Page 7 of Dead Drunk (Cold Case Psychic #36)

Tennyson

Kaye was less than thrilled with the idea of being part of Tennyson’s covert operation. Ten managed to sway his mother with a promise to take her to dinner at her favorite restaurant. If she’d refused, Ten would have called Carson, but the fewer people who knew what was happening, the better.

When his mother arrived at half past ten, he and Ronan slipped out of the house and got into Ten’s SUV. It was blue and completely unremarkable, unlike Ronan’s cherry red Mustang.

“Are you going to be okay in the jailhouse? Every time we’ve gone into prisons, you have trouble with the evil residue the prisoners have imprinted on the building over time.”

“I’ll be okay in the jail. We’ve been to a bunch of meetings in the police precinct building and if there was a problem, I would have encountered it long before now.”

Ten was touched that Ronan was thinking of his safety and comfort, especially in light of the argument they’d had earlier about McGrath’s death. He owed his husband a huge apology, but now wasn’t the time. He needed to get his head in the game and be ready to speak to the spirit if it presented itself.

“Okay, so let’s go over the plan one more time,”

Ronan said, as he pulled out of their parking spot and into the street.

Ten rolled his eyes in the dark. They’d been over the plan several times already. They were each wearing jeans and polo shirts, to make it look as if they’d been out on a date.

“When we get to the station, we walk in through the front door like we belong there. You’ll flash your badge which should get us in with no questions asked, but if someone does ask what we’re doing there, you’ll say that we’re on our way home from a night out and you needed to pick up a box of old, unsolved case files Captain Fitzgibbon needs in the morning.”

“Right. Keep going,”

Ronan urged.

“When we get to the holding cells, you’ll tell the jailer that we’re working on a case and you need to get pics of the cells to counter what a suspect had said in his interview. If we’re pressed on why we’re doing it this late at night, we say you were supposed to do it sooner and now Fitzgibbon is on your ass.”

Ten knew the story was believable. People working in the station knew how intense Fitz was when he worked a case and no one wanted to cross him.

“Perfect.”

Ronan pulled into the lot and shut off the engine.

“Just act natural and everything will be okay. How long do you think you’ll need in the cell?”

“Depends on McGrath, but you need to stick to your end of the bargain about not revealing that you’re a cop.”

Ten knew it was possible the spirit wouldn’t reveal himself if Ronan made himself known.

“I promise to work as fast as I can.”

“Good deal. Let’s go.”

Ronan hopped out of the SUV and walked casually to the station door, which he opened and held for Tennyson. The night clerk barely glanced up before he hit the button to unlock the door.

“That worked better than I hoped.”

Moving quickly, Ronan headed down the hall, making his way toward the back of the building where the holding cells were located.

“Remember, be cool.”

Ten nodded. He wasn’t about to say or do anything that would get him tackled on the one yard line.

Ronan knocked on the door to the jailer’s office.

“Hey, Tim.”

“Ten, Ronan, what the fuck are you doing here at this time of night?”

Tim asked, wearing a knowing smirk.

“Well, you know, after Jude and Cope were here two weeks ago, Ten wanted to see the cells.”

Ronan winked at Tim.

“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 a tour?”

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 of The 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 was murdered, 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, but he stays 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 I thought we 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 assumed there 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.”

That explained where the fingerprint bruising came from.

“What happened next?”

“I started fighting back, but I was still drunk, half awake, and sloppy. The guy got in two or three punches to my gut which knocked the wind out of me. I fell to the floor and he leaned down close to my face. He whispered, ‘Night, night, asshole.’ He wrapped a hand around my neck and started to squeeze. I’ve never been so scared in my life. My heart was pounding and I struggled to breathe. My chest burned. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. The next thing I knew, I was standing beside my body.”

Stepping into the hallway, Ten filled Ronan in on the details of his conversation with Jefferson McGrath.

“Can you ask Mr. McGrath if I can ask him some questions about his murder?”

Ronan had his notepad in hand and was scribbling notes.

McGrath nodded.

“There’s nothing he can do to hurt me now.”

“You can come in, Ronan.”

Ten waved him forward.

“My name is Ronan O’Mara and I’m a member of the cold case team. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. Do you know who did this to you?”

“No, it was dark and I was focused on defending myself.”

Tennyson relayed McGrath’s answer.

“Go through your other four senses. Is there anything you remember tasting, smelling, touching or hearing? The tiniest bit of information can be a huge help in solving your murder.”

“I smelled cologne. I don’t know what kind. When I tried to shove the man away from me, I touched his hair. It was silky.”

“He could smell cologne and the man’s hair was silky.”

Tennyson’s heart froze. He had always loved Cisco’s hair. It was straight and always looked so soft, unlike his own crazy curls that turned frizzy in the summer. Had Cisco actually killed this man?

“Oh and there’s one last thing, before I blacked out for good, I felt a sharp pinch.”

“Ronan, he felt a sharp pinch.”

Ten turned back to McGrath.

“Where?”

Ronan asked.

“In my stomach. The man climbed off me after that and left the cell, locking it behind him.”

“Detective O’Mara?”

Tim called from down the hall.

“Are you still here?”

McGrath materialized in front of Ronan.

“I’m counting on you to solve my murder. So are the others.”

The spirit vanished from sight.

Ronan strode into the cell and shook his hands through Ten’s hair before doing the same to his own.

“We’ll talk about this later. Let’s get out of here.”

Slapping a dopey look on his face, Ten grabbed Ronan’s hand and walked out of the cell block toward Brad, who looked as if he were expecting a blow-by-blow of their sexy time in the jail.

“Night, Tim!”

Ronan puffed his chest out, once again fist bumping the jailer.

Ten did his best to look demure and embarrassed, when all he wanted to do was talk to Ronan about McGrath’s last line about their being others. Others who were killed in the jail? Others who were killed by cops? Both?

With his head spinning, Ten followed along behind Ronan as he ducked into the file room and grabbed an empty box. They strode back through the lobby looking as if they’d gotten what they’d come for.

One thing was for certain. There was no way Ronan, Fitz, or Jude could doubt that a murder took place in the Salem Jail. The only question was, if the killer was one of their own.