desire to see what was left of Lenny Brent. His knees wobbled and he straightened up with effort. The silence was so intense it seemed to hum.
The hum came closer. This time the passing car stopped. It had flashing blue lights and the sheriff s insignia over the door.
8
"When can I speak to Kate Ho1loway?"
Shakespeare mirrored the fall of kings in foul weather. Lenny's death, Spraggue thought, glancing disgustedly around the sheriff' s office in the early hours of Saturday morning, was rendered in stale smoke, filthy ashtrays, and the harsh glare of fluorescent bulbs.
Two hours since the discovery, two hours of hurry-and-wait, hurry-and-wait, punctuated by a
single question, his own: "When can I speak to Kate Holloway?"
She was somewhere around the L-shaped bend, stashed in one of the tiny offices. That much, Lieutenant Bradley had leaked. Captain Enright wasn't communicating; he'd given it up with a satisfied smirk the moment Spraggue had identified the body.
Bradley barged out of the inner office. "Coffee?" he said, before Spraggue could gear up for the question.
"Thanks. Black" Spraggue stood and fumbled for change in his right-hand pocket.
" I'll take care of it. Seeing as you're an unwilling guest."
Spraggue wished Enright were the flunky they sent out for coffee. He tried a variation of his request when Bradley returned with two steaming cups balanced precariously on a cardboard tray.
" Can I see Kate Holloway?"
" I doubt it. But hang around, by all means. Enright gets a charge out of knowing you're still here fuming."
"Is he talking to Kate?"
" Yeah. She stopped listening about an hour and a half back".
" I presume he knows it's illegal to question a suspect without a lawyer present."
"Oh, I suppose he made it clear that she doesn't have to say anything."
"Is he confining his agenda to Lenny's death?"
Bradley nodded, sipped coffee.
"Just a coincidence that two guys wound up stuffed in car trunks within the week?"
"I don't tell Enright how to run an investigation? "Do you know how Lenny died?"
" No sign of violence. We're waiting for the autopsy report—"
" Which is confidential police business." Enright loomed around the L.
"When can I—" Spraggue began.
"You a lawyer?"
" No."
'"Then get lost."
"A conviction was recently overturned by the Supreme Court because some cop in Iowa refused to let a suspect talk to his mother," Spraggue said.
"You her mother?"
"Let me try a more subtle approach: I will make one hell of a stink if I don't get to see Kate soon."
" Yeah?"
"And I hate to make trouble."
"I don't even think you can. "
With effort, Spraggue willed his right hand to stay unclenched and harmless down at his side. If the deputy weren't so huge . . . Hitting Enright would have the same effect as pounding a frozen side of beef: broken knuckles. Worse. You didn't get tossed in jail for assaulting a dead cow.
" I'm starting to feel," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, "the urge to make a handsome campaign contribution to anyone running against Sheriff Hughes."
Enright snorted. "Got to go to the can," he said. "Bradley, take over here for a while." His footsteps clicked down the hall. Spraggue wondered if he had king-sized taps stuck to his toes and heels to punctuate his swagger.
Bradley crumpled his empty coffee cup in his fist and dunked it into a corner wastebasket. "Come on. What he means is that I should get you and Miss Holloway together. Then he'll yell at me for knuckling under to you."
Spraggue followed Bradley around the L-shaped bend and through a warren of antiseptic hallways, finally turning into a small cubicle off a long corridor. In a chair sat Kate, pale as chiseled ivory, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Bradley signaled to a severe woman in a tan uniform, who glided noiselessly away. He stationed himself just outside the door. "Can't really give you any privacy," he muttered apologetically. "No privileged communication or anything."
" How much time do
The hum came closer. This time the passing car stopped. It had flashing blue lights and the sheriff s insignia over the door.
8
"When can I speak to Kate Ho1loway?"
Shakespeare mirrored the fall of kings in foul weather. Lenny's death, Spraggue thought, glancing disgustedly around the sheriff' s office in the early hours of Saturday morning, was rendered in stale smoke, filthy ashtrays, and the harsh glare of fluorescent bulbs.
Two hours since the discovery, two hours of hurry-and-wait, hurry-and-wait, punctuated by a
single question, his own: "When can I speak to Kate Holloway?"
She was somewhere around the L-shaped bend, stashed in one of the tiny offices. That much, Lieutenant Bradley had leaked. Captain Enright wasn't communicating; he'd given it up with a satisfied smirk the moment Spraggue had identified the body.
Bradley barged out of the inner office. "Coffee?" he said, before Spraggue could gear up for the question.
"Thanks. Black" Spraggue stood and fumbled for change in his right-hand pocket.
" I'll take care of it. Seeing as you're an unwilling guest."
Spraggue wished Enright were the flunky they sent out for coffee. He tried a variation of his request when Bradley returned with two steaming cups balanced precariously on a cardboard tray.
" Can I see Kate Holloway?"
" I doubt it. But hang around, by all means. Enright gets a charge out of knowing you're still here fuming."
"Is he talking to Kate?"
" Yeah. She stopped listening about an hour and a half back".
" I presume he knows it's illegal to question a suspect without a lawyer present."
"Oh, I suppose he made it clear that she doesn't have to say anything."
"Is he confining his agenda to Lenny's death?"
Bradley nodded, sipped coffee.
"Just a coincidence that two guys wound up stuffed in car trunks within the week?"
"I don't tell Enright how to run an investigation? "Do you know how Lenny died?"
" No sign of violence. We're waiting for the autopsy report—"
" Which is confidential police business." Enright loomed around the L.
"When can I—" Spraggue began.
"You a lawyer?"
" No."
'"Then get lost."
"A conviction was recently overturned by the Supreme Court because some cop in Iowa refused to let a suspect talk to his mother," Spraggue said.
"You her mother?"
"Let me try a more subtle approach: I will make one hell of a stink if I don't get to see Kate soon."
" Yeah?"
"And I hate to make trouble."
"I don't even think you can. "
With effort, Spraggue willed his right hand to stay unclenched and harmless down at his side. If the deputy weren't so huge . . . Hitting Enright would have the same effect as pounding a frozen side of beef: broken knuckles. Worse. You didn't get tossed in jail for assaulting a dead cow.
" I'm starting to feel," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, "the urge to make a handsome campaign contribution to anyone running against Sheriff Hughes."
Enright snorted. "Got to go to the can," he said. "Bradley, take over here for a while." His footsteps clicked down the hall. Spraggue wondered if he had king-sized taps stuck to his toes and heels to punctuate his swagger.
Bradley crumpled his empty coffee cup in his fist and dunked it into a corner wastebasket. "Come on. What he means is that I should get you and Miss Holloway together. Then he'll yell at me for knuckling under to you."
Spraggue followed Bradley around the L-shaped bend and through a warren of antiseptic hallways, finally turning into a small cubicle off a long corridor. In a chair sat Kate, pale as chiseled ivory, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Bradley signaled to a severe woman in a tan uniform, who glided noiselessly away. He stationed himself just outside the door. "Can't really give you any privacy," he muttered apologetically. "No privileged communication or anything."
" How much time do
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