“She told me…let me see if I can get this exactly right…” He took another dab at his brow with the Kleenex. “She said thank you for my concern. That she was sorry they were making a racket, but everything’s fine.”

“Did she look like she was roughed up at all?”

“Roughed up?” The guard looked horrified. “Like she was beaten?”

“Well, was her hair messed up, did she have any marks on her face—”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. If I would have suspected anything, I would have called my supervisor or even the police.”

“What was she wearing?” Decker asked.

“Wearing?” Booker looked pained. “I gotta think a minute. She had something red on…like a loose red top. She was wearing dark pants. Her hair was down. She kept swishing it off of her shoulders. She had on big diamond studs in her ears.”

“Was she wearing makeup? Like lipstick or mascara?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did she look like she’d been crying?”

“Her eyes weren’t red or anything like that. Nothing dark running down her face. She just looked mad. Which was different from other times I saw her. Normally, she was very nice and social. Not this time.”

“Did you happen to see who she was arguing with?”

“Yeah, of course. He was the one who gave me the money.”

“What did he look like?”

“Very tall. Big, blond guy. Spooky eyes. I was worried for her.”

“And she didn’t look scared?”

“No. Not scared, not crying, just angry. When he offered me the money for my ‘troubles’”—Booker made air quotes—“I almost called the police. But then she told me to take it. She said, ‘Take the money, Eddie. And keep this little incident to yourself. It would be embarrassing for me if you told someone.’” He furrowed his brow. “She said something about that the man was the boy’s father and they were having a difference on how to raise him right. That’s why I asked you about the son. Is he really okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Do you think that’s what they were arguing about?”

Again, Booker looked pained. “I couldn’t say yes and I couldn’t say no. If you’re asking for my opinion, I think the arguing was more personal than raising a boy.”

“How is that?”

Booker blew out air. “I heard him call her a lying little bitch. She called him paranoid and crazy. That’s when I knocked on the door and everything got quiet. Those kinds of words…to me, that doesn’t sound to me like they were arguing about their son. I knew I shoulda said something, but…” He shook his head in shame.

“What?”

“This is gonna sound bad.”

“Tell me anyway.”