between lawyers and their clients –
and comely police detectives! – Martin felt his
pulse quicken. His breath caught as the door
opened and he saw Anther sitting at the table.
She wore a bright yellow dress and her hair was
swept up into a sexy bun.
Martin noted her pretty yellow dress and tried
to impress her with his Dutch. ' Het meisje draagt
een geile jurk! '
She stared at him, and he felt the skin on his
face, wondering if his mother had somehow
transferred lipstick on to his cheek without
actually touching him.
An said, 'Sit down, Mr Reed.'
He sat.
'We found a body.'
'A prostitute,' Martin supplied. 'A meth
addict.'
'She was buried off of—'
'Abernathy Road,' he supplied. 'Have you
done something different with your hair?'
She patted the bun self-consciously. 'We found
a—'
'Rope,' he said. Why did they always have to
go through the motions? 'Tell me about your
day.'
'My day?' she echoed, her hand dropping to
the table. Martin wanted to reach out and touch
her, to caress her gentle hand in his, but the one
time he'd tried, An had threatened to Tase him.
Martin spoke openly – prison had made him
brazen. 'You know that I am in love with you.'
She gave a sad chuckle. 'Love doesn't pay the
rent.'
' Ik wil de hoer graag betalen, ' he offered,
thrilled at the way the Dutch tickled his tongue.
She sighed again. 'Mr Reed—'
'I'd pay your rent every day!' he repeated, this
time in English (he had trouble with Dutch
tenses). 'Oh, An, you must know that I adore
you.'
She colored slightly. There was an awkward
moment between them. Then another, then
another, so that it was more like an awkward five
minutes before she asked, 'Did you read that
book I gave you?'
'The Danielle Steel?' Martin had never enjoyed
flowery romances, and prison was hardly the
place to show your feminine side. 'Well, yes, of
course I read it. You know I would do anything
you asked me to.'
'She married a prison inmate, you know.'
Martin did not recall that from the plot at all.
He gently corrected, 'Actually, Marie-Ange was
already married to the Comte de Beauchamp
when she suspected him of murdering—'
'No, Mr Reed. Danielle Steel the author. She
married a prison inmate. Two, actually.' An
shuffled her folders, her eyes avoiding his.
'Danny Zugelder was the first, and then the day
after she divorced him, she married William
George Toth.'
'Well, that's kind of strange,' Martin said,
wondering how the jet-setting Steel would even
meet criminals in the first place. 'I bet her mother
didn't approve.'
'Maybe she did,' An said, smoothing down the
hair at the nape of her neck. 'Maybe her mother
said something like, "I just want you to be
happy."'
Martin had heard his own mother say the same
phrase often enough, but in his experience what
she really meant was, 'Do what I fucking say you
retarded twat.'
An said, 'I imagine her mother was probably
happy to hear that her daughter was in love.'
'I imagine,' Martin answered, though he did
not buy it for a minute. He certainly would not
mind Evie hooking up with a homicidal maniac,
but if it was someone he truly cared about –
Anther, for instance – he would certainly have a
great deal to say about . . .
Martin cleared his throat, straightened his
prison coveralls. 'Married, you say?'
An nodded, flipping through her file folders
again. He saw a photo of a decapitated woman in
a trench and quickly looked away. (The crimescene
photos were still the worst part of his
confessions.)
Martin asked, 'How exactly does that work, I
wonder?'
'Well, I suppose that they had the prison
chaplain perform the ceremony.'
'I suppose,' Martin agreed, even as he pictured
the scene in his mind. An would look lovely in a
white dress. Maybe they could get some rice from
the kitchen – or better yet, perhaps An could
bring some from home. The Latino gang running
the kitchen was very stingy, in Martin's opinion.
God forbid you should want an extra roll. He
imagined asking for rice would cause some kind
of
and comely police detectives! – Martin felt his
pulse quicken. His breath caught as the door
opened and he saw Anther sitting at the table.
She wore a bright yellow dress and her hair was
swept up into a sexy bun.
Martin noted her pretty yellow dress and tried
to impress her with his Dutch. ' Het meisje draagt
een geile jurk! '
She stared at him, and he felt the skin on his
face, wondering if his mother had somehow
transferred lipstick on to his cheek without
actually touching him.
An said, 'Sit down, Mr Reed.'
He sat.
'We found a body.'
'A prostitute,' Martin supplied. 'A meth
addict.'
'She was buried off of—'
'Abernathy Road,' he supplied. 'Have you
done something different with your hair?'
She patted the bun self-consciously. 'We found
a—'
'Rope,' he said. Why did they always have to
go through the motions? 'Tell me about your
day.'
'My day?' she echoed, her hand dropping to
the table. Martin wanted to reach out and touch
her, to caress her gentle hand in his, but the one
time he'd tried, An had threatened to Tase him.
Martin spoke openly – prison had made him
brazen. 'You know that I am in love with you.'
She gave a sad chuckle. 'Love doesn't pay the
rent.'
' Ik wil de hoer graag betalen, ' he offered,
thrilled at the way the Dutch tickled his tongue.
She sighed again. 'Mr Reed—'
'I'd pay your rent every day!' he repeated, this
time in English (he had trouble with Dutch
tenses). 'Oh, An, you must know that I adore
you.'
She colored slightly. There was an awkward
moment between them. Then another, then
another, so that it was more like an awkward five
minutes before she asked, 'Did you read that
book I gave you?'
'The Danielle Steel?' Martin had never enjoyed
flowery romances, and prison was hardly the
place to show your feminine side. 'Well, yes, of
course I read it. You know I would do anything
you asked me to.'
'She married a prison inmate, you know.'
Martin did not recall that from the plot at all.
He gently corrected, 'Actually, Marie-Ange was
already married to the Comte de Beauchamp
when she suspected him of murdering—'
'No, Mr Reed. Danielle Steel the author. She
married a prison inmate. Two, actually.' An
shuffled her folders, her eyes avoiding his.
'Danny Zugelder was the first, and then the day
after she divorced him, she married William
George Toth.'
'Well, that's kind of strange,' Martin said,
wondering how the jet-setting Steel would even
meet criminals in the first place. 'I bet her mother
didn't approve.'
'Maybe she did,' An said, smoothing down the
hair at the nape of her neck. 'Maybe her mother
said something like, "I just want you to be
happy."'
Martin had heard his own mother say the same
phrase often enough, but in his experience what
she really meant was, 'Do what I fucking say you
retarded twat.'
An said, 'I imagine her mother was probably
happy to hear that her daughter was in love.'
'I imagine,' Martin answered, though he did
not buy it for a minute. He certainly would not
mind Evie hooking up with a homicidal maniac,
but if it was someone he truly cared about –
Anther, for instance – he would certainly have a
great deal to say about . . .
Martin cleared his throat, straightened his
prison coveralls. 'Married, you say?'
An nodded, flipping through her file folders
again. He saw a photo of a decapitated woman in
a trench and quickly looked away. (The crimescene
photos were still the worst part of his
confessions.)
Martin asked, 'How exactly does that work, I
wonder?'
'Well, I suppose that they had the prison
chaplain perform the ceremony.'
'I suppose,' Martin agreed, even as he pictured
the scene in his mind. An would look lovely in a
white dress. Maybe they could get some rice from
the kitchen – or better yet, perhaps An could
bring some from home. The Latino gang running
the kitchen was very stingy, in Martin's opinion.
God forbid you should want an extra roll. He
imagined asking for rice would cause some kind
of
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