Chapter Twenty Three

Carter approached the bars with heavy steps. The Bellevue jail smelled of bleach and mildew, and the windows, lined with bars and high on the back wall of each cell, offered virtually no natural light. Fluorescent buzzed overhead, which only added to his growing agitation.

Within the cell, Layla was seated in an exhausted hunch with her back to him. The bed she sat on was sunken in and its pillow lay on the concrete floor.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his booming tone low so as not to garnish the guard’s attention who was standing post near the jail’s entrance, which separated it from the front desk where a wealth of police officers were in and out, getting calls and drinking coffee.

“Yeah?” she said, glancing over her shoulder before looking away, gaze falling to the pillow on the floor. “If you’re not here about my bail or to let me know when Harold’s coming or to give me a shred of good news then I would rather be alone.”

“Come to the bars, Layla, I shouldn’t have to shout.”

“Why? So y