Read Online Murder in Thrall by Anne Cleeland - Free Book Online Page A

his mouth and the tension was broken. Almost a chuckle, she thought, relieved. But I am still too flippant by half.
    The pawnshop was typical of its genre—a small and overcrowded establishment with iron bars protecting the windows. A variety of items were displayed on shelves with the more expensive items, such as jewelry, in locked glass cases. The proprietor watched them come in with a sullen expression, drawing on a cigarette. Another smoker, thought Doyle with an inward sigh; I’m to wash my sweater yet again.
    “William Blakney?” asked Acton, showing his warrant card.
    The man nodded. “This about Giselle?”
    Acton leaned against the counter, glancing over the merchandise. “Can you tell us when you last spoke?”
    “She called me the night before. Do you know who did it?”
    “What did you speak of?” Acton never let the witness run the interrogation.
    Blakney crossed his arms on the counter, a movement that displayed his impressive tattoos to advantage. “She was shook up about the murder at the track—they were all of them shook up, I guess. She wanted to know if I heard any rumors.”
    “Who is ‘all of them’?”
    He was wary, suddenly. “Her friends. The ones at the Laughing Cat.”
    Doyle saw Acton glance at her to check for veracity, but this was true.
    “What sort of rumors?”
    Blakney was weighing what to say. “Whether I’d heard about who did it, and why.”
    “Why would they think you would know?”
    He shrugged. “I hear things, sometimes, in this business.”
    Doyle thought this an interesting piece of information; one would think a pawnbroker may know of thievery, but little else. Perhaps this man, like Acton, had his finger on the pulse of underworld doings. As Acton had said, anyone was capable of anything.
    “And had you heard anything?”
    “No.”
    Acton watched him for a moment. “Do you know any Russian nationals?”
    Doyle blinked, as this seemed off-topic.
    Blakney didn’t like this question and shrugged in a deprecatory fashion. “You meet a lot of people in this business.”
    The two men looked at each other. Doyle had the impression Acton had more to say but was constrained by her presence. “Did you and Giselle quarrel?”
    “Not lately. We used to.”
    “Why did you break up?”
    “She liked men.”
    Yes, thought Doyle. That was evident; but some man didn’t like her.
    “Did you kill her?”
    “No; if I was going to kill her, I would have done it a long time ago.”
    Acton was asking the questions out of routine; he didn’t think Blakney killed Giselle and neither did Doyle.
    “What do you know about Capper?”
    He spread his hands. “The latest boyfriend.”
    “Were they quarreling?”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    “Have you seen him in the past few days?”
    He was surprised at the question. “No. I never met him.”
    Acton glanced at Doyle to verify, but thus far the man had not equivocated in the least. An honest pawnbroker, she thought; give the man a prize.
    “Did she have a relationship with the trainer?”
    He looked at them, amused. “I doubt it. He wasn’t exactly heterosexual.”
    Oh, thought Doyle; there goes the love triangle angle.
    “Were they friends?”
    Blakney considered. “She would mention him; I think they were friendly. She wasn’t happy he was killed.”
    Doyle took down Blakney’s information and he agreed to call if he heard anything further. The man watched Acton warily as they left, not having moved from his stance at the counter. It was the comment about the Russians, thought Doyle—I wonder what that was all about.
    Acton was quiet in the car, and Doyle respected his mood as long as she was able. “Do we have a workin’ theory, sir?”
    He stared straight ahead and said absently, “Not as yet. I would very much like to speak to Capper, with you to listen in.”
    “Any leads on him?”
    “There are too many—that’s the problem. He could have gone to ground any number of places. ”
    She ventured, “The case