Bitter Sweets

Bloss looked to Hillquist for reinforcement.

    “Let’s get on with it,” Hillquist said.

    “Yes, please,” Savannah said, sitting back in her miserably uncomfortable chair and trying not to look as nervous as she felt. “I’m tired, I’m in the middle of PMS, I haven’t had my dinner yet, and I’m starting to get cranky.”

    “None of us have had our dinners yet,” Bloss growled. “After that little stunt you pulled earlier this-”

    Hillquist held up one hand to silence Bloss then turned to Savannah. “Did you kill Lisa Mallock?"

    “No.”

    “Did you help someone do it?”

    “No.”

    “Do you know who did?”

    “I have a pretty good idea.”

    “Who?”

    “I think it was her ex-husband, Earl Mallock.” “How do you know that?”

    Savannah winced as the wound went a notch deeper into her conscience. “I don’t know; it, but I suspect it’s true. Mallock lied to me, claiming to be her long-lost brother, and used my agency to find her.”

    Neither Hillquist nor Bloss registered any emotion at all.

    Hillquist didn’t appear to even have any brain waves. Savannah wondered why they were going over this, when it was obvious she wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t know already.

    Hillquist picked up a gold Cross pen from his desk top and began to write on a piece of paper. At first, she thought he was taking notes, but another look told her he was merely doodling.

    She couldn’t help wondering what he was drawing. Probably a hangman’s noose.

    Without looking his way, Savannah knew that Dirk was watching her closely. She didn’t dare even glance at him for fear of intercepting some sweet, schmaltzy look that would twang her heartstrings. She had to keep her head clear; this definitely wasn’t the time to give in to emotions.

    “Are you aware that trace evidence has been found that links you to the scene of the murder?” Hillquist continued to doodle, his eyes still as flat as his monotone.

    “I’m not surprised,” Savannah replied. “I was there in the cabin the morning following the murder. I stood over the body. I touched it.”

    “How do you know that was the morning after?” Bloss had been quiet as long as he could. He had to interject his nickel’s worth. “How come you’re so sure that she was killed the night before?”

    “I’ve seen quite a few stiffs in my day...sir. The body exhibited total rigidity, cloudy corneas, and fixed lividity. No insect infestation to speak of, but she was indoors... windows and doors closed. My best guess would be that she had died around midnight. Am I close?”

    “Dr. Liu says one,” Dirk said quietly.

    “What was your relationship with Earl Mallock?” Hillquist said. He looked bored, but Savannah noticed his hand had tightened around the gold pen.

    “The man was my client. That’s it, that’s all. And he wasn’t a very good one at that, since he lied to me and paid me only half of what he owed me.”

    “And what if we can prove that he was far more to you than simply your client?”

    Savannah laced her fingers together and could feel her pulse pounding out to their tips. “Since it isn’t true, it would require a lot of fabrication on your part. But, I suppose if you really wanted to, you could. It all depends on how far you’ll go to settle old scores.”

    She heard Dirk’s slight intake of breath and watched as a flicker of hate lit the chiefs dull eyes.

    “I’d watch what you say, Miss Reid,” he said carefully. “We’re just about to charge you with accessory to murder,”

    “I don’t think so, or I would have brought an attorney with me.”

    “We’ve checked your financial standing. Since you’ve left the department, you can’t afford an attorney.”

    That was much closer to the truth than Savannah cared to admit, even to herself. She was in the rotten, middle-class bracket of individuals who couldn’t afford the services of professionals: doctors, lawyers, plumbers, or automobile mechanics, but weren’t sufficiently poverty-stricken to warrant public assistance.

    Her blood sugar level dipped to an all-time low. She stood and tucked her purse under her arm. “Are you going to charge me or not?”

    “I haven’t decided yet,” Hillquist replied.

    “Well, you better make up your mind. I’ve got a Black Forest cake in my refrigerator and an eighty-three-year-old grandmother in my house.”

    “You aren’t going anywhere, Ms. Reid,” Hillquist said. He had stopped