The Book of Bixby

His name is Clint Barber.

Officer Clint Barber, if you’re wearing handcuffs. Which I was.

The interview room, or interrogation room depending on which side of the table you were sitting on, was about what you’d expect.

It was sterile, in a decorative sense anyway. With a single table in its center and one of those two-way mirrors.

Dohlneem and my gun were taken from me when I was booked.

I’d been in cuffs before, but I never can resist the urge to test the links. The jingling sound would take my mind off my situation.

When he came into the room, he had my rather extensive file with him.

He had an authoritative look on his face that he was a little too much of a pretty boy to pull off.

There was a bit of growth on his face, but there never seemed to be enough to make him look rugged.

It was too bad. I like rugged.

I never told him that, of course.

Men can be so sensitive.

Officer Barber took a seat at the table and flipped open the thick file. “Well, Miss Bixby. I was looking through your file, and it seems you’ve been arrested nine times in the last year.”

“Do I get a free sandwich at ten?” Haley asked casually.

With a frown, Barber laced his fingers. “Not exactly. This kind of thing isn’t unheard of. Drunks and bums get booked and tossed back out again all the time.

“The issue with you seems to be that your arrests have always involved some kind of disturbance, and you were always carrying weapons.”

“I do get around.”

“And despite those circumstances, you’ve never actually been charged with anything.”

Haley only shrugged.

“So, who are you screwing?” he asked bluntly.

She frowned. “Excuse me?”

The officer resisted the urge to show his delight at wiping the smirk from her face. “Who are you screwing? A judge? District Attorney? Pete Carroll?”

The witch’s smirk returned, but it was more scornful than cocky. “Who I’m screwing is none of your business, but I assure you, it’s none of them. Although, if the ’Hawks repeat this season; watch out, Mrs. Carroll.”

“Okay, then. You’re someone’s daughter.”

Haley gasped and slapped the table with both manacled hands. “You cracked the case, Officer! I am indeed someone’s daughter! How are you not a detective yet?”

Snorting at her sarcasm, Barber leaned forward. “What were you doing at that warehouse tonight?”

“Buying counterfeit handbags.”

“You were carrying a sword and, more importantly, a Glock 38 that had been recently fired and was carrying an empty magazine. That is what we in the profession call a red flag.”

“Okay, listen, Officer…?”

“Barber.”

“Barber.” Haley pointed to the door. “Any second now, someone is going to come in here and tell you to let me go. So until that happens, can’t we just sit in silence?”

The officer scoffed. “Please. I’ve heard that before. And guess what; it never—”

The door suddenly swung open and a man in an off-the-rack gray suit leaned in. “Barber.”

Looking at Captain Wallace, he nodded and rose. Before making it out the door, he glanced back at Haley.

A big, pretty smile was all she offered.

Stepping just outside, he closed the door. “Sir?”

“Turn her loose, kid.”

“What? Sir, you can’t honestly tell me you don’t think she had anything to do with that explosion!”

“Zip it, Barber,” the captain returned in a harsh tone, his leathery face scowling. “It doesn’t matter what I think. This comes down from the commissioner.”

“But—”

The captain interrupted. “You want to be a detective someday, don’t you, son?”

Clint paused, not certain whether that was a question or a threat. “Yes, sir. More than anything.”

He relaxed when his superior put a hand on his shoulder. “Then you have to learn to be a ‘big picture’ guy. Scumbags are going to get away sometimes, but you have to accept that and focus on the next one. Hear me?”

Barber nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “Yes, sir.”

Wallace gave him a pat on the back and walked away.

Clint took a deep breath before returning to the interview room. He suppressed a scowl when he found Haley smiling and holding her cuffed hands out expectantly.

With a simple twist of a key, she was free and wasted no time in making for the door. “See ya later, stud,” she taunted without looking back.

Clint narrowed his eyes as he watched her saunter out. “Count on it.”

That was the last time I went out of my way to show up a police officer.

Those guys have a tough job, and we at the Coven do break every law in the book.

Even if it is for a noble cause.

But, in my defense, if I hadn’t provoked Clint into coming after me, we may never have seen each other again.

And that would have sucked.