Kurt hadn’t phoned, and neither had Simon. She was both relieved and annoyed. She didn’t want to lead Simon on, or slip and give Kurt more information, but lacking the two men’s input, she had no idea what was going on in the murder investigation.
Hmm.
Who else could tell her what she needed to know? Skye checked her watch. It was close to seven. Given that in the chief’s absence Quirk was in charge, he would have taken the day shift, which ended at three. So, who would be working afternoons? With any luck, Anthony would be on duty, but even if it were one of the other part-timers, she might be able to get the lowdown. And if all else failed, there was always the dispatcher, who often knew more than all the officers combined.
With that plan in mind, she headed to the police station. It was housed in the same redbrick building that also contained the city hall and town library. During the weekday, the parking lot was often crowded, but on a Saturday night Skye had her choice of spots. She pulled the Bel Air in between a purple Gremlin and a white Ford Focus. It didn’t bode well that neither vehicle looked familiar.
When Skye pushed open the glass door, a series of chimes announced her arrival. She waved at the dispatcher, who sat at a desk to Skye’s right; a shoulder-height counter with bulletproof glass reaching to the ceiling separated the woman from the reception area.
May’s friend Thea and cousin Char were the only dispatchers Skye knew well. Thea generally worked days with Wally, May worked afternoons with Quirk, and Char worked midnights.
Recently two weekend dispatchers, Silvia and Betty, had been hired to work twelve-hour shifts on Saturday and Sunday. Skye was pretty sure the one on duty tonight was Silvia, but they both were medium height and weight, with short brown hair and glasses.
Skye knocked on the glass, and Silvia—or maybe it was Betty—nodded, and buzzed her through the security door at the end of the counter.
Once inside, Skye poked her head around the corner and said, “Hi. Who’s on?”
“McCabe.” The dispatcher made a face, but didn’t turn her head. She was expected to type data into the computer, monitor the radios, and answer the phones simultaneously.
That explained the purple Gremlin. It was a car only Otto McCabe, an inept county deputy who moonlighted in Scumble River when no one else was available, would drive and/or think was cool. Quirk would have been the worst on-duty officer to run into, but McCabe was a close second.
“Is he out patrolling?”
“Yeah. He’s making the circuit. He should be back before long.”
The circuit was from one end of Basin Street to the other, and was patrolled mainly to keep an eye on the numerous bars that were scattered down its length.
“Mind if I wait?” Skye didn’t like McCabe, but he was dumb enough to let something slip if she needled him.
“Make yourself at home.”
As Skye stepped into the dispatcher’s tiny cubicle, she could make out the nameplate pinned to her uniform. It said, SILVIA; Skye had been right. “Anything interesting happening out there?”
“Nope.” Silvia continued to focus on the computer monitor. “Been pretty quiet, not like last night.”
“Yeah.” That was the opening Skye was looking for. “Phew. Last night was way too exciting.”
“You were there, right? You found the vic?”
“Yep.”
“That must have been scary, being in a haunted house and stumbling across a dead body.”
“I was terrified.” Skye slid a glance at the woman behind the desk, but she was still busy checking data on the screen. “Have they gotten any leads yet?”
“When I took over from Char this morning, she said Quirk had Dr. Paine in the interrogation room all night, but let him go around six.”
“I wonder if Quirk found out anything.”
“I doubt it.” Silvia shrugged. “He was like a bear with a pinecone up his ass.”
Skye blinked, trying to get that picture out of her head, and before she could ask any more questions she spotted Otto McCabe as he strolled through the garage entrance into the station’s coffee/interrogation room. It seemed strange to see him in the navy Scumble River police uniform rather than the tan Stanley County one.
“There’s McCabe.” Skye quickly rose from her chair. “I’d better catch him before he goes out again. See you later, Silvia.”
McCabe stood in front of the soft-drink machine. He repeatedly stabbed the Jolt button with his index finger, but no can of soda fell down the chute and into the slot.
Skye sidled up behind him and said, “That stuff will kill you.”
McCabe twisted around, his hand on the gun on his hip. He bore an unfortunate resemblance to Barney Fife from the old
Andy Griffith Show
, and Skye wondered whether he, like Barney, was allowed to have only a single bullet; and if so, did he keep it in his shirt pocket as the TV character had?
Once McCabe saw Skye, he scowled. “You got no business sneaking up on an armed man like that. I could have shot you dead.”
“Sorry.” Skye put up her hands. “I had no idea you were so jumpy. Maybe you should lay off the caffeine.”
“I’m not jumpy. I’m alert.” McCabe hitched up his pants and bristled. “You gotta be on your toes at all times in this job. You can’t let the perps get the drop on you.”
Skye restrained herself from pointing out that on a Saturday night in Scumble River the only “perps” McCabe was likely to run into would be drunks. And they’d be out on the roads causing accidents, not in the PD’s coffee room.
McCabe waited a few seconds for her to speak, and when she didn’t, he tugged at the collar of his uniform shirt. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I stopped by to pick up some papers that the chief wanted me to look over.” Skye crossed her fingers. “You did hear that the police department hired me as their psychological consultant, didn’t you?”
“Sure I did. Nothing gets past me. I got my ear to the ground and my eye on the prize.” He puffed out his chest and thrust his head forward. “You working the murder?”
“Yes.” She was working on the case, just not officially—yet. She would be as soon as she talked to Wally. “I was tied up today with some family business, so I didn’t get a chance to discuss things with Officer Quirk. Did he brief you when you came on duty?”
“Sure. Me and Roy go way back.”
“And?” Skye asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“It’s a mess. With all the costumes and people running around in the dark, no one has an alibi.”
Skye couldn’t believe her luck. “Yeah.” McCabe was spilling everything. “That’s a problem. Any idea of a motive for the killing?”
“Nah.” McCabe gave up on the soda machine and poured himself a cup of coffee instead. “No one seemed to like the vic, but no one seemed to hate her enough to kill her either.” He leaned a skinny hip against the counter. “That’s something you’d probably work on, right?”
“Right.” Skye wondered if Quirk knew about the battle for the Promfest leadership, not to mention the battle for whose daughter would be crowned prom queen. She doubted he read Kurt Michaels’s gossip column. “Did Roy say whether Evie Harrison was questioned?”
“Harrison . . . Harrison. I don’t rightly remember, but the name sounds familiar.”
“Well, concentrate.” Skye stepped closer. “Didn’t you take notes?”
“Hey.” McCabe’s expression turned suspicious. “If you’re the psychological consultant, why are you asking me? Why don’t you look at the file?”
Skye backed off. “I wanted to save some time.”
Shoot.
He was smarter than he looked.
“Where’s the gall-darn fire?” He took a sip of coffee. “The body’s not going nowhere.”
Skye’s voice was knife-edged. “Even
you
must know that the more time goes by, the less likely the case is to be solved.”
“Don’t be lecturing me, missy.” McCabe took off his hat and hit the side of his leg with it. “I’m a professional peace officer.”
“It sure doesn’t look that way.” Skye shook her head. “Maybe if the chief knew that you are unaware that time is of the essence in a murder investigation, you would no longer be working for the Scumble River PD. Heck, maybe the new sheriff might be interested as well.”
McCabe’s Adam’s apple bobbed like a rowboat on Lake Michigan. “Now, Skye, you wouldn’t tell him that, would you?” His tone had swung from pompous to pleading.
“Well . . .” Skye realized she had the deputy over a barrel. “No, not if you can remember what you heard about Evie Harrison.”
“Right. No need to bother the chief . . . or the sheriff.” McCabe backed toward the exit. “I’m sure when you and Wally are together, you have better things to do than talk about me.”
Skye raised an eyebrow, but let that comment pass. “So, then, what’s the scoop on Evie?”
“They found her in her car.” McCabe put his hand on the doorknob. “She was drunker than a skunk and says she doesn’t remember anything after putting on her costume and taking her position at the haunted house.”
“Did they give her a Breathalyzer or test her blood?”
“She wouldn’t blow into the Breathalyzer.” McCabe opened the door. “And the law says we can’t force her. If she was operating a moving vehicle, she could lose her license for refusing, but since she wasn’t, there was nothing we could do. You need a court order for a blood test.”
“Does Quirk believe her?”
McCabe nodded.
“Okay, one more question.”
McCabe froze. “What?”
“Is Quirk considering the fact that Annette Paine might not have been the intended victim?”
“Nope.” McCabe had nearly disappeared into the garage; only his pointy nose was still in the coffee room.
“So Quirk is sure the murderer meant to kill Annette?” Skye probed.
“She’s the vic, and it’s her murder he’s investigating.” McCabe slammed the door, after muttering, “I can’t spend all night here jawing with you. I gotta get back on the road.”
A few seconds later Skye heard the squad car’s engine roar to life and its tires squeal as McCabe tore out of the garage. Lost in thought, Skye walked over to the soda machine and whacked it above the coin return with the heel of her hand. A can of Jolt fell into the dispenser. She scooped out the high-voltage cola, popped the top, and took a long swallow. She felt an instant caffeine surge, and her nervous system went on red alert, but she shrugged. What the heck, she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight anyway.
If Quirk is only concentrating on investigating people who might want to kill Annette, and she wasn’t the intended victim, there’s a one-in-three chance that the next dead body to turn up might be mine.
CHAPTER 14
Stand by Me
“
H
ello?” Skye squinted at the clock radio. It was six a.m. She’d been asleep for only three hours, having, as she predicted, tossed and turned for most of the night. Who could be calling her at this ungodly hour?
Shoot!
She should have let the machine pick up. What if her mother had decided to nag her long-distance?
“Hi, sugar. Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to make sure to catch you at home.” Wally’s silky voice smoothed over her like expensive body lotion. “I got your messages too late to call you back yesterday. Is everything okay?”
“I’m glad you called. I miss you.” Skye ignored Wally’s question. She’d tell him all about the murder and the rumors in a minute, but first she wanted to shake off her sleep-deprived fog and focus. “How’s your dad?”
“He seems to be doing fine,” Wally answered. “In fact, he’s trying to talk the doctors into letting him out of the hospital.”
“It’s wonderful that he’s feeling that much better. Does that mean you’re coming home soon?”
“I’m not sure. I wish I were, but things are still up in the air here. Dad wants me to stay. And the doctors can’t figure out why he collapsed in the first place.”
“Oh.” Skye was surprised by the depth of her disappointment. “Could it have been exhaustion? Your father struck me as someone who would work twenty-four/seven if he could.”
“That’s one of the things they’re considering, but they want to run more tests. At this point, it’s a process of elimination.”
“Well, it’s good that they’re being thorough.” Skye adjusted the pillows behind her back so she could sit up more comfortably. “That way when they say he’s all right, you’ll know they’re sure and you won’t have to worry that they missed something.”
“Right.” Wally’s voice was oddly gentle. “How did you make out with the haunted house? Did you overcome your fear or has it been as terrible as you expected?”
“Haven’t you talked to Roy?”
“No. He’s next on my list.” Wally sounded concerned. “What happened? Did some of the kids get out of hand?”
“I wish.” Skye blew out a long breath. “Annette Paine was murdered.”
“What!” Wally bellowed. “Son of a B. Why didn’t Quirk call me?”
Should she tell Wally her theory behind Quirk’s silence? No. She didn’t want to sound whiny. “He probably didn’t want to bother you.”
“Why do I think that’s not his entire motive?” Wally asked. “So, tell me, from the beginning, what’s happened in the thirty-six hours I’ve been gone.”
Skye launched into a detailed explanation, ending with, “I talked to Otto McCabe last night, and—”
Wally broke in, “Don’t tell me Quirk called in McCabe to work.”
“Oops.” Skye hadn’t realized that McCabe was on Wally’s “Do Not Call” list. Now when Wally talked to Quirk, it would seem as if Skye were a tattletale. “Uh, could you pretend you don’t know that? I don’t think Quirk likes me too much to begin with, and his thinking I’ve been snitching to his boss isn’t going to help matters.” Skye bit her lip. “In fact, you need to pretend you haven’t heard about the murder.”
“No.” Wally’s voice was firm. “We’re not playing that game. If Quirk has an issue with you, we’ll deal with it. He needs to understand I hired you as the psych consultant because of your skill as an investigator, not because of your skill in bed—although that’s outstanding, too.”