Sunset Beach(41)

“She’s upset, that’s all,” the man assured the officers. “We had an argument. She’s fine. End of story.”

Brice stared at the man. “You need to let us into this room. Now step aside and unchain this door or things are gonna get real ugly real fast. Is that what you want?”

The man unchained the lock and swung the door inward. “Fine, asshole. Come on in.”

The room had been wrecked. A wooden chair was broken and splintered, a framed picture had been smashed into pieces, clothes littered the floor. A nearly empty bottle of Johnnie Walker stood on the dresser. The woman was crouched on the left side of the bed, which was unmade. Her back was pressed against the headboard, her knees curled beneath her, with the bedsheet pulled up to her bare chest. Her hands covered the side of her face.

Her companion stood at the foot of the bed, his fists balled, chin jutting out. He wore light blue boxer shorts and black socks.

“Put your pants on, dipshit,” Zee said.

Brice approached the woman. He touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Ma’am? Could you look at me, ma’am?”

The woman turned a tearful face.

“Son of a bitch,” Brice whispered, staring.

He hadn’t seen her since when? Colleen Boardman ran with the popular crowd at Boca Ciega High School. Her parents had a waterfront house, she drove a cute blue VW Bug. Back then she was brunette and freckle-faced, with a pert, upturned nose and great tits. She’d been a cheerleader and class officer. Brice’s parents hadn’t been poor, and he wasn’t dumb, but he’d run with the greaser crowd back in the day. Skipped school at every opportunity, drank and smoked dope and generally raised hell. Half the guys he hung around with in high school had been drafted and sent to Vietnam. Brice had gone too, and made it back home, but too many others hadn’t.

Colleen Boardman’s lip was split and bloody.

Her eyes widened with recognition. “Brice Carter?”

“Campbell.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the dipshit, who was scowling at his partner as Zee searched his pants pockets for a weapon.

“Did he do this to you?”

Her gray-blue eyes welled with tears. She started to say something.

“Shut up, Colleen,” the man snapped. “You don’t have to talk to them.”

Zee shoved the guy backward onto an armchair. “Not another word outta you.”

Brice lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “Did he hit you?”

She nodded.

“Ask the bitch what she did to deserve it,” the man called.

Zee threw the pants in the guy’s face. “That’s it. Get dressed. You’re going to jail.”

“For what? We had an argument. Maybe I had a little too much to drink. Things got a little out of hand. Didn’t you and your wife ever get in a fight?”

Brice got up and walked over to the chair, staring down at the guy’s bald spot. “I never hit my wife. Did you ever hit your wife, Zee?”

“Nah,” the other cop said. “I’d never hit my wife. In fact, only pussies hit women.”

“Get him out of here, would you, Officer?” Brice said. “Call for a wagon to haul his ass to jail.”

“For what?” the guy protested. “A bloody lip? You don’t even know what she was up to here. Why don’t you ask her that?”

“You’re going to jail for aggravated assault, for starters,” Zee said, gripping the man’s forearm and forcing him to his feet. He took the handcuffs from his belt and clipped them over the man’s wrists.

“No,” Colleen Boardman whispered. “Don’t take him to jail. He didn’t mean it.”

“What?” Brice sat down on the edge of the bed again, lowering his voice, so the other two couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Colleen, this guy is bad news. He hit you once, he’ll keep on hitting you. I’ve seen it before.”

“It was a misunderstanding, that’s all,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re saying you don’t want to press charges?” His voice was incredulous.

“I’m fine. Really. Allen only gets like this when he drinks.”

“If you press charges, we’ll testify in court about how he hurt you. He could do real time. You could at least get a restraining order, to keep him away. So he can’t do it again.”

She shook her head violently. “No. Can you just, I don’t know, maybe get him to leave now?”

“Are you sure?” Brice glanced over his shoulder at the husband. Zee gave him a questioning look.

“Cut him loose,” Brice said.

“See? I told you. No big deal,” the man said, smirking.

When he’d unlocked the cuffs, Zee gave the husband another shove, in the direction of the door. “Get out,” he said. “And don’t go anywhere near her, you hear me? If you lay a hand on her again? If we get another domestic call about you? I promise, things won’t end like this next time.”

Brice was still looking at Colleen. “Officer, maybe you could give him a police escort, say, to a friend’s house, where he can cool off for a few days.”

“That’s a really good idea,” Zee said, opening the motel room door and pushing the man outside. “Come on, dipshit. Let’s take a ride.”