Douglas Clark - Saving Solace

Nyland drew himself up to attention. "Deputy Drebble advises the sheriff that the night progressed without undue incident," he proclaimed. Under his breath, he added, "Unfortunately."

"Ah, yes. Well, I'm glad to hear it, uh, Deputy Drebble." The sheriff pushed him out the door. "Thank you. Now go on home. You've earned a good rest after your, ah, dangerous endeavor."

Blinking in the light outside, Nyland yawned and wished the night could have proved more exciting. Then he brightened. His mother wouldn't know any different. In fact, she'd likely be the first to believe he had enjoyed a harrowing experience. He could embellish the story he told her.

He hurried off, thinking up exciting details with which to regale his mother.

Once Nyland had gone, Gerard shut the door and turned to find Vercleese rummaging through the desk. Gerard frowned. "What are you looking for?" he asked.

"I know we put it in here somewhere," Vercleese muttered. "Ah, here it is!" He stood up, holding Copper Mustache's cudgel.

Gerard flinched. "I'm sure there's really no need for that."

Vercleese's only answer was to whack the top of the desk a couple of times, testing the heft of the weapon.

"Really, we should try questioning them first," Gerard said. "There maybe no need to resort to violence, at least not right away."

Vercleese grinned mischievously. "I can always hope, can't I?"

"But what if you accidentally kill one of them?" Gerard asked.

"Why does it have to be an accident?" Vercleese responded. "Besides, the way I figure it, that's the advantage of having the pair of them. That way, if I get careless with one"-he whacked the desktop again, causing Gerard to jump-"we've always got the second as a spare."

In the cell, Copper Mustache merely stared at the two law officers, his eyes betraying little emotion, but an expression of horror spread across the face of his accomplice.

Gerard ran a hand through his hair, then tugged at his beard. "Still, I don't know. It doesn't seem quite right, beating them and all."

"Ah, you're too tenderhearted," Vercleese growled. "That's always been the trouble with you. I haven't gotten to conduct a good interrogation in months. It'll be good to get myself in practice again. I only hope I haven't grown too rusty." Whack, whack .

"What do you want to know? We'll tell," cried the accomplice.

"Shut up, Grudge!" snarled Copper Mustache.

"Grudge?" Vercleese said, peering at the cell. "Well, it's good to have a name, even if it's a strange kind of name. What kind of name is Grudge?"

"Everyone used to complain to my mother that she was always bearing a grudge, so when she had me…" He shrugged helplessly. "It seemed like a good idea… to my mother."

Vercleese turned to Gerard. "Well, I think we should start with our friend Grudge. What do you say?"

"Randolph!" Grudge wailed to his companion.

"I told you, shut up!" Randolph with the copper mustache hissed.

"But they're going to hurt me!" Grudge was blubbering now.

"They're not going to hurt you, stupid." Randolph grinned fiercely at Gerard. "Are you, Sheriff?"

"Oh, I won't, but I can't be sure about my deputy," Gerard said. "He's a real loose cannon. Please, you'd better tell us what we want to know. I'm not sure I can stand to watch him go through another interrogation. The last time he nearly kicked a prisoner to death. Seemed to enjoy himself, too."

Gerard waited. Grudge huddled in the far corner of the cell, his hands over his head, sobbing. Randolph, however, stared back at Gerard, unmoved.

Gerard sighed, letting his shoulders sag. "All right," he said to Vercleese, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "You can have Grudge. I'll see if I can talk some sense into this one." Gerard shuddered. "But take him out back. I can't stand to watch you going about your work."

Vercleese grinned and walked over to the cell. He motioned Randolph away from the door, unlocked it, and hustled Grudge out, locking the door behind him.

"Randolph!" Grudge whined. "For pity's sake, tell the sheriff!"

"Tell me what?" Gerard asked, a hand up to restrain Vercleese. But when Randolph stared silently back at him, Gerard nodded to Vercleese, who shoved Grudge out the door. Gerard could mark their progress as they went around to the back of the jailhouse by the pitiable crying of Grudge. For a long moment, there was silence; then Grudge let out a blood-curdling scream.

"You're next," Gerard said to Randolph. "That is, unless you start talking.

Behind the jail, Vercleese held the cudgel aloft. "Again," he said softly. "Put your lungs into it."

"Or what?" demanded Grudge. "You'll really start hitting me?"

"Just give me an excuse," Vercleese said grimly.

Grudge stared fearfully at the upraised hand and obliged with another terrified scream.

"So how about it?" Gerard asked after the screaming had died down.

"Oh, I could tell you a few things, all right," Randolph said. "Starting off with your parents."

"Uh-huh. No, thank you. I mean, do you have anything you want to tell me about Sheriff Joyner's death?" Gerard asked, cutting short any crudeness Randolph intended.

"Sheriff Joyner?" Randolph snorted. "I don't know anything about any Sheriff Joyner. Not that I'd tell you if I did."

"Next thing you know, you'll be trying to convince me you don't know Jutlin Wykirk either."

Randolph grinned, almost with relief. "Who? Am I supposed to have killed him, too?"

That evening, Gerard sat in the inn, staring morosely at a plate of untouched food-not, thank all the gods, spiced potatoes. He was tired and discouraged. Their charade had failed miserably, and they hadn't gotten any useful information out of Randolph or Grudge.

Now Gerard sat, ignoring the strains of music from the same trio as a few nights earlier. He felt no closer to solving the murder of Sheriff Joyner, the mysterious death of Salamon Beach, or the fumbled attempt on his own life. He had to admit it was possible neither prisoner knew anything about any of the ominous events. It was just possible, he told himself, they were both innocent.

But he didn't believe it for a moment.

His musing was interrupted when someone came to stand beside his table. "I'm sorry, Laura, I'm just not hungry tonight," he apologized, before looking up into the face of-not Laura-Kaleen. "Oh," he said. Then, feeling his greeting had been inadequate, he added, "Hello."

"And good evening to you, too, Lord Porridge." Her laughter dispelled some of the weariness evidenced in her face. "Why so morose? You look as though you just lost your best friend."

"Nothing like that," Gerard said quickly, shaking his head. "It's just… business," he concluded lamely, unwilling to confide his thoughts or confess his failure.

"May I?" she said, pointing to an empty chair across the table.

"Of course."

Just then, the trio struck up a lively tune. Gerard looked around the room. There, right on cue, was Blair, sitting nearby and treating him to an icy stare.

"That is unless"-he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face-"you'd care to dance."

"Why, your lordship, a reprise?" she said with a curtsy. "I'd be honored."

He led her to the center of the floor, where the tables had again been pushed back, right past-quite by chance, of course! — the table where Blair sat. Once out in the dance area, Gerard proceeded to demonstrate all the flourishes his instructor had been at such pains to teach him.

Gerard had in mind to sleep late the following day. Unfortunately, that goal wasn't shared by rest of Solace. He was awakened early in the morning by a polite, ladylike tapping on his door. Gerard rolled over, trying to ignore the noise. The tapping continued, not nearly as subtle as before. This time it came accompanied by Lady Drebble's voice. "Sheriff? I must speak to you at once about a matter of the utmost urgency. Sheriff, are you in there? Open up. I really must insist."