we have?"
"How long does it take Enright to pee?"
"Can you call my lawyer?" Kate said, too calmly.
"He might hang up on me—the lady who cried wolf and all that."
Spraggue leaned down and kissed her cheek. "We haven't got much time, so just answer me."
"In front of the jailer? Don't you think I killed Lenny?"
" Whisper. If you stashed him in the trunk, you wouldn't have loaned me the car."
"What do you want to know?" she asked softly.
"Were you sleeping with Brent?"
" Where did you get that tidbit?"
" Mary Ellen Martinson."
Kate glared at him for a moment. "When I said you'd get the gossip soon enough," she said angrily, "I had no idea you'd head straight to the source."
" You weren't sleeping with him?"
"Does it matter? You think I'm more likely to murder a man I've had sex with?"
Their eyes locked, his challenging, hers defiant.
"Is that al1?" she said.
" No. When I speak to your lawyer, I'm going to ask him not to bail you out."
"This better be good, Spraggue."
" How's this? Act One: unidentified body found in abandoned car. Act Two: very identifiable body found in far-from-abandoned car. The play has only one continuing character: you. You played the chief suspect in Act One; you're doing an encore now. So maybe someone is killing people to put you in jail."
" You're kidding," she said, staring down at her jittery hands. "You're reciting dialogue from that detective movie of yours."
"Howard Ruberman isn't that fond of you. Mary Ellen Martinson—"
"If she'd been sniffed in the car, I'd need an alibi."
"She feel the same about you?"
"This is ridiculous" `
"Keep your voice down." Spraggue leaned back against the cool cement-block wall. "And tell me why people keep asking me if I'm planning to sell Holloway Hills." .
"Mary Ellen say that?"
"Does it matter?"
"I got an offer on the place. I turned it down. That's all."
"Who?"
"United Circle. A good price. Should I have asked you?"
"You can veto any sell-out, Kate. Terms of the contract."
" I'd never sell."
"You told somebody from United Circle that?"
"Sure."
" Who?"
" Some guy . . . I don't remember . . ."
" They could think I'd be more willing to sell—"
" I said United Circle, Spraggue. Not the Mafia."
"What was the guy's name?"
". . . Baxter . . . just some stiff in a pin-striped suit."
Bradley had a sudden coughing fit. "Enright," he said out of the corner of his mouth before strolling tactfully toward the water cooler.
"Kate," Spraggue said quickly, "I'm sorry."
" For what?"
"Picking that fight on the hillside this afternoon, instead of—"
"Your loss," she said coldly.
"I know."
Enright's boot heels cleared the corner. "What in the devil is going on here?" He jerked his thumb in Spraggue's direction, glowered at Bradley. "Out!"
Spraggue smiled. "Her lawyer's on the way."
"Out."
"One thing. That squad car tonight, was that a regular patrol?"
Bradley answered. "Somebody called in and reported a vehicle in trouble. Gave your location."
"And before? How did you happen to look in the trunk of that abandoned car over at my place?"
Bradley stared at his shoes.
"Out," Enright repeated.
"Anonymous tip," Spraggue said flatly. "Right?"
Enright took a threatening step forward.
"Relax," Spraggue said. "I'm leaving."
9
Spraggue intended to start off his investigation with a breaking-and-entering at Lenny's girlfriend's apartment.
Four scanty hours sleep hadn't exactly cleared the fog. Twenty minutes in the shower, until the pounding water turned too icy to bear, sharpened his senses and revived his memory: Lenny's address book. And Mary Ellen's snide advice: cherchez la femme .
Searching Kate's bedroom undid at least half the good of the shower; he felt dirty again. An invisibly slimy intruder prying through bureau drawers, betraying trust with prodding, curious fingertips.
Seven years had hardly changed her room. A fresh coat of cream-colored paint, a different bedspread tossed over the old cane-back rocker. The same
"How long does it take Enright to pee?"
"Can you call my lawyer?" Kate said, too calmly.
"He might hang up on me—the lady who cried wolf and all that."
Spraggue leaned down and kissed her cheek. "We haven't got much time, so just answer me."
"In front of the jailer? Don't you think I killed Lenny?"
" Whisper. If you stashed him in the trunk, you wouldn't have loaned me the car."
"What do you want to know?" she asked softly.
"Were you sleeping with Brent?"
" Where did you get that tidbit?"
" Mary Ellen Martinson."
Kate glared at him for a moment. "When I said you'd get the gossip soon enough," she said angrily, "I had no idea you'd head straight to the source."
" You weren't sleeping with him?"
"Does it matter? You think I'm more likely to murder a man I've had sex with?"
Their eyes locked, his challenging, hers defiant.
"Is that al1?" she said.
" No. When I speak to your lawyer, I'm going to ask him not to bail you out."
"This better be good, Spraggue."
" How's this? Act One: unidentified body found in abandoned car. Act Two: very identifiable body found in far-from-abandoned car. The play has only one continuing character: you. You played the chief suspect in Act One; you're doing an encore now. So maybe someone is killing people to put you in jail."
" You're kidding," she said, staring down at her jittery hands. "You're reciting dialogue from that detective movie of yours."
"Howard Ruberman isn't that fond of you. Mary Ellen Martinson—"
"If she'd been sniffed in the car, I'd need an alibi."
"She feel the same about you?"
"This is ridiculous" `
"Keep your voice down." Spraggue leaned back against the cool cement-block wall. "And tell me why people keep asking me if I'm planning to sell Holloway Hills." .
"Mary Ellen say that?"
"Does it matter?"
"I got an offer on the place. I turned it down. That's all."
"Who?"
"United Circle. A good price. Should I have asked you?"
"You can veto any sell-out, Kate. Terms of the contract."
" I'd never sell."
"You told somebody from United Circle that?"
"Sure."
" Who?"
" Some guy . . . I don't remember . . ."
" They could think I'd be more willing to sell—"
" I said United Circle, Spraggue. Not the Mafia."
"What was the guy's name?"
". . . Baxter . . . just some stiff in a pin-striped suit."
Bradley had a sudden coughing fit. "Enright," he said out of the corner of his mouth before strolling tactfully toward the water cooler.
"Kate," Spraggue said quickly, "I'm sorry."
" For what?"
"Picking that fight on the hillside this afternoon, instead of—"
"Your loss," she said coldly.
"I know."
Enright's boot heels cleared the corner. "What in the devil is going on here?" He jerked his thumb in Spraggue's direction, glowered at Bradley. "Out!"
Spraggue smiled. "Her lawyer's on the way."
"Out."
"One thing. That squad car tonight, was that a regular patrol?"
Bradley answered. "Somebody called in and reported a vehicle in trouble. Gave your location."
"And before? How did you happen to look in the trunk of that abandoned car over at my place?"
Bradley stared at his shoes.
"Out," Enright repeated.
"Anonymous tip," Spraggue said flatly. "Right?"
Enright took a threatening step forward.
"Relax," Spraggue said. "I'm leaving."
9
Spraggue intended to start off his investigation with a breaking-and-entering at Lenny's girlfriend's apartment.
Four scanty hours sleep hadn't exactly cleared the fog. Twenty minutes in the shower, until the pounding water turned too icy to bear, sharpened his senses and revived his memory: Lenny's address book. And Mary Ellen's snide advice: cherchez la femme .
Searching Kate's bedroom undid at least half the good of the shower; he felt dirty again. An invisibly slimy intruder prying through bureau drawers, betraying trust with prodding, curious fingertips.
Seven years had hardly changed her room. A fresh coat of cream-colored paint, a different bedspread tossed over the old cane-back rocker. The same
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