Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“Shocker.”

“He had quite a bit to say about you.”

“I’m surprised that he was sober enough to talk.”

“He made himself understood. He owned up to some unethical behavior.”

“Did he now? Did he also own up to this?” He pointed to his face.

Bellamy was taken aback, although, given the rancor with which Moody had spoken of his former cohort, she shouldn’t have been. What surprised her was that Moody hadn’t told them himself.

“Surprise attack,” Rupe continued. “He came at me from out of nowhere. I hadn’t had any contact with him since he quit the department and left Austin. All of a sudden, Bam! He’s trying to send my nose out the back of my skull.”

“What provoked him to do it?”

“Your book. Didn’t he tell you? He didn’t take kindly to it. He didn’t like how the investigating officer in your story came across. He also didn’t like that I’d granted an interview to Rocky Van Durbin. But why shouldn’t I? I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

“Apparently Dale Moody does. When he read Van Durbin’s interview with me, he got incensed. Crawled out from whatever rock he’s been hiding under, sought me out, beat me up, and left me with a warning.”

“Which was?”

“To keep my mouth shut about the Susan Lyston case and everything associated with it. You probably received the same warning.”

“Actually I didn’t,” Bellamy said.

“Hmm. Well, I guess he thought you said all you had to say about it in your book.” He looked at Dent. “Were you in on the meeting between them?”

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Huh. Judging by the looks of you, Moody didn’t roll out the welcome mat.”

“Oh, you mean this?” Dent lightly ran his finger over one of the gashes on his face. “Moody didn’t do this. Ray Strickland did.”

Rupe’s head went back several inches. “ Ray Strickland? Allen’s brother? No shit? Pardon the French, Ms. Price.” Back to Dent. “Last I heard, he’d been in a terrible car wreck. Almost killed him.”

“He’s very much alive.”

“Where did you connect with him?”

“In the parking lot of an IHOP.”

“No, seriously.”

“In the parking lot of an IHOP,” Dent repeated, deadpan. “He’s holding a grudge.”

“Against you?”

“Against everybody, is my guess. I’d watch my back if I were you, Rupe.”

“What’d I do?”

“You sent his brother to prison, and he died there. The man’s mad, and he’s mean.”

“He’s mad.” Rupe looked at Bellamy and smirked. “Well that doesn’t surprise me. Your book got a lot of people riled, didn’t it? If you had it to do over again, would you write about your sister’s murder?”

She didn’t deign to answer. “Tell me about Jim Postlewhite.”

“You mentioned that name to the cop outside. Who is he?”

“He was a Lyston Electronics employee. Head of the trucking fleet. He was Allen Strickland’s boss.”

“You said ‘was.’”

“He’s deceased.”

Rupe shrugged. “The name doesn’t ring a bell, and remembering names is one of my strengths.”

“Search your memory.”

“Sorry, the name means nothing to me.”

“It meant something to Dale Moody.”

“Then you should be asking him.”

“I intend to.” She tilted her head to one side. “What was it that convinced Moody of Allen Strickland’s innocence?”

“If he was convinced of Strickland’s innocence, that’s news to me.”

“Is it?”

“If Moody was convinced otherwise, why did he give me everything I needed to win a conviction?”

“You didn’t apply any pressure?” Dent asked. “No arm-twisting involved?”

“Not everyone has your hoodlum mentality.”

“What about Ray Strickland’s auto accident?” Bellamy asked.

“What about it?”

“Moody says you staged it to keep him from testifying in his brother’s defense.”

Rupe sputtered a laugh. Then he leaned forward from the waist and said, “Moody has drunk a lot of whiskey. He’s delusional.” Then his eyes narrowed on them. “What is this, anyway? Why the third degree? Surely you’re not taking the word of that burned-out cop over mine. If you are, you’re making fools of yourselves. My slate is clean. I only did my duty and carried out the law of the land.”

“Try selling that to Ray Strickland before he guts you.”

Rupe shot Dent a fulminating look, then came back to Bellamy. “Turning the tables here, mind if I ask you something?”

She gave a small nod of consent.

“You took license with every character in your book, including your sister. No offense, but Moody and I learned things about her that’d make a sailor blush. She was a little more… worldly … than you made her out to be in the novel.” He looked at Dent and winked. “Am I right?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rupe only laughed. Going back to Bellamy, he said, “I just wondered, by painting her purer than she was, were you being respectful of the dead, or just naive?”

“I portrayed her the way I remember her.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, now, you can tell me. Just between us,” he said, winking again, “did you love her all that much? Or even like her? Weren’t you just an itsy-bitsy bit jealous of her?”

“Where are you going with this?” she asked coolly.

“Nowhere. Just thinking out loud.” He thoughtfully tapped his fingertips against his lips. “If you’d been a little older at the time, I’d have wanted to know exactly where you were when she was killed.”

Bellamy realized he was only baiting her, but it was working. Her palms were damp when she slid the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and stood up. Dent stood up with her and placed his hand on her elbow as though sensing her unsteadiness.

She said to Rupe, “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Not a problem.” Looking very pleased with himself for having derailed them, he slapped the armrests of his chair as he pulled himself out of it.

He followed them from the room and down the hallway. He opened the front door and, with a flourish, motioned them through it. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Bellamy stepped over the threshold, then turned back. “Moody has drunk a lot of whiskey, but when he was more sober, he took extensive notes, especially during his investigation into my sister’s death.”

“That’s right, he did,” Rupe said. “He was known for his note-taking. But, along with all the documents and such, Moody’s notes went into the case file, which—”

“He copied. Before you had the original destroyed.”

Where did you come up with this Postlewhite?”

Dent had been itching to ask her, but he’d waited until they were in her car. Per usual, he had insisted on driving.

“Yesterday, when I scanned that page in Moody’s file, the name registered with me because it was starred on the original and underscored in red on the copy. I meant to ask what that signified but got distracted by everything else he was telling us and never went back to it. It occurred to me that if it was noteworthy to Moody, it might be to Rupe.”

“Good move, A.k.a. You said ‘Postlewhite’ and Rupe looked ready to hurl.”

“He definitely paled beneath his bruises.”

“I only glanced at that sheet in Moody’s file, but there were all kinds of scribbles on it. Notes. Names. How did you remember Postlewhite’s?”

“Well, beyond it being starred and underlined, I remember him. One day when I was visiting Daddy at work, he came into the office to leave some paperwork. After being introduced, he told me to call him Mr. P. and made a big deal of my being there, treated me like an honored guest, talked to me about school, asked me what my favorite subject was. Like that.”