Stumbling on Innocence – Chapter Three

Raylan stewed on the elevator ride down, trying to work out how he was going to approach 'Billy' and dissuade her from making any more death threats without appearing too threatening himself.

It might seem a moot point, chasing this when she was already in custody, but Raylan had no illusions about equal justice – there was a good chance she'd only get time served for her part in the drug bust. She was so thin the DA would have trouble hanging anything on her. She was a wisp, looking like she'd crumple with the first rap of the gavel, a defense attorney's dream client. A flash of her recent clean record and a nod at the daughter, tired, adorable, dependent and on display in the gallery, and what judge wouldn't be lenient?

But give Billy a gun and a reason and you had a potential murderer. Raylan fumed as he thought about it, how people could so easily forget that the smallest hand could still pull a trigger. If he could get a confession, it would add weight to the charges.

Raylan came late to the case, now labeled The Frankfort Murders by a local paper with a flair for the dramatic. It was the nature of the job for a Marshal, being last in, just ahead of Correctional Services. Rarely would the Marshals initiate a criminal investigation – normally it was follow-up work, fugitive hunting, court security, witness protection, and it was protection duty that Art assigned Raylan when the lead witness started getting death threats. The witness was just a normal but brave woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. She'd seen the blood and the gun and the gunman, had gone to the police and a suspect was arrested and then the threats started.

Raylan was present when one of the threats was delivered by phone and it pissed him off. He hunted through the police reports, tracked down some peripheral characters and politely asked a question with just the tiniest hint of physical persuasion. The answer was 'Billy' and an address; the cost, a few stitches and a handful of bruises.

Now he was going to finish the job – ensure that Billy was no longer a threat. Only it would be so much easier if 'Billy' were a big, hairy, mean Frankfort thug.

"Shit," Raylan concluded as the elevator doors opened. He considered going back upstairs and asking Rachel to ride along, let her handle it.

Then again, maybe some sweet talking and reason would do the trick. Raylan headed for his car, hopeful.


Art caught sight of the back end of Raylan waltzing out of the office again. He stood up quickly to chase him down but remembered before he over-exerted himself that he was the Chief and that meant freedom to delegate as he pleased. He stopped in the doorway of his office and called over to Tim, "Where the hell's he going? I needed to talk to him."

Tim looked up, not for the first time regretting that his desk was situated next to Raylan's, shook his head. "You're losing it, Boss, if you think he actually supplies me with his itinerary."

"Don't play dumb with me," Art snapped, finger pointed menacingly.

"Wow," Tim exclaimed, widening his eyes, "I'm having one of those déjà vu things."

"Tim," – it was a warning.

"Okay!" Tim threw up his hands. "I was going to say – before you interrupted – I suspect he's going to talk to that woman we arrested this morning. He thinks she might be the one behind the threats against the witness in the Frankfort murder trial."

"But that's been handled. She's in WITSEC."

"That's what I told him."

"Well, at least it's actually Marshal business…sort of." Art worked his bald head to a shine, thinking. "I didn't get a chance to ask him about the stitches."

"Did you really want to?"

Art frowned, said, "Go with him. Since you got yourself involved you might as well continue being involved. Stop him from doing anything stupid."

Tim huffed, "What do I look like – Superman?"

"Not without your cape, you don't. You forget it again? Now get going or you'll miss him." He turned and went back into his office, avoiding the peevish look and the angry body language and the follow-up griping.

"Yeah, I've got nothing better to do," Tim muttered.

Taking the stairs three at a time, Tim ran out the main doors of the courthouse and cut Raylan off pulling out of the parking lot. He slapped his hands on the car to stop from being run over as he threw himself in front of the Lincoln.

Raylan slammed on the brakes. Tim still ended up on the hood.

"Can I help you?" Raylan asked sarcastically after Tim slid off the car, opened the passenger door and got in.

"Probably not – unless you have a hot line to redemption." Tim buckled up.

When the car didn't start rolling forward immediately, Tim looked over; Raylan stared back.

"Tim, what are you doing here?"

"Art said: 'Go help Raylan intimidate that twig of a woman. I'm worried about him going alone. He might get hurt.'"

Raylan huffed, tipped the accelerator, turned onto the road muttering, "Probably not quite how he put it."

"Probably not."

They drove the next block in silence before Raylan broke first, saying, "This is ridiculous. I don't need a babysitter."

"So, let's stop for ice cream and you can ditch me again. I'm a big boy. I'm sure I can find my way back. Then I could finish my work and get home in time for a beer and dinner and a nice snuggle on the couch with the one good thing in my life before I take that snuggling upstairs." Tim finished his frustrated ranting and sighed, "Of course Art would put me on prisoner transport duty for life. But I wouldn't mind some ice cream."

Raylan switched subjects. "Things good with you and her?"

Tim looked over, frowned at the question. "Yeah." It came out defensively.

Raylan nodded, feigning interest. He got the one-word answer he was hoping for and figured that would end any discussion for the drive. Minutes passed in blissful silence then Tim decided to be perverse and expand on his answer.

"So far, so good, I guess." The statement was heavy with doubt. Raylan glanced over and caught Tim fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket, looking uncomfortable. "I keep thinking it's too good, you know – that I owe a debt I can't possibly pay."

Tim was being unusually open. Something was obviously weighing on him and Raylan couldn't help himself, he was curious.

"Why would you say that?"

Tim shrugged. "Did you see it coming when Winona left?"

The sting from that night had faded some with a little help from Lindsey. Raylan had thought about it often enough in an unorganized and unproductive way when he had time, but he felt it fortunate that he didn't have much time lately for soul searching. He took a deep breath, allowed the question, answered it honestly, "Nope, never saw it coming. Then again, to be fair, I wasn't exactly paying attention."

"I keep expecting her to be gone one day when I get home."

"You give her reason to leave?"

Tim shrugged again.

"Buddy, with communication skills like yours, I'd say you have nothing to worry about."

Tim gave Raylan an impatient glare and went back to fidgeting with his jacket. "I guess I just can't think why she stays. Let's face it – I'm probably not so easy to live with."

Raylan thought that was an over-the-top understatement considering Tim cleaned his guns on the kitchen table, then he grimaced when a mental picture of his old motel room rose unbidden from his memory. It stopped him from saying anything insulting aloud – it would be hypocritical. He settled with, "I always thought I was pretty easy to live with."

"Apparently not."

"Apparently not." The two sat with that for a moment then Raylan said, "I'm still not completely sure what I did wrong – at least 'wrong' by her reckoning." There was a heavy pause before he continued, "But hey, Art's going on thirty-five years, so there's hope. I keep meaning to ask him what drug he slips in his wife's coffee in the morning." Tim snorted and Raylan added, "Seriously, got any other explanation for why she still puts up with him?"

"Do you think he'd share his secret if I asked?" Tim wondered.

"If he does, let me know, will you?"

"Okay," Tim responded around a yawn. "So what do you think girls talk about when they're stuck in cars together?"

"How to drug their boyfriends," was Raylan's suggestion, yawning in response.

"I'd give anything to infiltrate one of their discussions, find out exactly how they manage to deliver a drug just by smiling. They should sell that secret to the military. It's devastating."

It was Raylan's turn to snort. "Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"Biological warfare is what it is," Tim grumbled. "I'm pretty sure the UN has a convention on biological weapons and women are disregarding it." He waved a hand. "Globally."

"But what sanctions could we possibly impose that would hurt them?"

Tim sighed, "Yeah, you got a point. It's hopeless."

The Marshals pulled into the parking lot at the women's detention center, shifted from personal to professional as they strode to the entrance.

"What are you going to say to her – ma'am, please don't bother the witness anymore?"

Raylan held the door open. "I haven't quite worked that out yet. I'll improvise."

"Oh great, this is going to be the highlight of my work week."


It was after 7pm when the interview ended, a full two hours of questions and answers and a different picture of a murder trial woven for them in the woman's tiny, husky voice. She was anxious to air her views. After she was led away by the guard, Raylan, completely confounded by her statements, stood staring at Tim.

"She believes what she's saying," Tim offered. "And she didn't deny the threats were from her."

Raylan didn't respond, just kept staring unfocused, his mind rewinding, replaying. He wondered how much of his confusion was because of her voice, an almost child-like quality to it, innocence at odds with her rap sheet. She claimed that Preston was a good man, not a cold-blooded murderer, involved in drugs but never in on the violence. He had saved her from prostitution, taken her off the streets, paid out her service though she was vague about how that worked. And now she assisted him with his business.

Raylan turned the questioning to the business then. She answered his questions when she could, but Preston kept her separated from most of it. She never met the people Preston dealt with, just knew that they were from Frankfort. She finished by saying emphatically that the witness Raylan was working so hard to protect was "just figuring to frame Preston and get away scot clean for murder herself. The two-faced, low-down bitch is trying to take over or something."

"How do you know that?" Raylan pressed.

"I heard talk," she said simply.

And Raylan, like Tim, believed she was being truthful as far as she knew.

"You spent time with the witness. What was your gut feeling about her?" Tim prodded, herding Raylan toward the door.

"I liked her," Raylan replied, finally focusing back on Tim. "Nice woman, seemed genuinely afraid. Accountant, educated."

They walked into the hall from the visitor's room and Raylan stopped and turned around, wheels spinning hard. "Why don't you do a little digging on Preston tomorrow? With such a good witness, I doubt anyone was very thorough with the investigation."

"No, Raylan – no. Why would I?" Tim asked irritably, thinking through his full day of work waiting and trying out another 'no.' "Just no, okay? This isn't even my case."

"I want to take a trip up to Frankfort and have a chat with Preston's business associates tomorrow. It wouldn't take you that long to pull a few reports."

Annoyed, Tim was only half-listening to Raylan's rationale. He was distracted by movement over Raylan's shoulder as a guard led another woman in jumpsuit and cuffs into the hallway. The two women stopped briefly to unlock another door and the inmate turned her head toward the Marshals. Tim recognized her instantly. It was such a shock that he couldn't hide his surprise and the two people facing him in that instant both reacted to it: Raylan started to turn to see what had caused the look; Loretta McCready shook her head, a slight movement, panic and a plea for Tim.

"Uh, okay, sure," Tim blurted out, reaching over and giving Raylan an awkward pat on the shoulder. "I'll take a look at Preston first thing."

Tim's behavior was so out of character that Raylan's attention was successfully diverted and Loretta and her guard disappeared into another room. Raylan pulled back and eyed Tim suspiciously.

"You'll do it?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, sure," Tim confirmed, shrugging in defeat.

"What?" Raylan demanded.

"What, what? I'm just being a nice guy." Tim brushed past, continuing quickly down the hall to the entrance, anxious to get Raylan clear of the building.


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