Play Dead by Leslie O'Kane Page A

the
name left my brain even while he was saying it. He asked my name and address.
To my embarrassment, I couldn’t remember my house number. I rambled about how I’d
just moved back to Colorado after several years in Chicago, till enough of my
mental faculties returned that I could remember my address. Two more patrol
cars pulled up, along with a chartreuse-colored emergency fire department
vehicle. One officer rang the doorbell of the white house, while another
escorted the paramedics to Beth’s body.
    By now, pedestrians and people from
neighboring homes were gathering, and the question, “What’s going on?” kept
being asked over and over by various voices. I had to steel myself against
shouting, “Where were you when Beth Gleason was getting stabbed to death?” I
tried to ignore the crowd and give the policeman as complete a picture as I
could—what had happened in the last twenty-four hours or so since some
stranger named Beth Gleason called into that damned Tracy Truett Show.
    Behind us, mostly blocked from view by the
cedar fence, the paramedics were working on Beth Gleason, which seemed macabre
to me, since there was not a doubt in my mind she was already dead. In the
meantime, the policeman with me asked more questions about what I was doing
here and my “relationship to the victim.” I did my best to answer him, but I
hadn’t felt this out of it since I’d been knocked unconscious by an elbow to
the head during a high school basketball game. At once, things seemed to swirl
around me in a flurry of motion and yet barely drag by.
    A detective arrived and had me repeat my
entire story. He was Hispanic with a trace of an accent and was soft-spoken, so
much so that I had to ask him to repeat himself almost every time he said
anything. I grew impatient to leave and check on Doppler, who was still alone
in my office. Sage, too, was growing more restless as time passed, barking
nonstop. Once again, I began to shiver uncontrollably.
    The detective said, “Cold day to be
outside without a coat.” At least, I think that’s what he said.
    “I...covered Beth with my jacket. I don’t
want it back.” I doubted I’d ever be able to look at my L.L.Bean without
thinking of this day.
    “Would you be more comfortable in my car?”
    For once, I heard him the first time. I
shook my head. “I’d really like to go back to my office. I need to get Beth’s
collie to a quiet spot, and my own dog is locked up there and needs to be let
out.”
    The detective pocketed his small notepad. “Would
you come to the police station and give a formal statement?”
    I fought back a sigh. “Of course. I’ll do
anything I can to help. But can I meet you there in a couple of hours?”
    He nodded. “Matter of fact, I’ll be...” He
looked over his shoulder toward Beth while mumbling. The next words I could
make out were: “...hours yet. Can you meet me at the Boulder Police Station
tomorrow morning?”
    “Yes, I’ll be there.” That reminded me. My
appointment with the golden retriever was fast approaching. I checked my watch.
I was supposed to be at the client’s house in ten minutes. “There’s a guy named
Chet...something-or-other who’s waiting for the police at Beth Gleason’s house.
He called in about Beth being missing well over an hour ago. He...needs to be
told.”
    “We’ll take care of that, miss.”
    “The collie’s leash is in the pocket of
the jacket with Beth. It’s a green nylon leash. There was blood on it. There’s
also a second leash back in the yard behind...It’s between Beth’s body and the
fence. That’s my leash and I’ll need it to walk the collie back to my office.”
    The detective knelt on one knee, talking
softly to Sage as he examined Sage’s leather collar and ran his hands over his
fur, in a tactile examination that apparently yielded nothing. “You’re going to
take the victim’s dog with you?”
    “Yes. He’s traumatized. He needs my help.”
    The detective rose, staring