ord knows what he’s doing.
Phone rang, police calling, saying they got his brother in jail, and his other brother too, and his mama nowhere to be found, Dwayne knew he had to get down there. No matter he was already asleep. That phone call was like the Lord himself calling.
Dwayne knew all the cops. Had to. Half of them, the half that wasn’t Catholic or heathen, came to the Divine Light. Chief too.
“What’s he done?” Dwayne said to the chief, dressed not in uniform but in a green shirt with an alligator on the chest.
“Now, we’re not saying he’s done nothing,” the chief said. “Seems he was just there, maybe, getting a pizza. But he was the one found the body.”
Dwayne felt himself go cold. DaShawn had done some bad things in his time — lots of bad things, all bad things, starting with lying beside his twin in the crib hitting him so hard with the plastic rattle that Dwayne came up with a black eye — but murder was something else.
Dwayne leaned in toward the chief. “Are you saying you think DaShawn might have killed someone?”
“Not DaShawn. DaShawn I seed myself behind the bar, whole time it was going on. I’m talking about your other brother, Darrell.”
At this Dwayne felt his knees buckle. He’d promised his mother he would look out for Darrell, the way a father would. But the boy eluded him, slipped out of Youth Group, would not even come to church on Sundays.
Now, though, the Lord had put the boy in Dwayne’s hands.
“Can I see him?” Dwayne whispered.
The chief brought him back into the station, down a hallway and into a small room where Darrell sat, dried tears streaking his cheeks.
“What have you done?” Dwayne said.
“Nothing. I swear.”
Dwayne listened to a lot of sinners, heard a lot of confessions. And there was something confusing in his little brother’s voice, something that said he was telling the truth, and then again something that said he was lying.
Dwayne turned to the chief. “What happens now?”