Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Little Rock, Arkansas

Maxey Cayson had been brought into the interrogation at the Little Rock Police Department in the middle of the night, and he was not happy about it. His thinning brown hair stuck up in a wad on the left side of his face where he’d been sleeping, and his scowl looked permanent. He was smaller than Dudley had pictured him, hardly the type of man who could have overcome a big man like Charlie and created the carnage he'd witnessed in his brother’s garage.

Still…rage can fuel extraordinary strength. And so can drugs.

When Dudley and Jack sat down on the other side of the table, Cayson fisted his cuffed hands that rested on top of the table and shifted in his chair. As if they needed any reminders, the chains rattling on his leg restraints reminded them that they faced a dangerous man.

Detective Rafe White, who had briefed them, was on the other side of the one-way mirror. He’d said Cayson had a hair-trigger temper and a record of assault that went back to his teenage years. He been in a juvenile facility more than once, and had spent time in jail for everything from petty theft to misdemeanor assault before doing time in prison for felony assault and rape.

Jack led off. “Do you know Laura Sue Hilliard Stephens?”

Cayson’s jaw tightened. “What kind of fool question is that? ‘Course, I know her! She’s my woman.”

“She’s the wife of Charles Stephens,” Jack said, and Cayson’s glare was daggers aimed at him. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Never heard of him.”

Dudley slammed a recent photo of Charlie on the table, blown up so there was no mistaking his jovial face and the beard that had a hint of gray. “Does this refresh your memory?”

“Is that him?” Cayson was being a smart Alec. Dudley didn’t bother to reply. Laura had been standing in the doorway when Charlie threatened Cayson. Of course, he knew. “He’s one mean dude. Threatened to kill me. He ought to be in jail.”

Dudley’s own grief and rage threatened to swamp him. He found the man unbearable. “Did you visit his wife?” Silence from Cayson. “Did you try to get her to go off with you?” No answer. “Did the two if you plot to get rid of her husband so you could be together?” More stubborn silence.

“Did you kill Charles Stephens for your woman?” This from Jack.

Cayson shoved back his chair and jumped up, his body rigid with rage. “What are the two of you trying to pull? I ain’t going to prison for no murder!”

Ignoring the outburst, Jack cited the day of the murder and asked where he was.

“Picking my teeth.” Cayson sat back down. Smug.

“Is that your alibi?” Not a muscle on Jack’s face showed what he was thinking.

“I don’t need no alibi. I barely knew the man. Why would I kill him?”

“You tell me. I think you and Laura planned it, and you carried it out. If you can’t come up with a better alibi than picking your teeth, I see nothing to do but extradite you to Tennessee and let the homicide division of the Memphis Police Department deal with you.” Cayson paled. “By the way,” Jack added. “That would be me. And I’m already ticked off.”

“A’right, a’right. ‘Bout a week ago, I drove down there to try and talk some sense into Laura, but she wouldn’t listen. Just kept telling me to leave. Even had her nose curled up like I was a rotten egg or something.”

Dudley felt the truth in his bones, and he was quietly relieved that his brother hadn’t been married to a woman who wanted to kill him.

Cayson hung his head, and Jack urged. “Did you go back to Memphis two days ago to get revenge because she wouldn’t leave you, and Charlie Stephens threatened you.”

“No. I swear to you. I was right here in the city that hates me.”

“Doing what?”

“Man, I don’t know.” Cayson held out his hands, palms up. A conciliatory gesture. “Ever since Laura Sue had me hauled off to jail, I’ve been doing drugs. One day’s just like the next, a fuzzy blur where it don’t matter what happens. It’s all the same to me.”

“Was anybody with you?”

“Yeah, man. This gal I met at Sleuter’s Bar. Bitsy something or other.”

“Does she work there?”

“The night shift. Off and on.”

Dudley leaned across the table. “Tell me again. Did you kill Charles Stephens in Memphis, Tennessee?”

Cayson hung his head and slumped his shoulders, the posture of a guilty man. Was he about to confess?