Catherine Coulter - The Cove

"I wouldn't know," Quinlan said. "I'm from L.A."

"You live here, Ms. Brandon? If you do, you've got to be the youngest sprout within the town limits, although there's something of a subdivision growing over near the highway. Don't know why folks would want to live near the highway. They don't come into The Cove except for ice cream, leastwises that's what I hear."

"No, Sheriff. I'm visiting my aunt. Just a short vacation. I'm from Missouri."

Sheriff Mountebank wrote that down in his book, then sat back, scratched his knees, and said, "The medical examiner's over at Doc Spiver's house checking out the dead woman. She'd been in the water a good while, at least eight hours, I'd say."

"I know when she died," Sally said.

The sheriff merely smiled at her and waited. It was a habit of his, just waiting, and sure enough, everything he ever wanted to hear would pop out of a person's mouth just to fill in the silence.

He didn't have to wait long this time because Susan Brandon couldn't wait to tell him about the screams, about how her aunt had convinced her it was just the wind that first night, but last night she'd known-just known-it was a woman screaming, a woman in pain, and then that last scream, well, someone had killed her.

"What time was that? Do you remember, Ms. Brandon?"

"It was around 2:05 in the morning, Sheriff. That's when my aunt went along with me and called Reverend Vorhees."

"She called Hal Vorhees?"

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"Yes. She said he was just about the youngest man and the most physically able. He brought over three elderly men with him. They searched but couldn't find anything."

"That was probably the same group that's over at Doc Spiver's. They were all just sitting around looking at each other. This kind of thing hits a small town like The Cove real hard."

David Mountebank took down their names. He said without preamble, without softening, "Why are you wearing a black wig, Ms. Brandon?"

Without pause she said, "I'm having chemotherapy, Sheriff. I'm nearly bald."

"I'm sorry."

"That's all right."

At that moment, Quinlan knew he would never again underestimate Sally Brainerd. He wasn't particularly surprised that the sheriff could tell it was a wig. She was frankly ludicrous in that black-as-sin wig that made her look like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. No, she was even paler than Elvira. He was impressed that the sheriff had asked her about the wig. Just maybe there'd be a prayer of finding out who the woman was and who had killed her. He could see that David Mountebank wasn't stupid.

"Doc Spiver thinks this is all a tragic accident," the sheriff said, writing with his pencil on his pad even as he spoke.

James said, “The good doctor is nearly blind. He could have just as easily been examining the table leg and not the dead woman."

"Well, it appears the doctor admitted that readily enough. He said he just couldn't imagine who could have killed her, not unless it was someone from the outside. That means beyond Highway 101 A. The four other fellows there didn't know a blessed thing. I guess they were there for moral support. Now, Mr. Quinlan, you're here on business?"

Quinlan told him about the old couple he was looking for. He didn't say anything about the townspeople lying to him.

"Over three years ago," the sheriff said, looking at one of Amabel's paintings over Sally's head, this one all pale yellows and creams and nearly blueless blues, no shape or reason to any of it, but it was nice.

"Yeah, probably too long a time to turn anything up, but the son wanted to try again. I'm using The Cove as my headquarters, checking here first, then fanning out."

"Tell you what, Mr. Quinlan, when I get back to my office I'll do some checking. I've been sheriff only two years. I'll see what the former sheriff had to say about it."

"I'd appreciate that."

There was a knock at the front door. Then it opened and a small, slender man came into the living room.

He was wearing wire-rim glasses and a fedora. He took off his hat, nodded to the sheriff, and bowed to Sally. "Sheriff, ma'am." He then looked at Quinlan, just looked at him, like a little dog ready to go after the mastodon if his master gave the command.

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Quinlan stuck out his hand. "Quinlan."

"I'm the medical examiner. We're removing the body now, Sheriff. I just wanted to give you a preliminary report." He paused, a dramatic pause, Quinlan knew, and grinned. He'd seen it many times before.

Medical examiners hardly ever had the limelight. It was their only chance to shine, and this man was trying his best to light up the room.

"Yes, Ponser? Get on with it."

That wasn't as good a name as Mountebank, but it was close. Quinlan looked over at Sally, but she was staring at her shoes. She was listening, though; he could see the tension in her body, practically see the air quiver around her.

"Someone strangled her," Ponser said cheerfully. "It's pretty obvious, but I can't say for sure until I've done the autopsy. Perhaps the killer believed it wouldn't be evident after she'd been in the water, but he was wrong. On the other hand, if the tide hadn't washed her in, then her body would never have been found and it would have been academic."

"That's what they wanted," Sally said. "They didn't want her found. Even with the tide washing her up, how many people ever go down there? They're all old. It's dangerous. James and I finding her, that was just plain bad luck for them."

"Yes, it certainly was," the sheriff said. He rose. "Ms. Brandon, could you try to pinpoint the direction and the distance of those screams you heard? Were they from the same direction and distance both nights?"

"That's an awfully good question," Sally said slowly. "It would help, yes, it would. Both nights the screams were close, that or she really screamed loudly. I think they came both times from across the way. It was close, so very close-at least I think it was."

"Ah, there's a nice long row of neat little cottages lining the street across from this house. Surely someone must have heard something. If you remember anything else, here's my card. Call me anytime."

He shook Quinlan's hand. "You know, what I can't figure out is why someone was holding the woman prisoner."

"Prisoner?" Sally said, just staring at the sheriff.

"Naturally, ma'am. If she wasn't being held against her will, then why would you have heard the screams two different nights? The killer was holding her for some reason, a reason so powerful he only killed her that second night when she got loose and screamed again. But I've gotta ask myself, why keep someone prisoner if you're not planning on doing away with her anyway? 'Or maybe he was thinking of ransom and that's why he kept her alive. Maybe he was planning on killing her all along. Maybe he's a real psycho. I don't know, but I'll find out. I haven't heard a thing about anyone missing.

"Questions, I'm filled with them. As soon as we can get a photograph of the woman, then my deputies will be crawling all over the subdivision like army ants. I hope she's local, I really do."

"It would make your job a whole lot easier," Quinlan said. "Give me a relative or a husband any day and I'll find you a dozen motives."

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"Yes, Mr. Quinlan, that's surely the truth."

"Nothing like a good mystery to stir a man's blood."

"I prefer mine to yours, Mr. Quinlan. Finding two missing people after three years isn't likely. Well, I'll be on my way now. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Brandon."

He said to Quinlan as they walked to the door, "Now, this murdered woman, I'll find out who was holding her and then we'll see what kind of motive we've got for a brutal murder. I wonder why they threw her body over the cliff?"