Yesterday's News

swivel around to face me. “Same questions as last time, but this time I’d like some better answers.”
    “I already told you everything I know.”
    “Not quite. Let’s start with Charlie Coyne. You knew he was Jane’s substitute lover, didn’t you?”
    “No.”
    “Doesn’t wash, Bruce. Jane told you about Coyne being her confidential source.”
    “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “I think I do. She didn’t share things with her editor, that’s for sure. Jane was pretty distraught by Monday afternoon, and after I pushed her some, she admitted talking it over with a couple of people, people she trusted. That would have to include you.” Fetch sneered, but not very convincingly. “Sure, Jane’s gonna tell me the name of the guy who’s replacing me?”
    “No. No, I don’t see it that way. I see it more like Jane needing to talk with someone about her professional problems, and my guess is she just told you about Coyne as her source. You’re the one who put two and two together.”
    “You’re crazy.”
    “My guess is it made you crazy, thinking about them together, especially given the kind of guy he was.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Or maybe Coyne himself told you about them. Bragged to you about how much he satisfied her by comparison.”
    “Goddammit! I told you, I had the mumps so I’m—“
    “Sterile not impotent. I know. It’s just that Coyne was spreading a different story.”
    “You fucking bastard.”
    “And speaking of which, then to realize he was the father of her baby—”
    “Look!” Fetch leaped up. “When Coyne got killed, I didn’t even know Jane was pregnant! Hell, she didn’t know, just thought the stress and all had fouled up her cycle somehow.”
    “Which still leaves you with a pretty strong motive for killing Coyne when he got stabbed, because he was cutting in, humiliating you. Then a stronger motive to kill Jane, when you realized she was carrying his child.”
    He brought the injured hand to his face, but winced from a pain that went beyond the finger. “I loved her, for God’s sake. Why can’t you see that? I loved her.”
    “What kind of car do you drive, Bruce?”
    “What?”
    “Your car. What make and model?”
    “The hell difference does that make?”
    “I’m just curious. Save me a trip to the Registry.” Fetch seemed to give in, sinking back into his chair. “Ford. Station wagon. Satisfied?”
    “Big one?”
    “The car?”
    “Yes.”
    “I guess so. Country Squire. I bought it used off my brother when he was getting a new one. Why do you care about all this?”
    “Monday night, the night Jane died, you went to her house, didn’t you?”
    “No!”
    “Bruce, I know your car was there.”
    “I wasn’t there, and it wasn’t there.”
    “It was late. You have a date planned with her?”
    “No.”
    “Reconciliation, maybe?”
    “No. Look, why don’t you get out of here?”
    “Not until I get the truth. You loved her? Seems to me you’d be interested in finding out who killed her.”
    “She killed herself, remember? Suicide, you know?”
    “I don’t think so. I think somebody mashed up some pills, a lot of pills, and put them in her cocoa. She didn’t take pills generally, so she’d have no way to judge the potency of the dose from the taste. I think somebody stayed there for a couple of hours, searching the place very carefully and systematically for something, something that wasn’t found at Coyne’s house the night he died and it was ransacked. I think that person sat with Jane, sat and watched her die very slowly from the pills, just slip further and further—”
    “Stop it! Stop it now!”
    Without knocking, Grace opened the door. “Are you alright, Bruce?”
    “Yes.”
    She treated me to a murderous glare. “Are you sure?”
    Fetch said, “Yes, yes. Leave us alone, okay?” Reluctantly, she drew back and closed the door.
    I said, “You drove there Monday night, didn’t you?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Why?”
    “I knew—I knew she’d been under a lot of pressure, that things weren’t going any better at the paper, especially since Coyne died. She blamed me... no, that’s not fair. She didn’t want to blame me for him being killed. She didn’t want to believe I told anybody about Coyne being her source.”
    “Did you?”
    “Tell anybody, you mean?”
    “Yes.”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “You’re sure.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Did Jane tell you who else she discussed Coyne with?”
    “No. She