“What you mean, murder?” Luther swallowed hard and looked to Mike, who stood up and turned his back.

“Scotty?” Mike called out into the sanctuary. “Any blood downstairs? Body parts?”

“Not so far. A crack pipe and a dusting of white powder. Smoke and coke.”

“Your buddies are giving you up, Luther. They’re sitting inside the church, telling the other cops why they’re here,” Mercer said. “And they’re here because of you. Because your grandfather was kind enough to let you crash inside this church. Risk his job and everything he cares about. So who are they?”

“They just guys. We hang out sometimes.”

“PacMen,” Mike said. “Gangsta-wannabe assholes. What’d you do time for?”

Luther licked his lips.

“Let me guess. At least once for drugs. Then, two years? Armed robbery, I’m figuring. Botched job at best. Nobody got hurt, you weren’t the one carrying heat. You were too dumb to get away clean. Copped to the attempt and got a deuce up the river. Am I warm?”

“My lawyer made me take that plea.” Luther Audley rolled his head around and looked up at the ceiling.

“Always the damn suits that make you do things you don’t wanna do, isn’t it?” Mike asked. “Ms. Cooper here, she’s a mouthpiece too. She finds out you know something about this murder and she’ll have your parole revoked, then ship you right back up to the yard. She actually enjoys doing that.”

Luther’s head dropped and he fixed his vacant gaze on me. “What you keep talking about murder?”

“There was a body found on the steps of the church tonight,” I said, trying to edge Mike farther away from the young man. “A woman was killed and—”

“We didn’t kill nobody.”

“I’m going to start easy, back it up a few hours, and find out what brought you here,” I said, pulling my chair closer to the slow-to-anger interloper.