Thirty fourMartinson jumped up with a start as the door crashed open, cracking his knee on the desk edge. He cried out and bent over, vigorously rubbing the injury with both hands.
“If you're that nervous,” drawled Sheriff Miller as he stepped inside, “you should have locked the door.”
“Ah, damn that,” said Martinson, grimacing. He sucked in air through his teeth and flopped back into his chair. “I've been up all night with that damn woman singing her hymns.”
“I don't hear nothin'.”
“That's because she's stopped now and fallen asleep, goddamn her.”
Chuckling to himself, Miller strode over to the cell and peered through the bars. Annabelle lay huddled on the narrow single bunk set against the far wall. A threadbare blanket barely covered her and one naked leg hung out to trail onto the
