Murder Well-Done hf-4

by Claudia Bishop

  "You want to go over this again?" Dorset asked. His voice was calm. Silky.

  Davy cleared his throat. "She might better wait for Mr. Murchison, Sheriff."

  Dorset twisted his head over his shoulder, so that Quill couldn't see his face. "Your shift about up, Deputy?"

  "Nossir." Quill could hear both embarrassment and determination in his tones. "I mean, yessir, it is, but I should prob'ly stay here. You might need a wit - "

  Dorset interrupted like a knife shaving beef. "That wasn't a question."

  "Sir?"

  "I said get your ass out of here."

  Quill, who recognized that she was too mad to be scared, said, "I'll be fine, Davy. Don't worry about a thing."

  "Thing," Dorset repeated softly. "Not a thing." He said loudly, "Deputy!"

  Quill jumped.

  Davy shuffled reluctantly to his feet. "Leave the recorder, son."

  Davy put the tape recorder near Quill's left hand, then shrugged himself into his anorak. "I'll be around, Sheriff. Just down the street at the Croh Bar."

  Dorset grunted. The clock on the wall filled the silence with a soft and steady tick-tick-tick. She heard Davy close the outside door, then the crunch of his feet in the snow in the parking lot. His car door slammed. The engine turned over. He drove out of the lot and out of hearing.

  Dorset leaned close. He smelled like peppermint toothpaste, sour sweat, and damp wool. "Ms. Quilliam? One more time. When did you last see Nora Cahill?"

  "Right here. About twelve-fifteen this afternoon."

  "She got back to the Inn around five-thirty this evening."

  "Well, I didn't see her," said Quill.

  "I can spit from one end of that place to the other. And you didn't see her? Not once? All evening?"

  "It was a busy night, Sheriff. In case you hadn't noticed, we've got a full house."

  "Huh."

  He was so close she could see flecks of red on his canine teeth.

  "Did you have pizza for dinner?"

  His right hand came up, palm out. He shoved it into her left shoulder so hard that she spun and smacked her cheek against the wall. He grabbed the teal scarf at her throat, twisted it, and pulled her forward. "You listen," he hissed, "to me. You get that? You listen" - he whipped the scarf back and forth, pulling her from side to side - "to me! Are you listening?"

  "Yes," Quill said calmly. "I'm listening."

  He released the scarf with a swift, upward movement that jerked her chin backward. "I want you to sit there. Sit right there." He swung himself off the desk and turned his back. He whipped around so suddenly that she jumped. "You sitting? You sitting just nice and quiet, like?"

  Quill nodded. It was an effort to keep her face still. She wanted to gasp for air. She took slow, shallow breaths through her nose. She felt as if she were suffocating.

  "Good."

  The tall metal cabinet was padlocked. Dorset pulled his ring of keys from his belt and opened it, and took out a small, hand-held videocassette viewer from the top shelf. He began to hum in a high nasal whine, an insinuating, minor-keyed tune that Quill had never heard before. He set the viewer on the desk, then scrabbled inside the cabinet for a tape. He turned, shoved the cassette into the viewer, and plugged the cord into an outlet on the wall. He swayed a little as he moved, humming.

  Quill took a long, quiet breath. He whipped his head around. "You sitting? Nice and calm, like? You little, little thing." He leaned across the desk, shoving his face against her cheek. He whispered, "Watch. This." Holding his head against her, he reached out and turned the viewer on.

  The tape was black-and-white. Flickering. Grainy. The tape from the hidden camera. The LED flashed the date and 09:15,09:16,09:17. P.M. P.M. P.M.

  The remote switched on, triggered by the approach of a car headed west on main. The car slowed, stopped, the headlights casting a dim field across the snowy street. Someone opened the driver's door and got out. Nora Cahill, her sharp nose prominent for a moment, bent down in front of the headlights to knock the snow from her boots.

  A second figure emerged from the darkness. Tall. Slender. Wearing a long down coat and a round fur hat.

  My God, thought Quill. She knew that coat. And that hat. And she hadn't been able to find them half an hour ago.

  There was a pause in the tape. Quill strained her eyes. The other person, the one who was not Nora - the one, thought Quill, who is not me! Not me! - pulled an envelope from the depths of the coat and handed it to Nora. She thumbed through the contents.

  "Money," Quill said involuntarily. "Money."

  "Yowser," Dorset said in his soft silky voice.

  The tape jumped, flickered, and resumed its steady whirr. Nora stuffed the money in her purse, tossed the envelope to the ground, and turned.

  The dark figure stirred. Swung. And struck.

  Nora fell, faceup, the headlights illuminating her face. Her lips moved. Silently. Quill shuddered and closed her eyes. She heard a click. The tape stopped. She opened her eyes to see Nora, frozen in time, her hand lifted in a last gesture, the fingers splayed out like claws, mouth open, eyes open.

  "Dead," said Dorset.

  "How?" asked Quill.

  "You should know."

  Quill shook her head.

  Dorset pulled at her coat. John's coat. "When did you last see Nora Cahill?"

  "This is ridiculous," said Quill. "Look. The time on the monitor. 9:23 p.m. I was at the Inn this evening."

  "You got somebody besides your sister's gonna swear where you were between five after nine and nine-thirty? 'Cause that's all the time it'd take to hop down the road and off that broad. Maybe less. Haven't found a witness yet could swear to a time frame that tight in court. We blow this tape up, we're gonna see your cute little face right there."

  "You will not," snapped Quill. "And somebody stole my coat. They must have."

  He leaned close again, and blew out once, twice, against her cheek. Quill felt her stomach roil. "Just. Tell. Me," he coaxed. "Just me." He sat up suddenly, like a dog that hears the approach of an intruder. He laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it painfully tight. Quill heard a car door slam, then the sound of two - no, three people outside. There was a banging on the door, and then Howie, Meg, and John came in, the three of them abreast, like the cavalry in the kind of movies they didn't make anymore.

  "Hi, guys," said Quill, dismayed to hear the quiver in her voice.

  Howie glanced briefly at her, then turned his attention to Dorset. Meg, for once completely silent, came to the chair and stood to her right; John took up a position on the left. Meg reached down and squeezed Quill's hand hard.

  "What's the meaning of this, Dorset?" Howie asked mildly.

  "Should be obvious. I have a warrant for the little lady's arrest as a material witness to the murder of Nora Cahill this evening at 9:23. The good news is that she won't be charged with murder until the coroner's report comes in. Should be some time tomorrow. The deceased was taken to the county morgue not forty-five minutes ago."

  "Can I see the warrant, please?"

  Dorset pulled it from his shirt pocket. Howie unfolded it and read intently.

  "This is absolutely ridiculous, Sheriff," Meg snapped. "Quill was at the Inn all evening. She was never out of my sight."

  "Never?" said Dorset. "Never's a long time. I may as well tell you now, I've got affidavits coming from a couple of people up to the Inn."

  "Who?" Meg tightened her hand on Quill's shoulder. "What kind of - Quill, what's the matter with your shoulder!?"

  "Gave me a bit of trouble," said Dorset.

  Meg's face turned white. John took an involuntary step forward.

  "You watch it, Raintree," said Dorset. "I've read your record."

  Quill stood up and grabbed John. Meg regained her breath and shrieked, "You hit my sister!"

  "Meg, I'm fine. Let's not get too excited here, okay?"

  "QUlLL, for God's sake. What the hell do you mean, gave you a bit of trouble? Who the hell do you t
hink you are?"

  "Deputy'll bear me out on that."

  "The hell he will," stormed Meg, who'd apparently lost the variety of curses usually at her disposal. "Get out of my way, you son of a bitch. I'm taking my sister home! Howie?!"

  Howie folded up the warrant and tossed it on the desk. "I'd like to see this videotape."

  "File a request with the judge."

  "And this physical evidence found at the scene?"

  "Envelope from the Inn. Says so right at the top. Decedent's name written in the accused's handwriting on the front."

  "Who identified the handwriting?"

  "File a request with the judge."

  "Did the medical examiner give a preliminary cause of death?"

  Dorset grinned. "Nope."

  "He must have had some idea."

  "Didn't say a word to me."

  "You didn't ask him?"

  "Didn't have to. Pretty much could see for myself."

  "She was stabbed," Quill said tiredly. "With what seemed to be one of the knives from our kitchen."

  Meg's hand jumped. Quill didn't think it was possible for her to get any more pale, but she did. "Oh, no, Meg! I saw the videotape. He showed me. It's right there."

  John's right hand shot out like a snake. He pulled the cassette from the viewer and turned toward the door, seemingly all in one motion.

  "Hold it," snarled Dorset. He snapped open his holster and drew his pistol. Meg screamed in furious indignation.

  Howie said, "Put it away, Sheriff. John?"

  "No," John said.

  "You have to. Give it back."

  "You're going to leave it with this bastard? There's no telling what he'll do with it."

  "It's the law," said Howie. "I'm sorry."

  "Is Quill coming back with us?"

  Howie looked at the sheriff questioningly. Dorset shook his head.

  "Don't be a fool, Dorset. I'll get in front of a real judge tomorrow and she'll be out by nightfall."

  "File a request with a judge."

  John set the videotape on the desk. "This is some kind of setup, Howie."

  "That's clear. The question is, why? Dorset, I'd like a few minutes alone with my client."

  "Sorry."

  "What the - " Howie calmed himself with a visible effort, "You can't deny her counsel."

  "When she's accused of something, I can't, you're right about that. But she's being held as a witness. I got thirty-six hours before I have to let you talk to her at all. Now, tomorrow? Tomorrow after she's been accused of this murder, you can have all the time you want with her." His eyes flicked over Quill's breasts. John made a fierce noise.

  "Wait for me in the car, will you, John?" said Howie.

  "Murchison. This is bullshit. Absolute bullshit."

  "I know. It's better if you wait for me in the car. Trust me, Please."

  John shook his head and buttoned his coat. "I'll walk back to the Inn."

  "You sure? It's cold out there."

  "I need it." John paused in the doorway and looked back. Dorset shifted from one foot to the other under the stare, John opened the door, slid out noiselessly, and was gone.

  Quill cleared her throat. "There's nothing we can do, is there, Howie?"

  Meg's face was fierce, "What do you mean?! Of course there is! You're not going to leave her here!"

  "I don't have much choice, Meg."

  "Choice? What do you mean, choice? She's got to stay in here? Overnight?!"

  Quill tried a laugh. A little weak, but a laugh nonetheless. "You didn't think a day in jail was so awful this morning, Meg."

  "That was different. I thought it might teach you something about traffic tickets."

  "Oh, you did, did you?"

  "Well, yeah! You can't just go around thinking you're above the law. You can't - " She bit her words off in mid-sentence. "So she has to stay here? Then I'm staying, too."

  "No, you're not," said Dorset.

  "I am not leaving my sister in the Tompkins County jail overnight and that's that."

  "There's only one cot in the cell," said Quill.

  "So one of us can sleep on the floor."

  "Which one? It's concrete. And cold."

  "Concrete." Meg set her chin. "So what? I don't trust this creep."

  "Meg, I'll be fine. Come by in the morning with some hot coffee, will you? And a toothbrush and stuff like that. I'll be better off if you're on the outside." She forced herself to smile. "Honest. You can nag Howie into getting bail set for me as early as possible. Okay?"

  Meg scowled.

  "Please, Meg. We'll get this all straightened out in the morning."

  "What do you think, Howie?"

  The lawyer's steady gaze had never really left Dorset. "I think," he said easily, "that Frank here ought to remember the number of friends I have on the State Supreme Court."

  "Sure thing, Counselor."

  "I want to see where she's going to be for the night."

  "Suit yourself."

  Dorset slouched through the metal door labeled LOCK UP. Meg put her arm around Quill's waist and, with Howie leading the way, they followed Dorset into the cell. The overhead light was harsh, the cell as bare as it had been that morning.

  "She'll need another blanket," said Meg. Dorset grunted and returned to the office.

  Meg glared after him and turned to Quill. "And a nightgown. You can't sleep in that skirt and sweater."

  "I'll be fine," said Quill, who had no intention of taking off her clothes within thirty blocks of Frank Dorset. She gave Meg a warning pinch.

  Meg stared back at her, reached over, hugged her, and whispered, "Use it. If you have to. Even if you don't." She slipped the paring knife she'd been sharpening in the kitchen into Quill's hand. Quill slid it into her skirt pocket, then sat on the cot.

  Dorset returned and tossed a thin wool blanket through the open door, then gestured Meg and Howie out of the cell. He clanged the door shut and locked it. Despite herself, Quill shivered.

  "I'll take the key," said Howie. "The hell you will."

  "The hell I won't. Is there a duplicate?"

  "Deputy carries one."

  "I'm just down the street, Dorset. If you need to get her out before I'm back in the morning, call me."

  "Fuck you, Murchison."

  Howie's voice never rose above its mild tone of inquiry. "I don't know what the hell you're planning, Dorset. You know as well as I do that, at the very least, I can have this arrest tossed out because you prevented me from seeing my client privately. I'll tell you this. No matter where you are in the next few days, I'll prosecute you to the fullest extent the law allows - and maybe a little more than that. This woman has friends. She and her sister have a national reputation. You step an inch over the line, and it'll be safer for you in jail than out."

  "You don't scare me, Murchison."

  "Then you're a fool. Give me that key."

  "Howie," said Quill, "don't. For one thing, what if there's a fire? For another, he'd be a real idiot to assault my, um - virtue - after you and John and Meg have witnessed all of this. You guys go and do what you have to do to get me out of here - okay?"

  "You're sure, Quillie?" Meg, pale, rubbed her face with both hands. "I really think I ought to stay with you."

  "I'm sure. I'll be all right. Just go away and do what you have to do to get me out of here."