Кей Хупер - Out of the Shadows

Could he survive this?

Would he?

"This is disgraceful!" Justin Marsh announced.

"It's just an interview, Justin," Miranda told him mildly. "A routine interview."

"Routine? Just an interview? You sent a patrol car to get me, Sheriff! You had armed ruffians drag me from my own home before my stricken family!"

Miranda thought that both Sandy Lynch and Carl Tierney would have been appalled by that description of themselves, and that Selena probably had been more bewildered than stricken, but all she said was, "They didn't drag you, Justin. They asked you politely to come back here with them so we could discuss a few things. That's all. Just discuss."

"I'll have something to say about this to my attorney!"

"Go ahead and call him," Miranda invited, knowing very well that Bill Dennison would tell Justin to stop being such a fool and answer the questions.

Justin knew it too, judging by the glare he fixed on Miranda. "I'll sue you and the Sheriff's Department," he said, sounding more sulky than anything else. "Questioning me like a common criminal! And with an FBI agent standing over me in a threatening manner!"

Since Bishop was across the room leaning rather negligently against the filing cabinet, that was such an obvious exaggeration that Miranda could only admire it for a moment in silence. She propped an elbow on her desk and rubbed the back of her neck wearily.

Maybe if I drew my gun and pointed it at him? Bishop suggested telepathically.

Don't tempt me , she returned without looking at him. "Justin, the past couple of weeks have been a real bear, and this week isn't shaping up to be a whole lot better. I've got at least four teenagers dead, along with a lady I happened to like an awful lot, and I intend to get to the bottom of things."

"There's evil here, I've warned you—"

"So what I'd like you to explain to me is how your Bible ended up on Liz Hallowell's nightstand."

Justin paled, then flushed a vivid red. "Beside her bed? Sheriff, are you implying that my relationship with Elizabeth was in some way illicit?"

Miranda resisted an impulse to sigh. "I just want to know how she ended up with your Bible, Justin."

"I have no idea," he said stiffly.

"Well, when did you miss it?"

"I didn't."

Miranda lifted an eyebrow at him.

Flushing again, Justin said, "I've been preoccupied with the storm, Sheriff, like everyone else. We lost power in the first few hours, and I was kept busy tending to the fire, bringing in firewood and such. I didn't think about the Bible until you showed it to me."

"When do you last remember having it?"

He frowned at her, still indignant but reluctantly interested. "I suppose ... it was at Elizabeth's coffeeshop. Just before the storm began. I must have left it there."

"Saturday night?"

"Yes."

"How long were you there?"

"Not long. Half an hour, maybe a little longer. It must have been about quarter after nine or so when I left."

"And after that?"

"I went home, of course. The snow had started."

"What time was it when you got home?"

"Nine-thirty, or a little after. I didn't dawdle. I knew Selena would be anxious."

It went without saying that Selena would back up what Justin said, and it was about what they had expected to hear. Miranda pushed a legal pad and a pencil across her desk to him. "If you wouldn't mind, Justin, try to remember everyone you saw or spoke to at the coffeeshop that night."

He picked up the pencil, but the frown remained. "You don't suspect me of killing Elizabeth?"

"Did you?" Miranda asked politely.

"Of course not!"

"Then why would we suspect you?"

"You brought me here to—"

"I brought you here to ask you about the Bible, Justin, that's all. We have to check out all the details, you know. Like the Bible. That was an anomaly, something out of place, and we have to try to explain how it ended up where it did. A list of everyone who had access to it and might have picked it up will undoubtedly be helpful to the investigation." Gravely, she added, "Thank you."

He stared at her for a moment, then muttered, "Of course, of course. Glad to help." He bent over the legal pad.

You ought to go into politics.

I'm in politics. She shot Bishop a rueful glance.

Oh, yeah — you are, aren't you? He stirred and said aloud, "Mind if I ask you something, Mr. Marsh?"

"I don't see how I can stop you," Justin said, far from graciously.

Miranda thought he probably remembered how easily Bishop had bested him in the contest of Biblical quotations, and his wounded vanity amused her.

If Bishop was also amused, he didn't let it show; he was expressionless and kept his voice matter-of-fact. "You've been warning us about the evil in Gladstone for some time now. Is this just a general feeling of yours, or can you point to something specific?"

"How specific do I have to be?" Justin snapped. "People are dying."

"We know that, Justin." Miranda was patient. "And unless you have something useful to add as to who might be killing these people or why, reminding us continually that it's evil isn't entirely helpful. We know it's evil. We'd like to stop it. If you have any suggestions as to how we can do that, we'd appreciate hearing them."

His eyes on the pad as he quickly and neatly printed a list of names, Justin said calmly, "Then you might want to find out who ended up with Adam Ramsay's car."

To get an answer from Justin unaccompanied by any religious or bombastic trimmings was so unexpected it took Miranda several seconds to respond. "There was no car registered to Adam Ramsay."

"That doesn't mean he didn't have one." Justin sent her a wry look "Seventeen-year-old boys might not be able to legally own cars, but surely you don't expect that to stop them. I imagine his father probably registered the car in his name."

"Adam's mother specifically said he didn't have a car. That's why we never looked for one."

"Julie Ramsay doesn't have the sense to raise a pup, much less a boy. There was a lot she didn't know about him."

"How do you know about the car?"

"Cars were my business, remember? I notice them. I remember them. His was a green '89 Mustang."

Miranda looked at Bishop, who said, "Why do you believe the car is important?"

"Because it's never turned up, I suppose. And because whenever I saw the boy around that car, I always thought there was something sly about him, something sneaky. I raised two of my own, and I can tell you that boy was up to something."

"Anything else? Anything definitive, I mean?"

Justin pushed the pad across the desk to Miranda. "If there was anything definitive, I expect you would have spotted it by now."

Miranda honestly didn't know if that was a dig at her, the investigation, Bishop, the FBI — or merely Justin's way of slamming all of them.

Justin got to his feet. "I assume I can go now?"

Miranda pressed the buzzer on her intercom and stood up. "There are a few things we need to check out. I'm going to ask you to wait in one of our interview rooms, Justin."

He scowled. "You mean a cell."

"No, I mean one of our interview rooms." She nodded to Carl, who'd opened her office door and stood waiting. "Carl will get you some coffee and whatever else you need to make yourself comfortable, and I'll talk to you again later."

Justin protested bitterly but had little choice except to accompany the burly deputy.

When they were gone, Bishop said, "What surprises me most is that he raised two sons."

"Neither of whom chose to stay and make a home in Gladstone," Miranda commented dryly.

"Now, that doesn't surprise me." Bishop smiled faintly. "You may have to move him to a cell eventually."