mentioned she was being threatened, that someone was threatening to kill her..."
He hesitated. "To tell you the truth, knowing what I did about Sparacino ..."
"You didn't believe her." I finished the sentence for him.
"No," he confessed. "I didn't. Frankly, it struck me as another publicity stunt. I was suspicious Sparacino put her up to it, had her stage the whole thing to help sell her book. Not only does she have this battle with Harper, but now someone's threatening to kill her. I didn't give what she said much credence."
He paused. "And I was wrong."
"Sparacino wouldn't go that far," I dared to suggest. "You're not implying ..."
"I really think it's more likely he might have agitated Harper to the point he freaked, got so enraged maybe he came to see her and lost it. Or Harper hired someone else to do it."
"If that's the case," I said quietly, "he must have a lot to hide about what went on when Beryl lived with him."
"He might," Mark said, returning his attention to his meal. "Even if he doesn't, he knows Sparacino, knows how he operates. Truth or fiction, it doesn't matter. When Sparacino wants to raise a stink, he does, and nobody remembers the outcome, only the accusations."
"And now he's after me?" I asked dubiously. "I don't understand. How do I fit in?"
"Simple. Sparacino wants Beryl's manuscript, Kay. Now more than ever the book's a hot property because of what happened to the author."
He looked up at me. "He believes the manuscript was turned in to your office as evidence. Now it's missing."
I reached for the sour cream and was very calm when I asked, "What makes you think it's missing?"
"Sparacino somehow managed to get his hands on the police report," Mark said. "You've seen it, I assume?"
"It was fairly routine," I answered.
He jogged my memory. "On the back sheet's an itemized list of evidence collected--including papers found on her bedroom floor and a manuscript from her dresser."
Oh, God, I thought. Marino had found a manuscript. It was simply that he had found the wrong one.
"He talked to the investigator this morning," Mark said. "A lieutenant named Marino. He told Sparacino the cops don't have it, said all evidence was turned into the labs in your building. He suggested Sparacino call the medical examiner--you, in other words."
"It's pro forma," I said. "The cops send everyone to me and I send everyone back to them."
"Try telling Sparacino that. He's claiming it was turned in to you, that it came in with Beryl's body. And now it's missing. He's holding your office responsible."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Is it?"
Mark looked speculatively at me. I felt as if I were being cross-examined when he said, "Isn't it true some evidence comes in with the body and you personally receipt it to the labs or store it in your evidence room?"
Of course it was true.
"Are you part of the chain of evidence in Beryl's case?" he asked.
"Not in terms of what was found at the scene, such as in the instance of any personal papers," I said tensely. "Those were receipted to the labs by the cops, not by me. In fact, most of the items collected from her house would be in the P. D.'s property room."
Again he said, "Try telling Sparacino that."
"I never saw the manuscript," I said flatly. "My office doesn't have it, never had it. And as far as I know, it hasn't turned up, period."
"It hasn't turned up? You mean it wasn't in her house? The cops didn't find it?"
"No. The manuscript they found isn't the one you're talking about. It's an old one, possibly from a book published years ago, and it's incomplete, just a couple hundred pages at most. It was in her bedroom on the dresser. Marino took it in, had Fingerprints check in the event the killer might have touched it."
He leaned back in his chair.
"If you didn't find it," he asked quietly, "then where is it?"
"I have no idea," I answered. "I suppose it could be anywhere. Perhaps she mailed it to someone."
"She have a computer?"
"Yes."
"You check out her hard
He hesitated. "To tell you the truth, knowing what I did about Sparacino ..."
"You didn't believe her." I finished the sentence for him.
"No," he confessed. "I didn't. Frankly, it struck me as another publicity stunt. I was suspicious Sparacino put her up to it, had her stage the whole thing to help sell her book. Not only does she have this battle with Harper, but now someone's threatening to kill her. I didn't give what she said much credence."
He paused. "And I was wrong."
"Sparacino wouldn't go that far," I dared to suggest. "You're not implying ..."
"I really think it's more likely he might have agitated Harper to the point he freaked, got so enraged maybe he came to see her and lost it. Or Harper hired someone else to do it."
"If that's the case," I said quietly, "he must have a lot to hide about what went on when Beryl lived with him."
"He might," Mark said, returning his attention to his meal. "Even if he doesn't, he knows Sparacino, knows how he operates. Truth or fiction, it doesn't matter. When Sparacino wants to raise a stink, he does, and nobody remembers the outcome, only the accusations."
"And now he's after me?" I asked dubiously. "I don't understand. How do I fit in?"
"Simple. Sparacino wants Beryl's manuscript, Kay. Now more than ever the book's a hot property because of what happened to the author."
He looked up at me. "He believes the manuscript was turned in to your office as evidence. Now it's missing."
I reached for the sour cream and was very calm when I asked, "What makes you think it's missing?"
"Sparacino somehow managed to get his hands on the police report," Mark said. "You've seen it, I assume?"
"It was fairly routine," I answered.
He jogged my memory. "On the back sheet's an itemized list of evidence collected--including papers found on her bedroom floor and a manuscript from her dresser."
Oh, God, I thought. Marino had found a manuscript. It was simply that he had found the wrong one.
"He talked to the investigator this morning," Mark said. "A lieutenant named Marino. He told Sparacino the cops don't have it, said all evidence was turned into the labs in your building. He suggested Sparacino call the medical examiner--you, in other words."
"It's pro forma," I said. "The cops send everyone to me and I send everyone back to them."
"Try telling Sparacino that. He's claiming it was turned in to you, that it came in with Beryl's body. And now it's missing. He's holding your office responsible."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Is it?"
Mark looked speculatively at me. I felt as if I were being cross-examined when he said, "Isn't it true some evidence comes in with the body and you personally receipt it to the labs or store it in your evidence room?"
Of course it was true.
"Are you part of the chain of evidence in Beryl's case?" he asked.
"Not in terms of what was found at the scene, such as in the instance of any personal papers," I said tensely. "Those were receipted to the labs by the cops, not by me. In fact, most of the items collected from her house would be in the P. D.'s property room."
Again he said, "Try telling Sparacino that."
"I never saw the manuscript," I said flatly. "My office doesn't have it, never had it. And as far as I know, it hasn't turned up, period."
"It hasn't turned up? You mean it wasn't in her house? The cops didn't find it?"
"No. The manuscript they found isn't the one you're talking about. It's an old one, possibly from a book published years ago, and it's incomplete, just a couple hundred pages at most. It was in her bedroom on the dresser. Marino took it in, had Fingerprints check in the event the killer might have touched it."
He leaned back in his chair.
"If you didn't find it," he asked quietly, "then where is it?"
"I have no idea," I answered. "I suppose it could be anywhere. Perhaps she mailed it to someone."
"She have a computer?"
"Yes."
"You check out her hard
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