said, “I do hope Edwina isn’t leading you up the garden path. She has such an active imagination.”
Carol’s thoughts now strayed to Tony Quade. She had a photograph of him, but it was difficult to read character into the regular features that gazed out at her. She found herself actively hoping that Sybil’s husband was guilty. Even so, Sybil would have to endure probing questions and the curious gaze of strangers into her personal affairs, but at least she would not be charged, and consigned to the cold brutality of a women’s prison. Her gaze dropped to the photocopy of Sybil’s note. Who had sent it, and why? Had the power drill been planted to incriminate her too? She gave herself a mental shake. She was acting as though she was on Sybil’s side, and, of course, she wasn’t. “My only interest is the truth,” she said mockingly to the silent office.
She checked a file and dialed a number. “Mrs. Quade? It’s Carol Ashton here. I hope this isn’t inconvenient, but I wonder if I could call by and see you, now? In about twenty minutes, then.”
Carol didn’t get up immediately, re-reading the short note and picturing Sybil’s face as she wrote it. It was undated, and the angular writing hurried urgently across the paper:
Bill,
I won’t say anything to Tony about what happened, so you don’t have to make up any convincing lies. I don’t ever want to think about it again.
Sybil
She packed her briefcase slowly, uncomfortably aware of how much she was looking forward to seeing Sybil again. Straight women, she thought bitterly. You know where that leads—and it isn’t worth it.
As Carol walked up the steps, Sybil, who had changed to shorts and a brief top, opened the door. Smiling, she said, “Your call just caught me—I was going for a swim.” She added impulsively, “Have you got a costume with you in the car? Do you want to come with me?”
“I’m sorry—no. I’ll only keep you a short time.”
Carol watched Sybil take the photocopy and read it. The animation in her face was suddenly stilled. She didn’t look up immediately, but reread the words. She’s not going to tell the truth, thought Carol.
Sybil handed the photocopy back. “It’s nothing, really. Bill and I had some stupid disagreement over something. I can’t even remember what it was, now. Anyway, I wrote him a note because Tony hated it if we didn’t get along—his best friend and his wife—and I didn’t want Bill to mention it.”
“Rather an intense note for a friendly disagreement,” said Carol.
“Perhaps I express myself badly.”
Carol smiled at her. “Somehow I doubt that. You can’t be any more explicit?”
“No.” Sybil was self-possessed. She raised her eyebrows. “I do hope, Inspector, you haven’t been pinning too much on this note. It really was of no importance.”
“You haven’t asked me how I came to have it, Mrs. Quade.”
Sybil looked surprised. “Why, I imagine you found it at Bill’s place. It’s the sort of thing he’d do—keep a stupid little letter like that.”
“We didn’t find it there. Someone posted it to me, anonymously.”
Carol watched Sybil’s face tighten.
“Who would do that?” Sybil said.
“I was hoping you could tell me that.”
Sybil suddenly became brisk. “No, I’m sorry. Now, if there’s nothing else. . .”
“Do you do your own repairs around the home?”
“What?”
“Are you familiar with the use of common power tools, for example?”
“Anyone can plug in a Black and Decker and use it—that’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“Have you ever used any of the power tools in the Industrial Arts Department?”
“Of course I haven’t. What are you getting at?”
“You had a power drill on the bench in your garage. You gave permission for it to be taken for tests.”
“Tests?”
“The drill bit itself had small pieces
Carol’s thoughts now strayed to Tony Quade. She had a photograph of him, but it was difficult to read character into the regular features that gazed out at her. She found herself actively hoping that Sybil’s husband was guilty. Even so, Sybil would have to endure probing questions and the curious gaze of strangers into her personal affairs, but at least she would not be charged, and consigned to the cold brutality of a women’s prison. Her gaze dropped to the photocopy of Sybil’s note. Who had sent it, and why? Had the power drill been planted to incriminate her too? She gave herself a mental shake. She was acting as though she was on Sybil’s side, and, of course, she wasn’t. “My only interest is the truth,” she said mockingly to the silent office.
She checked a file and dialed a number. “Mrs. Quade? It’s Carol Ashton here. I hope this isn’t inconvenient, but I wonder if I could call by and see you, now? In about twenty minutes, then.”
Carol didn’t get up immediately, re-reading the short note and picturing Sybil’s face as she wrote it. It was undated, and the angular writing hurried urgently across the paper:
Bill,
I won’t say anything to Tony about what happened, so you don’t have to make up any convincing lies. I don’t ever want to think about it again.
Sybil
She packed her briefcase slowly, uncomfortably aware of how much she was looking forward to seeing Sybil again. Straight women, she thought bitterly. You know where that leads—and it isn’t worth it.
As Carol walked up the steps, Sybil, who had changed to shorts and a brief top, opened the door. Smiling, she said, “Your call just caught me—I was going for a swim.” She added impulsively, “Have you got a costume with you in the car? Do you want to come with me?”
“I’m sorry—no. I’ll only keep you a short time.”
Carol watched Sybil take the photocopy and read it. The animation in her face was suddenly stilled. She didn’t look up immediately, but reread the words. She’s not going to tell the truth, thought Carol.
Sybil handed the photocopy back. “It’s nothing, really. Bill and I had some stupid disagreement over something. I can’t even remember what it was, now. Anyway, I wrote him a note because Tony hated it if we didn’t get along—his best friend and his wife—and I didn’t want Bill to mention it.”
“Rather an intense note for a friendly disagreement,” said Carol.
“Perhaps I express myself badly.”
Carol smiled at her. “Somehow I doubt that. You can’t be any more explicit?”
“No.” Sybil was self-possessed. She raised her eyebrows. “I do hope, Inspector, you haven’t been pinning too much on this note. It really was of no importance.”
“You haven’t asked me how I came to have it, Mrs. Quade.”
Sybil looked surprised. “Why, I imagine you found it at Bill’s place. It’s the sort of thing he’d do—keep a stupid little letter like that.”
“We didn’t find it there. Someone posted it to me, anonymously.”
Carol watched Sybil’s face tighten.
“Who would do that?” Sybil said.
“I was hoping you could tell me that.”
Sybil suddenly became brisk. “No, I’m sorry. Now, if there’s nothing else. . .”
“Do you do your own repairs around the home?”
“What?”
“Are you familiar with the use of common power tools, for example?”
“Anyone can plug in a Black and Decker and use it—that’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“Have you ever used any of the power tools in the Industrial Arts Department?”
“Of course I haven’t. What are you getting at?”
“You had a power drill on the bench in your garage. You gave permission for it to be taken for tests.”
“Tests?”
“The drill bit itself had small pieces
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