woman told him. “It’s around back by the loading
docks.”
Scarne found Mrs. Quinn standing
in line talking to other employees. He offered to buy her coffee.
“And perhaps one of those cheese
Danishes?” she said. “My doctor would have a coronary if he knew. He’s one of
those health nuts. Just got him. My old doctor died last year. Was 78. Probably
not enough Danishes. We can sit in the shade on that wall over there.”
Five minutes later Mrs. Quinn was
happily munching on one of the largest pastries Scarne had ever seen. She
insisted he have half.
“I don’t know how much help you
got from Beldon, but if you want to find out something about the murder or Bob,
then he’s right, you should talk to Ev Harvey. They were very close. He was
there when they found that poor girl, too. If Bob confided in anyone, it would
have been Everett.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the latest
iPhone, which she handled like a teen-ager. “Here’s his cell number. He doesn’t
come into the paper much. Usually at one of the precincts, or the courts.”
Scarne spent another 10 minutes
chatting with Mrs. Quinn. Finally she looked at her watch.
“Look at the time. I told Gladys
to hold the fort for a few minutes. She’s probably ready to send out the
cavalry. Whenever I’m a few minutes late they assume I’ve croaked. But let me
walk you to your car.”
“That’s not necessary, Mrs.
Quinn.”
He didn’t relish the thought of
this spry octogenarian finding out that he’d parked in a handicap spot. With a low-slung
sports car, no less!
“Nonsense.” She started walking
away briskly. “I could use the exercise.”
When they got to his car there was
a ticket on the windshield.
“Still up to your old tricks, I
see,” Mrs. Quinn laughed. “Not that I blame you. Half the handicap stickers are
bogus. Bad luck about the summons, though. Paper just ran a story on some
corrupt cops. Payback time.”
Scarne sighed and pocketed the
ticket.
“Good luck,” Mrs. Quinn said. “I
really mean it. Just between you, me and the wallpaper, Jake Scarne, I think
there is something very fishy about Elizabeth’s murder.” Not much got by this
old lady, Scarne realized. She should be working in the newsroom, not on the
reception desk. Scarne gave her a kiss on the cheek. “If you talk to Bob, tell
him we still love him and wish he would come back. Although I guess that’s not
likely. Now run along.”
She poked him in the stomach.
“And go easy on the Danishes.”
CHAPTER 12 – PERPETUAL MOTION
Scarne tried Everett Harvey’s cell
phone and got a recorded message. So he left one of his own. He then called the
120 th Precinct and asked to speak to the detectives working on the
Pearsall homicide.
A few moments later, a man said,
“Detective Scullen, how can I help you?”
Scarne explained who he was and
what he was doing, and asked if he could stop by.
“Do you have new information?”
Scarne was prepared for the
question.
“Maybe. I also thought you might
be able to bring me up to speed. And I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so
I thought I’d let you know I’m around.”
“What do you mean ‘maybe’?”
“I mean I may have something you’d
want to hear. Not over the phone.”
“Who did you say you’re working
for?”
“I didn’t.” He could feel
Detective Scullen chewing on that. But the cop would see him, he knew, because
he was getting nowhere on the case. Moreover, anyone calling in on a homicide
is automatically a suspect. “Can you come in now?”
“No, I’m on the road and have a
few stops. How does 2 o’clock sound?”
Scarne next called the District
Attorney’s Office.
***
The town of St. George, on the
north shore of Staten Island, was the gateway to Staten Island from Manhattan.
In addition to being a ferry and commuter rail hub, it contained a diffuse
administrative complex that included the Supreme Court system, the District
Attorney’s
docks.”
Scarne found Mrs. Quinn standing
in line talking to other employees. He offered to buy her coffee.
“And perhaps one of those cheese
Danishes?” she said. “My doctor would have a coronary if he knew. He’s one of
those health nuts. Just got him. My old doctor died last year. Was 78. Probably
not enough Danishes. We can sit in the shade on that wall over there.”
Five minutes later Mrs. Quinn was
happily munching on one of the largest pastries Scarne had ever seen. She
insisted he have half.
“I don’t know how much help you
got from Beldon, but if you want to find out something about the murder or Bob,
then he’s right, you should talk to Ev Harvey. They were very close. He was
there when they found that poor girl, too. If Bob confided in anyone, it would
have been Everett.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the latest
iPhone, which she handled like a teen-ager. “Here’s his cell number. He doesn’t
come into the paper much. Usually at one of the precincts, or the courts.”
Scarne spent another 10 minutes
chatting with Mrs. Quinn. Finally she looked at her watch.
“Look at the time. I told Gladys
to hold the fort for a few minutes. She’s probably ready to send out the
cavalry. Whenever I’m a few minutes late they assume I’ve croaked. But let me
walk you to your car.”
“That’s not necessary, Mrs.
Quinn.”
He didn’t relish the thought of
this spry octogenarian finding out that he’d parked in a handicap spot. With a low-slung
sports car, no less!
“Nonsense.” She started walking
away briskly. “I could use the exercise.”
When they got to his car there was
a ticket on the windshield.
“Still up to your old tricks, I
see,” Mrs. Quinn laughed. “Not that I blame you. Half the handicap stickers are
bogus. Bad luck about the summons, though. Paper just ran a story on some
corrupt cops. Payback time.”
Scarne sighed and pocketed the
ticket.
“Good luck,” Mrs. Quinn said. “I
really mean it. Just between you, me and the wallpaper, Jake Scarne, I think
there is something very fishy about Elizabeth’s murder.” Not much got by this
old lady, Scarne realized. She should be working in the newsroom, not on the
reception desk. Scarne gave her a kiss on the cheek. “If you talk to Bob, tell
him we still love him and wish he would come back. Although I guess that’s not
likely. Now run along.”
She poked him in the stomach.
“And go easy on the Danishes.”
CHAPTER 12 – PERPETUAL MOTION
Scarne tried Everett Harvey’s cell
phone and got a recorded message. So he left one of his own. He then called the
120 th Precinct and asked to speak to the detectives working on the
Pearsall homicide.
A few moments later, a man said,
“Detective Scullen, how can I help you?”
Scarne explained who he was and
what he was doing, and asked if he could stop by.
“Do you have new information?”
Scarne was prepared for the
question.
“Maybe. I also thought you might
be able to bring me up to speed. And I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so
I thought I’d let you know I’m around.”
“What do you mean ‘maybe’?”
“I mean I may have something you’d
want to hear. Not over the phone.”
“Who did you say you’re working
for?”
“I didn’t.” He could feel
Detective Scullen chewing on that. But the cop would see him, he knew, because
he was getting nowhere on the case. Moreover, anyone calling in on a homicide
is automatically a suspect. “Can you come in now?”
“No, I’m on the road and have a
few stops. How does 2 o’clock sound?”
Scarne next called the District
Attorney’s Office.
***
The town of St. George, on the
north shore of Staten Island, was the gateway to Staten Island from Manhattan.
In addition to being a ferry and commuter rail hub, it contained a diffuse
administrative complex that included the Supreme Court system, the District
Attorney’s
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