by Donn Taylor
Brill squirmed and yowled. Mara twisted the arm higher and dug her knee deeper into the kidney area. With her free hand, she bounced Brill’s head on the floor a couple of times. Brill grew quiet.
Mara looked up at me with a smile. “You almost bought it that time, Cupcake.” The grisly spectacle of Drisko’s body didn’t seem to bother her.
“How long had you been there?” Last fall, she and Sergeant Ron Spencer had listened to the murderer’s confession too long, and he’d shot me with that sabotaged bullet.
“I just got here,” Mara said. “It took me a while to get in.”
Another thought occurred to me. “How did you get in? Brill locked the door.”
“You have to hand it to Drisko: He bought top quality locks.” A half-smile graced her lips. “One summer in college, I worked for a locksmith.”
“That proves the value of higher education,” I said, “but what about the police? Did you call 911?”
“They said they’d send a car,” she said. “But when they weren’t prompt about showing up, I thought I’d better see what was going on.”
“I heard a car,” I said. “But is it police or Guido Stefano’s goons?”
As if in answer to my question, someone pounded on the front door.
Mara was keeping Brill subdued, so I had to answer the door. I wouldn’t open to anyone but police, but first I had to make a positive identification. As I walked up the hall, Brill’s pistol in hand, my heart practiced percussion on my ribs, and a Dixieland band counterpointed my wah-wah muted trumpet.
What would I do if the newcomers were mobsters? If I fired the first shot, I’d be a murderer. If I let them fire it, I’d be dead. Or, if it were police at the door, why hadn’t they identified themselves? I would have given anything to hear that one word, “Police.”
Then the pounding came again, and a deep voice called, “Police. Open up.”
My heart sank. Those were the words I’d hoped to hear. But the voice was the mellifluous voice of Duggan Hahn, the dog-faced detective who always accompanied Captain Clyde Staggart.
CHAPTER 41
The voice called again. “Police. Open up.”
I found the light switch, and light flooded the hallway. Darkness retreated into the adjacent rooms.
I retreated, too, about ten feet back down the hall and laid Brill’s pistol on the floor. I wouldn’t let Dogface see it in my hand. Some cops take a liberal view of “imminent threat.”
“Preston Barclay here,” I called. “The house is secure.” I unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back with my hands raised.
Dogface stood there a moment, gun in hand, as his eyes searched the hall behind me. Behind him I could see the shoulder of another plainclothesman, but I couldn’t see the man’s face. I hoped it wasn’t Staggart.
“Against the wall, Press,” Dogface commanded.
I spread-eagled myself against the wall and said, “The only weapon here is the one on the floor.”
No one answered. Rough hands searched me and handcuffed my hands behind my back. My internal orchestra responded with a minuet.
“Who else is here?” Dogface demanded.
“Mara Thorn, Brill Drisko, and the body of Steven Drisko,” I said. “Brill says she shot him.”
Hands pushed me away from the wall and turned me down the hallway.
“Take me there.” Dogface gave me a push in that direction.
I still hadn’t seen who the second policeman was, and I didn’t dare turn around to look. I’d made a good show of outward bravado, but it only masked my inward despair. I’d escaped death in the holocaust of my home, and I’d learned who murdered Mitra Fortier and Jerry Vaughan, only to find myself—and Mara—at the mercy of two rogue cops, with Guido Stefano’s hoods not far behind.
Dogface stopped me at the door into the den.
“Police, coming in,” he shouted. Then he pushed me ahead of him into the room.
He obviously thought that if someone inside wanted to shoot a policeman, I’d get shot instead. In present circumstances it did not seem practical to file a nonconcurrence, particularly since that violent shove propelled me several steps into the room before I caught my balance.
“Mara,” I called, “for heaven’s sake don’t throw Brill at this poor policeman.”
I heard Dogface and his companion enter behind me, but I wasn’t about to turn around until someone told me to. No one did.
“What’s going on?” Dogface demanded.
Brill shouted, “They broke in and killed my husband and they’re kidnapping me ... Ugh!”
The accusation ended in a grunt as Mara used her free hand to push Brill’s face into the floor. When Brill looked up, her cheek had a smudge of dirt on it. If she walked free, some poor housekeeper was going to catch what-for.
A different pair of hands pushed me over against the wall, and I lost sight of Mara and Brill. Mara released Brill at Dogface’s command, and the two women apparently received the same search for weapons that I’d received.
Mara spoke in a calm voice. “When I came in, Brill was holding Press at gunpoint. Drisko was already dead. I took her down, and Press grabbed the gun. I think you’ll find only one shot has been fired. That’s the one I reported, and Press and I were together when we heard it.”
“She’s lying,” Brill screamed. “They broke in and murdered my husband.”
Dogface spoke again. “If they killed him, Mrs. Drisko, why did they call 911?”
Until then, I’d assumed that Dogface was in the mob’s pay along with Staggart. Now he acted like a detective who only wanted to know the facts.
Brill made no answer to his question.
“Careful,” I said. “She says some mob types are coming to take her out of the country.”
Someone joined me facing the wall. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it was Mara. The sound of other movements suggested Brill was being placed somewhere else.
“Didn’t you hear me?” I asked. “Brill said some of Guido Stefano’s goons are coming to take her out of the country.”
If Dogface didn’t react to that, he was probably in the mob’s pay after all. My heart jackhammered my ribs again.
“Turn around,” Dogface ordered.
I turned. He had no weapon in his hand. He did have a grin on his face. So did the other policeman, Sergeant Ron Spencer.
“You wife wants you to call home,” I told him.
He blushed but said nothing.
Dogface spoke again. “Stefano’s boys had a slight collision. They were carrying illegal weapons, so they’re now in the city jail.”
“That only takes care of one crew,” I said. “There was a second car—a dark sedan with two men in it. It followed us for several days, part of it down in Cloverdale.”
Dogface and Spencer exchanged knowing looks. Spencer asked, “Shall we tell them?”
At that point, though, four uniformed patrolmen arrived as backup.
Dogface nodded toward Brill. “Book her on aggravated assault and suspicion of murder. Don’t let her wash her hands and set her up for a paraffin test.”
Two patrolmen led her out as she protested that she wanted a lawyer.
Sergeant Spencer took off my handcuffs. I rubbed my wrists to get circulation going again.
“You two also get paraffin tests,” Dogface said to Mara and me. “We have to know who’s fired a weapon and who hasn’t.”
At his nod, Spencer began the explanation. “Professor Barclay, you gave me a classic hot potato with the CD Bruno Pinkle put in your desk. I couldn’t handle it alone, and I only knew one man I could trust.” He nodded toward Dogface. “Detective Duggan Hahn.”
“Detective Hahn did the fingerprints himself,” Spencer said. “He walked them through the experts without saying what they were for. They all belonged to Bruno Pinkle.”
“I’d suspected a lot of things,” Dogface said, “but those fingerprints brought the first concrete evidence. Meanwhile, Pinkle found child pornograp
hy on Professor Thorn’s hard drive, and Captain Staggart had me take the hard drive from your computer. All that was a little much for me, so after I looked through the Barclay hard drive, I copied it and put the copy in the evidence room. When Captain Staggart said there was child pornography on it, I knew he’d planted it there. That’s when Sergeant Spencer and I went to the chief.”
“With him,” Spencer said, “we checked the photos on both hard drives and the CD Bruno Pinkle put in your desk. They were identical.”
“Pinkle confessed to fabricating the evidence,” Dogface said. “And he implicated Captain Staggart.”
Mara started up. “Does that mean …?”
Dogface smiled. “It means your arrest will be expunged from your record.”
“And Captain Staggart?” I asked.
“I guess you two didn’t watch the TV news tonight …”
“We were too busy being cremated,” I said.
Dogface ignored the comment. “The public announcement was that Captain Staggart is suspended pending investigation of alleged irregularities with evidence.”
“Staggart also accepted bribes from Guido Stefano,” I said. “Brill told me that while she was getting ready to shoot me.”
“That’s being investigated, too.”
“That’s good news,” I said, “but the second car following us might still be trouble.”
“That car was us,” Spencer said. “The chief said make some excuse for emergency leave and see what we could find. The quickest way was to follow you two and maybe make an arrest when somebody knocked you off.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” Mara said.
“Very thoughtful of you to sic the Cloverdale cops onto us,” Dogface said. “They thought it was hilarious when we showed our IDs.”
“No charge for the entertainment,” I said, “but why didn’t we see you when my house burned down?”
“I’m sorry about that,” Dogface said. “It looked like you were going to stay put for a while, so we checked in with the chief. Your house was burning when we got back, so we hung around to see what you’d do next.”
“And trailed us to the Assisted Living Center?”
“You’d better be glad we did,” Dogface said. “That’s where that carload of hoods picked you up.”
“Brill must have alerted them,” I said. “My phone call would have told her the firebombs didn’t kill us. They knew Dr. Sheldon was with us, so they’d know we had to take him home.”
“We arranged a minor accident to distract them,” Dogface said. “The weapons charges took them out of action.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Now you have the Fortier murder wrapped up.”
“On the contrary.” Dogface frowned. “We still don’t know who killed her. What we do have is a new homicide that you say Brill Drisko committed, and she says you committed.”
I tried to respond. “Brill told me she used the chloroform on Professor Fortier, and she said she injected the cocaine. I’ll swear under oath to everything she told me.”
Dogface threw me a disgusted glance. “Your sworn statement against hers? Her lawyer will take you apart on the witness stand.”
“He’ll do no such thing,” Mara said, her chin raised again. She fished the voice recorder out of my coat pocket and handed it to Dogface with a look of triumph.
“Twenty-five minutes and it’s still recording,” she said. “I think you’ll find everything Brill told him on there.”
Dogface took it from her as if it were the Hope diamond. He pressed the “Off” button and then the “Play” button. Voices came through clearly:
Mara’s whisper: Is this a fantasy, Press?
Mine: Not for me. It feels like enchantment, but it’s as real as anything can get.
Hers: Then where does it take us?
I felt my face flushing. I knew I hadn’t switched the recorder on. Certainly not at that intimate moment. A wave of frustration swept over me as I remembered how desperately I’d tried to reach the recorder while Brill was talking. So how ...?
Dogface clicked the “Off” button and said to Mara, “Are you telling me this thing was recording until you handed it to me?”
“Twenty-five minutes worth,” Mara said. “Brill’s confession comes later, and then you’ll hear your own voice.”
Dogface shook his head. “All right. Now let’s go down to headquarters and get your written statements.”
Mara gave me a proud glance enlightened by her secret smile. I had a lot of questions, but they’d have to wait till later.
Dogface arranged for Mara’s car to be driven to the station. Then he and Sergeant Spencer piled us into the backseat of Dogface’s personal car, a dark Chevrolet with a conspicuously bent front fender.
As we drove, my emotions plunged. If they’d been a bathysphere, they’d have set a record for new depths. My adrenaline highs from the fire and the encounter with Brill had drained me, my neck and the backs of my hands stung like a bad sunburn, and all I wanted to do was sleep and forget the whole thing. What I actually did was sink deeper into depression. I’d survived the fire and Brill’s intended murder, but my house was destroyed, and I knew my full emotional reaction to that had not yet struck. I dreaded its arrival. Worst of all, Mara and I had learned the truth about Mitra Fortier’s journal of fantasized romance, but we had no way to prove it.
Truth, The Daughter of Time, was still a missing person.
Our best efforts had not been good enough. Our reputations were ruined, and we were suspended from our jobs prior to being dismissed. Our actions in exposing Drisko would bring his company’s failure, and that failure would bankrupt the college. We’d be remembered as the pair who cost the entire faculty their jobs.
I could have wished I were going to jail instead of Brill.
CHAPTER 42
At the police station, officers separated Mara and me for paraffin tests, further questioning, and written statements. Through it all, my despair sank lower and lower.
With the official stuff done, Sergeant Spencer called his long-suffering wife, and Dogface brought us in for a final conference.
“You two don’t look like people who just solved a murder,” he said. “You look more like you’re headed for the guillotine.”
“We might as well be,” I said. “We know the rumors about us are false, and we know why, but we can’t prove it. Without proof, we’ve lost our jobs. Can we go now?”
Dogface scowled. “Not yet. Someone wants to talk to you.”
He punched a few buttons on the phone console on his desk. Presently he said into the phone, “They’re here,” and pressed the speaker button on the console.
“Press and Mara?” It was the horned-toad voice of Freda Broyles. “Between you and the police, I haven’t had a peaceful moment.”
“I’m glad you’re all right,” Mara said. “We were afraid something had happened to you.”
“It did,” said the horned toad. “You and the police kept wanting me to break promises I’d made to Mitra. Detective Hahn was worst of all.”
“He’s truly terrible,” Mara said. She smiled at Dogface, who blushed.
“He caught me taking those dresses out of Mitra’s house,” Freda continued. “Mitra had made me promise to take her journals if anything ever happened to her. But I couldn’t find the journals, so taking her pretend dresses was the next best thing.”
“She had the journals well hidden,” Dogface said.
“He kept working me over with appeals to my conscience,” Freda said. “And you two hit me in the same place. I finally had to choose between keeping my promise to the dead and preventing further harm to the living. Your suspensions decided me. So I tracked down Joe Cochran and gave him the same treatment you and Detective Hahn had given me.”
I’d hate to have Freda give me the treatment. I could almost feel sorry for Joe Cochran.
“Joe argued for a while,” Freda said, “but in the end he gave me the three journals he’d mouse-holed all these y
ears.”
Relief flooded through me. “That’s great,” I said. “Can we use them at our hearing?”
The horned toad laughed. “You can have the one I kept. President Cantwell has the other two. I ambushed him in the hospital and made him read the journals. He’s much better, by the way. Before I left, he phoned Mrs. Dunwiddie, lifted your suspensions, and dictated a letter to faculty saying the stories about you two and Mitra were false.”
“What about Dean-Dean?” I asked.
Freda chuckled. “He was out of pocket, but Mrs. Dunwiddie will give him the word. That’ll add a little joy to her life for once.”
“Thank you, Freda,” I said. “You’re a true jewel.” An image flashed into my mind—the Renaissance emblem of a toad with a jewel embedded in its forehead. But I thought it best not to bring that into the discussion.
Mara also joined in thanking Freda.
Freda gave an embarrassed harrumph and said, “Well, that’s over, and I’ve got work to do. Oh! President Cantwell said he had one other issue to take up with you, Press.”
With that glad thought, she hung up.
Dogface handed Mara her keys. “You’re free to go. I’m sorry about your house, Press. Let me know if I can help.”
This was the man I’d feared was collaborating with organized crime. “Thanks,” I said, “not just for the good wish but for everything.”
We stood there a moment with neither of us knowing what to say next.
Mara broke the spell. “Come on, Cupcake, there’s an all-night discount store where we can buy your essentials, and then we have to find you a place to stay. We can talk about your house tomorrow.”
She led the way to her car, which the police had parked in a no-parking zone in front of the station.
“There’s something I’d like to talk about tonight,” I said as we drove away. “I’d like to know how my recorder got turned on. It was in my coat pocket inside my overcoat.”
She gave me a reprise of that secret smile. “Gremlins,” she said.
We drove on in silence. I should have felt relief that the last threat to my job and my freedom had been lifted, but my spirit took another plunge. My home of twenty years, the scene of my dearest memories, had been destroyed. I dreaded the administrative entanglements and all the heartaches that would bring me in the days to come. But at present, something worried me more.