was a thing of the past, thanks to this damned case. A smile? Hell, she’d be lucky if she had a job after this.
“Park it, Reid,” Bloss said, pointing to the remaining chair, a rusty folding type that was strategically placed in the corner.
As she sat on it, feeling the cold metal through the thin linen of her skirt, Savannah couldn’t help being a little miffed. Not that they would stick her in the corner, like a naughty little girl, but that they didn’t realize that she was well acquainted with the ploy. She used it herself, for heaven’s sake. Shove the subject into a corner while you’re interrogating him, boost his stress level, make him feel even more vulnerable, if possible. It worked. Once in a while.
But then, there was the other possibility. Maybe they realized that she knew the ploy... and they just didn’t give a damn.
“So ...” she began, eager to beat Bloss to the first punch, “...why have I been called on the carpet?” She glanced down at the gouged and scraped gray linoleum. “So to speak,” she added sarcastically. The ugly flooring was a major sore spot with the captain. One factor in his negotiations when being shuffled between precincts was that his office would be given new carpeting. He was still waiting.
His color rose and the corners of his mouth dropped. At least he was bright enough to realize that he had been insulted. Savannah had a long-standing policy not to insult anyone who was too dense to get it.
“You aren’t exactly on the carpet, Savannah,” Hillquist said with forced friendliness. “We just want to hear how the investigation’s going, what you’ve got so far.”
“I don’t have much more than I had the last time the two of you asked—less than twelve hours ago. I did go home and sleep for about four hours. The other eight haven’t been all that productive, I’m sorry to say.”
“Now isn’t a good time to get smart, Reid,” the captain said, leaning back in his squeaky, black wanna-be-leather chair.
Savannah gave him a benign smile that didn’t extend to her eyes. “What would you like to know ... specifically?” she asked sweetly.
“Specifically,” Hillquist interjected, “everything you’ve uncovered to this point.”
“Everything?” She gave him a covert, questioning look.
He glanced at Bloss, paused, then said, “Yes, Detective, everything.”
Reaching into her tote, she pulled out the notebook and flipped it open. Reading in a monotone, she said, “Time of death approximately four A . M . No substantial trace evidence found at the scene, at least not yet. No signs of forced entry. Three shotgun blasts. First one to the head, fatal. Other two, lower right arm and thigh. Cash roll, jewelry still on body. Blood alcohol level .14. No narcotics, prescription or otherwise.”
“Get on with it,” Bloss said, interrupting her. “We can read that stuff ourselves on the reports. You know what we wanna hear. Now what have you got?”
Her temper flared, and she snapped the notebook closed. “Yes, Captain, sir,” she said, “I know what you want to hear.” She turned to Hillquist and fixed him with blue lasers. “Yes, Chief, I know that the Winstons’ marriage was down the crapper. I know that you and she were having an affair. I know that Jonathan knew. I know that he videotaped the two of you coming out of a motel and threatened to expose you both. I’ve seen the tape and I’ve run it through the lab. The only prints were Beverly’s.”
Hesitating, she waited for that to sink in; then she continued, “Beverly threatened Jonathan’s life. It appears he believed her. He got a restraining order against her. I also know that the reason you wouldn’t let me question her yesterday was because you wanted the opportunity to talk it over with her first.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “How am I doing so far?”
Hillquist said nothing, but his fingers were no longer steepled in that irritating, condescending manner. His
“Park it, Reid,” Bloss said, pointing to the remaining chair, a rusty folding type that was strategically placed in the corner.
As she sat on it, feeling the cold metal through the thin linen of her skirt, Savannah couldn’t help being a little miffed. Not that they would stick her in the corner, like a naughty little girl, but that they didn’t realize that she was well acquainted with the ploy. She used it herself, for heaven’s sake. Shove the subject into a corner while you’re interrogating him, boost his stress level, make him feel even more vulnerable, if possible. It worked. Once in a while.
But then, there was the other possibility. Maybe they realized that she knew the ploy... and they just didn’t give a damn.
“So ...” she began, eager to beat Bloss to the first punch, “...why have I been called on the carpet?” She glanced down at the gouged and scraped gray linoleum. “So to speak,” she added sarcastically. The ugly flooring was a major sore spot with the captain. One factor in his negotiations when being shuffled between precincts was that his office would be given new carpeting. He was still waiting.
His color rose and the corners of his mouth dropped. At least he was bright enough to realize that he had been insulted. Savannah had a long-standing policy not to insult anyone who was too dense to get it.
“You aren’t exactly on the carpet, Savannah,” Hillquist said with forced friendliness. “We just want to hear how the investigation’s going, what you’ve got so far.”
“I don’t have much more than I had the last time the two of you asked—less than twelve hours ago. I did go home and sleep for about four hours. The other eight haven’t been all that productive, I’m sorry to say.”
“Now isn’t a good time to get smart, Reid,” the captain said, leaning back in his squeaky, black wanna-be-leather chair.
Savannah gave him a benign smile that didn’t extend to her eyes. “What would you like to know ... specifically?” she asked sweetly.
“Specifically,” Hillquist interjected, “everything you’ve uncovered to this point.”
“Everything?” She gave him a covert, questioning look.
He glanced at Bloss, paused, then said, “Yes, Detective, everything.”
Reaching into her tote, she pulled out the notebook and flipped it open. Reading in a monotone, she said, “Time of death approximately four A . M . No substantial trace evidence found at the scene, at least not yet. No signs of forced entry. Three shotgun blasts. First one to the head, fatal. Other two, lower right arm and thigh. Cash roll, jewelry still on body. Blood alcohol level .14. No narcotics, prescription or otherwise.”
“Get on with it,” Bloss said, interrupting her. “We can read that stuff ourselves on the reports. You know what we wanna hear. Now what have you got?”
Her temper flared, and she snapped the notebook closed. “Yes, Captain, sir,” she said, “I know what you want to hear.” She turned to Hillquist and fixed him with blue lasers. “Yes, Chief, I know that the Winstons’ marriage was down the crapper. I know that you and she were having an affair. I know that Jonathan knew. I know that he videotaped the two of you coming out of a motel and threatened to expose you both. I’ve seen the tape and I’ve run it through the lab. The only prints were Beverly’s.”
Hesitating, she waited for that to sink in; then she continued, “Beverly threatened Jonathan’s life. It appears he believed her. He got a restraining order against her. I also know that the reason you wouldn’t let me question her yesterday was because you wanted the opportunity to talk it over with her first.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “How am I doing so far?”
Hillquist said nothing, but his fingers were no longer steepled in that irritating, condescending manner. His
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