Presumed Guilty. Tess Gerritsen

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      Lorne Tibbetts, the new chief of police, was built just right to inhabit this claustrophobic warren. If there was a height minimum for police work, Tibbetts had somehow slipped right under the requirement. He was just a chunk of a man, neatly decked out in official summer khaki, complete with height-enhancing cap to hide what Chase suspected was a bald spot. He reminded Chase of a little Napoleon in full dress uniform.

      Though short on height, Chief Tibbetts was long on the social graces. He maneuvered through the clutter of desks and filing cabinets and greeted Evelyn with the overweening solicitousness due a woman of her local status.

      “Evelyn! I’m so sorry to have to ask you down here like this.” He reached for her arm and gave it a squeeze, an intended gesture of comfort that made Evelyn shrink away. “And it’s been a terrible night for you, hasn’t it? Just a terrible night.”

      Evelyn shrugged, partly in answer to his question, partly to free herself from his grasp.

      “I know it’s hard, dealing with this. And I didn’t want to bother you, not today. But you know how it is. All those reports to be filed.” He looked at Chase, a deceptively casual glance. The little Napoleon, Chase noted, had sharp eyes that saw everything.

      “This is Chase,” said Evelyn, brushing the sleeve of her blouse, as though to wipe away Chief Tibbetts’s paw print. “Richard’s brother. He drove in this morning from Connecticut.”

      “Oh, yeah,” said Tibbetts, his eyes registering instant recognition of the name. “I’ve seen a picture of you hanging in the high school gym.” He offered his hand. His grasp was crushing, the handshake of a man trying to compensate for his size. “You know, the one of you in the basketball uniform.”

      Chase blinked in surprise. “They still have that thing hanging up?”

      “It’s the local hall of fame. Let’s see, you were class of ‘71. Star center, varsity basketball. Right?”

      “I’m surprised you know all that.”

      “I was a basketball player myself. Madison High School, Wisconsin. Record holder in free throws. And points scored.”

      Yes, Chase saw it clearly. Lorne Tibbetts, rampaging midget of the basketball court. It would fit right in with that bone-crushing handshake.

      The station door suddenly swung open. A woman called out, “Hey, Lorne?”

      Tibbetts turned and wearily confronted the visitor, who looked as if she’d just blown in from the street. “You back again, Annie?”

      “Like the proverbial bad penny.” The woman shifted her battered shoulder bag to her other side. “So when am I gonna get a statement, huh?”

      “When I have one to make. Now scram.”

      The woman, undaunted, turned to Evelyn. The pair of them could have posed for a magazine feature on fashion make-overs. Annie, blowsy haired and dressed in a lumpy sweatshirt and jeans, would have earned the label Before. “Mrs. Tremain?” she said politely. “I know this is a bad time, but I’m under deadline and I just need a short quote—”

      “Oh, for Chrissakes, Annie!” snapped Tibbetts. He turned to the cop manning the front desk. “Ellis, get her out of here!”

      Ellis popped up from his chair like a spindly jack-in-the-box. “C’mon, Annie. Get a move on, ‘less you wanna write your story from the inside lookin’ out.”

      “I’m going. I’m going.” Annie yanked open the door. As she walked out they heard her mutter, “Geez, they won’t let a gal do her job around here….”

      Evelyn looked at Chase. “That’s Annie Berenger. One of Richard’s star reporters. Now a star pest.”

      “Can’t exactly blame her,” said Tibbetts. “That’s what you pay her for, isn’t it?” He took Evelyn’s arm. “Come on, we’ll get started. I’ll take you into my office. It’s the only private place in this whole fishbowl.”

      Lorne’s office was at the far end of the hallway, past a series of closet-size rooms. Almost every square inch was crammed with furniture: a desk, two chairs, a bookcase, filing cabinets. A fern wilted, unnoticed, in a corner. Despite the cramped space, everything was tidy, the shelves dusted, all the papers stacked in the Out box. On the wall, prominently displayed, hung a plaque: The smaller the dog, the bigger the fight.

      Tibbetts and Evelyn sat in the two chairs. A third chair was brought in for the secretary to take accessory notes. Chase stood off to the side. It felt good to stand, good to straighten those cramped legs.

      At least, it felt good for about ten minutes. Then he found himself sagging, scarcely able to pay attention to what was being said. He felt like that wretched fern in the corner, wilting away.

      Tibbetts asked the questions and Evelyn answered in her usual whispery voice, a voice that could induce hibernation. She gave a detailed summary of the night’s events. A typical evening, she said. Supper at six o’clock, the whole family. Leg of lamb and asparagus, lemon soufflé for dessert. Richard had had a glass of wine; he always did. The conversation was routine, the latest gossip from the paper. Circulation down, cost of newsprint up. Worries about a possible libel suit. Tony Graffam upset about that last article. And then talk about Phillip’s exams, Cassie’s grades. The lilacs were lovely this year, the driveway needed resurfacing. Typical dialogue from a family dinner.

      At nine o’clock Richard had left the house to do some work at the office—or so he’d said. And Evelyn?

      “I went upstairs to bed,” she said.

      “What about Cassie and Phillip?”

      “They went out. To a movie, I think.”

      “So everyone went their separate ways.”

      “Yes.” Evelyn looked down at her lap. “And that’s it. Until twelve-thirty, when I got the call….”

      “Let’s go back to that dinner conversation.”

      The account went into replay. A few extra details here and there, but essentially the same story. Chase, his last reserves of alertness wearing thin, began to drift into a state of semiconsciousness. Already his legs were going numb, sinking into a sleep that his brain longed to join. The floor began to look pretty good. At least it was horizontal. He felt himself sliding….

      Suddenly he jerked awake and saw that everyone was looking at him.

      “Are you all right, Chase?” asked Evelyn.

      “Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I’m just more tired than I thought.” He gave his head a shake. “Could I, uh, get a cup of coffee somewhere?”

      “Down the hall,” said Tibbetts. “There’s a full pot on, plus a couch if you need it. Why don’t you wait there?”

      “Go ahead,” said Evelyn. “I’ll be done soon.”

      With a sense of relief Chase fled the office and went in search of the blessed coffeepot. Moving back down the hall, he poked his head into the first doorway and discovered a washroom. The next door was locked. He moved on and glanced into the third room. It was unlit. СКАЧАТЬ