Brice stared at the man. “You need to let us into this room. Now step aside and unchain this door or things are gonna get real ugly real fast. Is that what you want?”

The man unchained the lock and swung the door inward. “Fine, asshole. Come on in.”

The room had been wrecked. A wooden chair was broken and splintered, a framed picture had been smashed into pieces, clothes littered the floor. A nearly empty bottle of Johnnie Walker stood on the dresser. The woman was crouched on the left side of the bed, which was unmade. Her back was pressed against the headboard, her knees curled beneath her, with the bedsheet pulled up to her bare chest. Her hands covered the side of her face.

Her companion stood at the foot of the bed, his fists balled, chin jutting out. He wore light blue boxer shorts and black socks.

“Put your pants on, dipshit,” Zee said.

Brice approached the woman. He touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Ma’am? Could you look at me, ma’am?”

The woman turned a tearful face.

“Son of a bitch,” Brice whispered, staring.

He hadn’t seen her since when? Colleen Boardman ran with the popular crowd at Boca Ciega High School. Her parents had a waterfront house, she drove a cute blue VW Bug. Back then she was brunette and freckle-faced, with a pert, upturned nose and great tits. She’d been a cheerleader and class officer. Brice’s parents hadn’t been poor, and he wasn’t dumb, but he’d run with the greaser crowd back in the day. Skipped school at every opportunity, drank and smoked dope and generally raised hell. Half the guys he hung around with in high school had been drafted and sent to Vietnam. Brice had gone too, and made it back home, but too many others hadn’t.

Colleen Boardman’s lip was split and bloody.

Her eyes widened with recognition. “Brice Carter?”

“Campbell.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the dipshit, who was scowling at his partner as Zee searched his pants pockets for a weapon.

“Did he do this to you?”

Her gray-blue eyes welled with tears. She started to say something.

“Shut up, Colleen,” the man snapped. “You don’t have to talk to them.”

Zee shoved the guy backward onto an armchair. “Not another word outta you.”

Brice lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “Did he hit you?”

She nodded.

“Ask the bitch what she did to deserve it,” the man called.

Zee threw the pants in the guy’s face. “That’s it. Get dressed. You’re going to jail.”

“For what? We had an argument. Maybe I had a little too much to drink. Things got a little out of hand. Didn’t you and your wife ever get in a fight?”