
“It was just a regular Monday night. Watched the Patriots kick ass on Monday Night Football. Had a bunch of beers and a couple of shots. I shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel, but to be honest, I didn’t care if I died. It would have been a blessing, you know?”
Ten didn’t know, but he nodded along anyway.
“I got pulled over by these two cops, Oliveri and Jackson. They knew me, had arrested me before. Called me a frequent flyer, which I used to think was funny. I took and failed the field sobriety test. They arrested me and took me to jail. I was fingerprinted, booked, and had blood drawn. Jackson walked me to the cell block and locked me in this very cell. Told me to cut the shit and find a way to get sober. I remember telling him to get fucked.”
Ten snorted. “I can’t imagine that went over well.”
“He told me to eat shit and die. I thought it was funny then. Not so much now.” McGrath shrugged.
“I must have fallen asleep or passed out, because the next thing I know, someone’s in the cell with me, wrapping his hand around my throat and squeezing the life out of me.”
