her goodbyes, Morgan did not ask about arrangements, or press Dick Bolton for his reasons. She would find out the arrangements. Whatever his reasons, Morgan felt certain that they had nothing to do with compassion.
TEN
A t a tiny storefront health food place called Nature’s Pantry, Morgan sat at one of the five tables and ordered a California sandwich from a college student-aged waitress. While she was waiting for her food, Morgan called the county jail and asked to speak to Claire. She was told that prisoners couldn’t receive calls until five o’clock. Morgan said she would call back. Then she called Noreen Quick’s office and asked to speak to the attorney.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Berenice, who recognized her name right away. ‘That’s not gonna be possible. She’s at the doctor’s. She started having contractions.’
‘Oh,’ said Morgan. ‘Really? Was that . . . expected?’
‘She’s not due for another month,’ Berenice confided.
‘Do you happen to know if she found out about Claire’s house from the police?’
‘What about it?’ asked Berenice.
‘Well, I don’t know when the police will allow me to go inside,’ said Morgan.
‘Oh, I don’t know anything about that,’ said Berenice. ‘Why don’t you go over to the station house and ask them yourself? Do you know where the police station is?’
Morgan thought grimly of her visit to Claire in the holding cell.
‘OK, I can do that. I guess you don’t know if Ms Quick will be back at work tomorrow. I suppose it all depends on the baby.’
‘Well, even if it’s a false alarm, I can tell you that she was on complete bed rest with her last baby for at least a month before it was born.’
Morgan was somewhat surprised to be apprised of such personal information about the attorney’s life, but it certainly seemed in keeping with the estrogen-saturated atmosphere of that law office. Morgan found the openness rather disarming. ‘I’m just worried about the case,’ she said. ‘You know, my friend Claire’s defense . . .?’
‘Oh, Ms Quick’ll still be working. She’ll just have to work from home. From her bedroom. Until the baby’s born. Believe me, it won’t slow her down much. She’s a dynamo.’
‘Yes, she seems to be,’ said Morgan.
‘Just drop by the police station and ask them about the house. Somebody there will help you.’
Morgan told Berenice that she would handle it, and tucked her phone away as her waitress appeared carrying a sandwich on brown bread stuffed with alfalfa sprouts. Morgan ate her food, bland to begin with, without tasting it, paid the cashier, and hurried out the door.
Although she did not know the village of West Briar very well, she was not about to forget her way to the police station. She went in, and asked the sergeant on duty if she could speak to someone about Claire Bolton’s case.
The sergeant spoke on the phone and then looked at Morgan. ‘Detective Heinz can see you for a few minutes. He’s in the squad room, second door on the left.’
Morgan thanked him and followed his directions to the squad room. She entered timidly and looked around. Uniformed officers and men in ties and shirtsleeves were mingling at the desks in the large, white room which took up half of the first floor of the building. A good-looking young man in uniform asked if he could help her. ‘I’m looking for Detective Heinz?’ she said.
The young man pointed to a large, bald-headed man with half-glasses and a goatee scowling at a computer monitor in the corner. He was wearing a blue-striped shirt, a gold knit tie and a large, elaborate-looking watch that could probably track the time in three time zones. He did not look up as Morgan approached his desk. ‘Detective Heinz?’ she said.
‘Just a minute,’ he said without looking up. He finished tapping something into his computer, and then rolled his chair back about a foot. He frowned at Morgan. ‘What?’ he said.
‘My name is Morgan Adair.
TEN
A t a tiny storefront health food place called Nature’s Pantry, Morgan sat at one of the five tables and ordered a California sandwich from a college student-aged waitress. While she was waiting for her food, Morgan called the county jail and asked to speak to Claire. She was told that prisoners couldn’t receive calls until five o’clock. Morgan said she would call back. Then she called Noreen Quick’s office and asked to speak to the attorney.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Berenice, who recognized her name right away. ‘That’s not gonna be possible. She’s at the doctor’s. She started having contractions.’
‘Oh,’ said Morgan. ‘Really? Was that . . . expected?’
‘She’s not due for another month,’ Berenice confided.
‘Do you happen to know if she found out about Claire’s house from the police?’
‘What about it?’ asked Berenice.
‘Well, I don’t know when the police will allow me to go inside,’ said Morgan.
‘Oh, I don’t know anything about that,’ said Berenice. ‘Why don’t you go over to the station house and ask them yourself? Do you know where the police station is?’
Morgan thought grimly of her visit to Claire in the holding cell.
‘OK, I can do that. I guess you don’t know if Ms Quick will be back at work tomorrow. I suppose it all depends on the baby.’
‘Well, even if it’s a false alarm, I can tell you that she was on complete bed rest with her last baby for at least a month before it was born.’
Morgan was somewhat surprised to be apprised of such personal information about the attorney’s life, but it certainly seemed in keeping with the estrogen-saturated atmosphere of that law office. Morgan found the openness rather disarming. ‘I’m just worried about the case,’ she said. ‘You know, my friend Claire’s defense . . .?’
‘Oh, Ms Quick’ll still be working. She’ll just have to work from home. From her bedroom. Until the baby’s born. Believe me, it won’t slow her down much. She’s a dynamo.’
‘Yes, she seems to be,’ said Morgan.
‘Just drop by the police station and ask them about the house. Somebody there will help you.’
Morgan told Berenice that she would handle it, and tucked her phone away as her waitress appeared carrying a sandwich on brown bread stuffed with alfalfa sprouts. Morgan ate her food, bland to begin with, without tasting it, paid the cashier, and hurried out the door.
Although she did not know the village of West Briar very well, she was not about to forget her way to the police station. She went in, and asked the sergeant on duty if she could speak to someone about Claire Bolton’s case.
The sergeant spoke on the phone and then looked at Morgan. ‘Detective Heinz can see you for a few minutes. He’s in the squad room, second door on the left.’
Morgan thanked him and followed his directions to the squad room. She entered timidly and looked around. Uniformed officers and men in ties and shirtsleeves were mingling at the desks in the large, white room which took up half of the first floor of the building. A good-looking young man in uniform asked if he could help her. ‘I’m looking for Detective Heinz?’ she said.
The young man pointed to a large, bald-headed man with half-glasses and a goatee scowling at a computer monitor in the corner. He was wearing a blue-striped shirt, a gold knit tie and a large, elaborate-looking watch that could probably track the time in three time zones. He did not look up as Morgan approached his desk. ‘Detective Heinz?’ she said.
‘Just a minute,’ he said without looking up. He finished tapping something into his computer, and then rolled his chair back about a foot. He frowned at Morgan. ‘What?’ he said.
‘My name is Morgan Adair.
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