“Jordy’s your boyfriend?” Luke asks.

She makes a sound that’s something between a sneer and a groan.

“You want to talk to him or you want us to talk to him?” Luke asks.

“How about some medical attention, Lacey?” Henricks asks her. Then to Luke he says, “How’s that sound? How ’bout we get her over to the urgent care and they can—”

“She’s sitting right here, so why don’t we talk to her? And you know her name, apparently?”

“Lacey,” Henricks says, as if he’s ashamed to have the information. “Lacey Shannon.”

She shakes her head furiously. The gesture seems to ignite bone-deep pain throughout her neck and shoulders, so she stops abruptly, wincing and sucking breaths through her nose.

“Jordy . . .” she says again.

“What about Jordy, ma’am?” Luke sinks to a crouch so they’re eye level. “What do you need us to do about Jordy?”

She raises her head and stares right into his eyes. Given her battered face, it’s like being surveyed by a Halloween ghoul.

“Put him in a cell,” she whispers.

Henricks straightens. It’s like he’s recoiling from the woman and the obvious implication of what she just said. He’s given Luke more than one speech about how most domestic violence calls are “complicated things” and how there are two sides to every situation. It’s clear that the idea of Jordy Clements, a key figure in Altamira’s newfound good fortune, being accused of beating up a woman has Henricks’s shorts in a knot.

“Jordy did this to you?” Luke asks.

“Why don’t we slow our roll a little bit?” Henricks says. “Make this a little more formal.”

“Formal?” Luke asks.

Henricks seems to realize he’s speaking too casually in front of a possible battery victim. “Let’s get her into the interview room.”

Luke’s about to agree when Lacey says, “Jordy Clements is a bad man with hate in his heart.”

Nobody says anything for what feels like a minute. There’s conviction in her voice, even though it’s a little slurry, but the word choice is odd—it’s studied, rehearsed. Not the kind of furious and agonized string of accusations Luke would expect from a woman whose boyfriend just beat on her.

He realizes how many eyes are on them. The night dispatcher, and also the few new deputies Mona called in from county. The old storage room was recently converted into the kind of interview room you see on TV, and so far they’ve only used it twice. Before the new work crews rolled into town, increasing the town’s population by about a third, they’d conducted their interviews right out in the middle of the bull pen, or maybe inside the holding cell if the interview was sensitive. In those quieter, more peaceful days, there was rarely more than one person in the holding cell at a time.

A few minutes later, they’ve walked Lacey to the back of the station, past the giant fake ficus he brought in to pretty the station up a little.

There’s a small clicking sound as they enter the windowless, white-walled room, with its gateleg table lengthwise against one wall. The new camera system is motion activated; it starts recording the visitor’s chair every time someone opens the door. Henricks seems to jump at the clicks. No doubt he thinks Lacey’s bullshitting them, and now he’s realizing the trade-off for getting her away from prying eyes is that everything she says is going on camera.

Lacey settles into the metal visitor’s chair with the slow, methodical movements of someone with a sunburn.

“All right,” Luke says, “how about you take us through—”

“No.” It’s the clearest and most forceful tone she’s used since entering the station.

“I’m sorry?” Luke asks.

“Put Jordy in a cell, then I’ll talk.”

“He can’t hurt you in here,” Luke says.

“Did he hurt you?” Henricks asks.

“Put Jordy in a cell.”

“Ma’am, we can’t just go around arresting anyone who—”

“Henricks,” Luke interjects. “Lacey, why do you need us to put Jordy in a cell?”

“So I can talk.”

“About what?”

She looks into Luke’s eyes again, and the hair goes up on the back of his neck. “About who he really is.”

“Have you had anything to drink tonight, ma’am?”

“I don’t drink,” she says, staring at Luke.

“Any medications?” Henricks asks. “Maybe ones you don’t have prescriptions for?”

For the first time, Lacey looks at Henricks. Luke tries to read her expression, but it’s not easy, given her injuries. There’s a kind of disappointment there, it seems. Or maybe it’s guilt. He can’t be sure. Either way, she’s staring at Henricks with an intensity that suggests if her eyes weren’t both in danger of swelling shut, she’d be glaring daggers at him. No matter what happens next, Henricks has lost the woman’s trust. Why couldn’t he have waited a bit longer before resorting to good cop/bad cop?

“Is that a no?” Henricks asks.

Lacey turns her attention to Luke. “Put him in a cell and I’ll talk.”