I parked out in front of the jail, across the lot from the Santa Teresa County Sheriff's Department with its fleet of black-and-white s. I moved up the walk and pushed through the front door into the small reception area, approaching the L-shaped counter with the glass partition along the top. I'd done an overnight at the jail nearly six weeks before and I was glad to be returning in a legitimate guise. It felt much better walking in the front door than it had going in the back in the company of an arresting officer.

I signed in at the desk and filled out a jail visitation pass. The woman at the counter took the information and disappeared from the window. I waited in the lobby, perusing the bulletin board while she called down for someone to bring Curtis up to the interview room. On the wall near the pay phone, all the better bail bondsmen were listed, along with the Santa Teresa taxicab companies. Getting yourself arrested is usually an unexpected piece of misery. Once your bail's been posted, if your car's been impounded, you find yourself stuck out in the boonies-an added element of distress after a night of humiliations.

The woman behind the counter caught my attention. "Your client's coming up in a minute. Booth two."

"Thanks."

I traversed the short hallway and passed through the door leading to the visitors' booths. There were only three in that section, set up so that inmates could confer in private with their attorneys, probation officers, or anyone else they had a legitimate reason to consult. I let myself into the second "room," which was maybe four feet wide, furnished with a glass window, a four-foot length of counter, and a footrail of the sort you'd find in a bar. I hied myself up to the counter and put my foot up, leaning on my elbows. Beyond the glass was a roomette that mirrored the one I was in, with a door in the back wall through which the inmates were brought. Within minutes, the door opened and Curtis McIntyre was ushered in. He seemed puzzled at the unscheduled visit, perplexed at the sight of me when he'd probably expected his attorney.

He was twenty-eight, lean and long-waisted with hips so narrow they hardly held his pants up. He looked good in jail blues. His shirt was short-sleeved, showing long, smooth arms, the perfect epidermal canvas for a dragon tattoo. My guess was that somebody'd once told Curtis he had soulful eyes because he seemed determined to make deep, meaningful eye contact with me. He was clean-shaven, with an innocent-looking face (for a convicted felon). His hair was ill cut, which was no big surprise as the man had been in jail for months. I didn't picture his having a regular salon cut and blow-dry in the best of circumstances.

I introduced myself, explaining my purpose, which was to get his written statement. "From Mr. Shine's notes, I gather you met David Barney in a holding cell the first night after his arrest."

"You single?"

I checked behind me. "Who, me?"

He smiled the kind of smile you'd have to practice in the mirror, eyes boring into mine. "You heard me."

"What's that got to do with it?"

His voice softened to the coaxing tone reserved for stray dogs and women. "Come on. Just tell me. I'm a nice guy."

I said, "I'm sure you're very nice, but it's none of your business."

This amused him. "How come you're afraid to answer? Are you attracted to me? Because I'm attracted to you."

"Well, you're very forthcoming and I appreciate that, Curtis. Uh, now, could you tell me about the time you spent with David Barney?"

He smiled faintly. "All business. I like that. You take yourself serious."

"That's right. And I hope you'll take me serious, too."

He cleared his throat, sobering, clearly trying to make a good impression. "Him and me were in a cell together. He was arrested on a Tuesday and we didn't go before the judge until Wednesday afternoon. Seemed like a nice guy. By the time his trial come up, I'se out, so I figured I'd sit in on it and see what all the fuss was about."

"Did the two of you talk about the murder at the time of his arrest?"

"Naw, not really. He was upset, which I could understand. Lady got shot in the eye, that's ugly. I don't know what land of person'd do a thing like that," he said. "Turns out it was him, I guess."

"What did you talk about?"

"I don't know. Nothin' much. He was asking what all I was in for and stuff like that, what judge I thought we'd pull for the arraignment the next day. I give him a rundown on which ones are tough, which is most of 'em. Well, that one guy's a pussy, but the rest is mean."