“We’re just trying to talk to him,” Thomas said. “He’s not under arrest.”
“But there’s a guard here and you’re not allowing anyone to see him. Even me.” Her chin jutted out and she took a step forward, again pointing accusing fingers. “You people are the ones who set him up, who arrested him and convicted him, so he spent twenty years of his life, twenty-fucking years, like half his life, behind bars with murderers and rapists and thugs.” So livid she was shaking, she said, “He was brutalized in there. Did you know that? Huh?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Jonas McIntyre was a kid when he went in. He suffered. Like really suffered. For years. And now . . . now you’re trying to railroad him again on some trumped-up charge so that he has to go back! Well, I won’t stand for it. Thousands of people know this was all a big sham because the police were too lazy, too determined to blame him for crimes he didn’t commit. We won’t stand for it, and we won’t rest until he’s vindicated.”
“Just hold on a second,” Johnson said. “No one’s charging Jonas with anything. We’re just trying to find out what happened at Merritt Margrove’s place in the woods.”
“You were there,” Thomas reminded her, staring back into her blazing eyes.
She blinked. Surprised. “No, I just dropped him off.”
“And then?”
“He told me to wait until he called, and I did, and then . . . and then he said he got a ride and I could meet him at a truck stop on 84. Hal’s Get and Go, just outside of The Dalles.”
“And you did?” Johnson asked. To Thomas she said, “That section of the road is shut down.”
“Yeah! Hey—what is this?” Mia said, a little less sure of herself. “It was before the road was shut down, and I don’t know anything about what happened in that mobile home. I took Jonas up there, he got out of the car, and I left. End of story.”
Thomas asked, “Did Jonas say anything? About Margrove? About why he was going up to the mobile home?”
“No, he just said they were meeting.” She suddenly looked worried.
Johnson eyed the girl. “What about when he called you to say he had a ride? That he didn’t need you to pick him up?”
“I called him,” she clarified. “I was starting to get worried. I was at Kreb’s Corners, at the truck stop, and there was talk that the road was going to be closed, so I wanted to check with him.
“And when you did?” Thomas asked.
Mia shifted from one booted foot to the other. “He sounded kinda freaked, y’know, breathless and . . .” She pursed her lips and angled her chin. “What is this? Do I need a lawyer?”
“What’s going on here?” the nurse said, her patience finally running out. “This is a hospital, not an interrogation room. Take this, whatever it is, somewhere else. We’ve got patients—”
“And what? Breathless and what?” Johnson cut in, ignoring the blond nurse, her eyes laser-focused on Mia.
Thomas told the nurse, “We’re about done her, just asking a few questions.” And to Mia, “A lawyer is your choice.”
Mia glared at them all, as if the cops and nurse were her sworn enemies. “I’m not answering any more questions. Not until I see Jonas.”
“That’s not happening,” the nurse said. “No visitors. Period.”
“But they were in the room!” Mia whined as she waved a hand at the officers.
“They have authority.” The nurse was growing more and more irritated as a phone at her station began to ring. “Maybe you all want to take this conversation out of the hospital hallway?” Her eyebrows raised over the rims of her oversize glasses. “There are quieter spots, even small conference rooms—？”
“Or the station,” Johnson said, obviously tired of Mia’s theatrics. “We could go there.”
“What?” Mia turned suddenly ashen. “No . . . No, not happening.”
The nurse said, “But you all need to leave.” Her gaze met Thomas’s. “Now.”
“I’m not leaving. Not until I see Jonas.” Mia planted herself near the elevator bank, her arms crossed over her chest defiantly.
“Fine.” The nurse was having none of it and the phone kept ringing. “I’ve already called security, and these fine officers will escort you out of the building.”
“But this is a public building.”