Текст книги "Cards on the Table"

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Peter sat down with him at the table. «Travis, I can't imagine anyone who knows you thinking you could hurt someone.» «But I have, Peter. Lots of times.» «What?»

«I was a Marine Infantryman. We're at war. I've killed people before, Peter. I think. I don't know for sure. But I aimed my rifle and fired, and if I didn't kill people it was because I'm a bad shot. And I'm not a bad shot.»

Peter couldn't think of anything to say. Looking into Travis' face, looking at the pain and knowledge in his eyes, there was nothing to say. «Travis, go pick me some dill. I'll make your favorite food for tea.»

Travis stood up, smiling. «The smoked salmon pizza? With sour cream and dill? Thanks, Peter. You know, I've tasted some of that smoked salmon they make in Scotland. Those people, they don't have a clue what to do with a salmon. Peter, that girl, Charlie. Is she okay?» «I'm not sure, Travis. Will you help her out if she needs a hand?»

He nodded. «I think somebody hurt her, Peter. She's got red marks and bruises on her arms, like somebody grabbed her and she had to twist to get away. You think it was the guy? The one who got her pregnant?»

«I don't know, Travis. Bring some cilantro as well, while you're there. And some of the green onions.» Peter still couldn't bear to go out in the garden. «After tea, we'll see about getting her over to the clinic so they can check on her, make sure the baby is okay.» «I'll drive her, Peter.»

Susan walked into the kitchen and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. She didn't speak for a moment, but got to work tapping her pen on the edge of the table and staring off into space. Peter was coming to recognize this as her concentration face. You go, girl. Susan had a strong, tough mind and she was a reader. Peter hoped she was smarter than he and Sebastian. Especially since they hadn't come up with anything new putting their heads together. Peter had always admired Susan's powers of concentration and deductive reasoning. He was sure she would figure it all out.

«You want to hear something weird?» Peter assumed this was a rhetorical question; when had he ever wanted to hear anything weird? But she just kept talking. «Nobody knows who the pilot was who flew them in here. It was a five-seater out of Juneau, and the airline claims that Dave was scheduled to fly that route but he got stuck somewhere doing an

emergency medevac – some guy wrecked his sno-go, had big-time head trauma. So they say either Angus or that Russian kid they call Vlad did the run. So now they're hiding from me and running all over the place trying to make sure Vlad's paperwork's in order to be in this country and he isn't some Russian mafia type trying to hide out in Alaska. But nobody really knows for sure who flew them in. Apparently the manifests or something are missing. And that's not all.» «It's not?» Peter hated the way his voice sounded so quavery and weak.

«I really need that paperwork on Nelson – when you hired him, references, like that. I can't get him to come talk to me, and I can't get him to hold still for fingerprints. He's acting weird. I even sent Howie out here to try and find him but Nelson hotfooted it into the woods when he saw him coming. Do you even know if Nelson is his first or last name?»

«Uh…» Peter thought back to the paperwork he had filled out when Nelson had first come to work at the hotel. «It's his last name. First name is initial A.» «Peter, you don't even know his first name?»

«He had a Social Security card, Susan. He's been here for nearly…what, four years? I've never had a problem. You've never had a problem with him, right?»

«That's true,» Susan admitted. «It's been a long time since the garden staff at the Heartbreak littered up my drunk tank every weekend. But Nelson doesn't have a bank account in town. He cashes his checks at the grocery store and buys his beans and saltines with cash.» Beans and saltines?

«Don't you think that's a little suspicious?» She studied his face. «Peter, why don't you know anything about him?»

«I guess…I don't really like him. I feel badly about it, because he's a good gardener, and he's never done anything to, you know, deserve my not liking him! But he doesn't make eye contact. He'll look at you, then his eyes go skittering off like he doesn't want direct eye

contact. I don't know. He's sort of unpleasant, but nothing I could, you know, mark him down on an employee evaluation over. I know it's kind of weird, but I feel like it's wrong to be prejudiced against somebody because they are unattractive in their manner, you know, or in their physical appearance.»

«Uh-huh. Jesus, Peter, you need a keeper. Has it ever occurred to you that your instincts may be telling you something? Not that it means anything about Jacob, but still. You're so very civilized. And it's not a civilized world. Oh, and here's something else weird.» «There's more? Do I have to hear this one?» «It's about Jacob, Peter. His cop lover told me why he came to Alaska.»

Travis came back in the kitchen door with the basket of herbs. «Peter, you want anything else?» Peter shook his head. «I'm gonna go…» He pointed to the living room.

When he left, Peter stood and started rinsing the green onions. He put them on a little cutting board and started chopping. «Okay, I'm ready. Tell me.»

Susan raised her eyebrows, but beyond a faint smirk didn't mention his peculiar need to cut veggies in times of stress. «Jacob didn't have a father. I mean, he wasn't raised with a father. But his lover said that Jacob's father came from Alaska. That his mom had been up here for school in Fairbanks and met his dad, and they fell in love, and Jacob was born in Alaska. The cop thought that Jacob's dad was in the military, stationed at one of the bases up there. But then something happened, and his mom took him and went back to California. She was already pregnant with Miriam. But anyway, Jacob's lover said that he used to talk about coming to Alaska, trying to find his father's family. Did he say anything to you, Peter? About any of this?»

Peter shook his head. «Sebastian has been saying that Jacob looked Athabascan. Oh, my God! Susan! Travis told me something, that Tiny had been in the Navy, and he was stationed down in San Diego and he got thrown into jail. Maybe Jacob's mother…» His mind boggled at the picture of elegant, slim, beautiful young Jacob, holding his cello, and Tiny, with his

enormous gut and wild black hair and Subic Bay tattoos covering most of his exposed skin, holding his spatula, working a moose burger on the grill. Still, Tiny could sing like… «No fucking way. Oh, sorry. Never mind. I refuse to even consider… Susan, about Jacob. I didn't know him. We didn't talk. I mean, it was just…» He took a deep breath. «I don't know what he came here looking for. But I suspect it wasn't me, Susan.»

Susan propped her chin in her hand and watched him with serious eyes. «Peter, can I ask you something personal?»

«What?» Peter stared down at the cutting board and started mincing the cilantro extremely fine, the sharp, bright green tang filling his nose.

«What did you think you were doing? Did you really believe that everyone in this town wouldn't know about you and Jacob? There are two hundred eighty-one people who live on this island, Peter. You are one of them. And Sebastian is one of them.» * * * * *

Thank God for freezers. They would have a decent tea today, but much of it was being defrosted.

He had the lemon pound cake, of course. All it would need was a nice, fresh, lemony glaze. The smoked salmon pizza was easy, and, of course, it wasn't really a pizza at all, more like a giant loaded cracker, spread thickly with sour cream, purple and green onions, and smoked salmon. Peter could whip up a spicy crab dip in five minutes. He'd been making this one for years, luscious sweet crab in a base of cream cheese and mayo, and he had a jar of pineapple-mango salsa to go with it. Maybe some tiny crab cakes as well, that Thai recipe with lemon and cilantro. No, too similar to the crab dip, which was really more like a casserole anyway. He could slice and butter the whole grain bread, and put out some of those delicious parmigiano and cracked pepper crackers he'd made a couple of days ago.

A smooth, pale green tea might be nice. Something fresh and crunchy as well. Casper will eat anything if it's sitting on a slice of cucumber. Peter pulled a couple out of the crisper,

sliced them into wheels. He daubed sweetened sour cream on one plateful, decorated the tops with blueberries and chunks of pineapple. The other plate hmmm, let's see… He went back to the pantry, returned with a glass jar of bright golden caviar. Perfect.

After Peter had the tea arranged on the buffet in the dining room he went down to the cellar, pulled a couple of bottles of wine out of the cold storage. He had a lovely golden Riesling and a nice white Zinfandel. They were both light and fruity, but after the last few days Peter thought light and fruity might be exactly what they all needed.

Jesse and Phillip were busy working on something, matching laptops click-clacking away. Casper was leaned back in the recliner again, taking one of his ten-minute naps. Mike had finally come down from his room, clean and dressed and looking very much like a lawyer on vacation. Was Mike going to eat his salmon pizza and then sue his ass? Most probably. Peter reached for the corkscrew. «Hey, Peter, would you buy a calendar called Rough and Ready?»

«I can't imagine any circumstance under which I would buy a calendar called Rough and Ready.» He eased the cork out of the bottle. «But I'm sure lots of people would.» Especially if you read graphic novels and lusted after Spartans or gladiators. «You wouldn't buy it even if Sebastian was on the cover?» «Especially if Sebastian was on the cover. Boys, come get something to eat.»

Casper blinked open his eyes. Peer guessed that his brain was wired to register the call to the chow hall. Peter held a glass of wine up. «Casper, would you like tea or a glass of wine? This is a Riesling, and I also have a white Zinfandel.»

«Riesling sounds good, thanks.» Casper took the glass, looked around the buffet table. «Peter, this is beautiful.» He took a cucumber slice with sour cream and caviar. «Thank you, Casper. Mike, what would you like to drink?»

«I'll have a glass of Riesling as well, thank you.» Peter handed him a glass, and he took it and joined Casper at the buffet.

Sebastian and Travis came into the dining room, after apparently having settled young Charlie some place with her feet up. Travis loaded up a plate with enough food for a platoon, took the mug of tea Sebastian poured him.

«She's shy,» he explained, backing out of the room with the food. Peter raised his eyebrows, and Casper grinned at him and sat down next to Mike on the sofa against the wall.

Peter had read about the Romans on their eating couches, and while the idea had its appeal, he couldn't figure out what people did with their plates. Surely not the floor? So he had put in a couple of comfortable love seats against the walls, in case guests wanted to be more casual than the big dining room table, and had placed small side tables on either end, so people didn't have to hold their plates and glasses.

Sebastian was taking up most of one love seat, and Mike and Casper were sitting on the other. Jesse and Phillip were brainstorming Rough and Ready at the table, blowing parmigiano and cracked pepper crumbs over their keyboards in excitement.

Peter checked Sebastian's plate. He was still working his way through his first plateful, with a little some of everything, a mug of tea on the table beside him. Sebastian crooked a finger in his direction. «Do you want something else, Sebastian? Is there enough food, do you think?»

Sebastian tugged him down to the couch by his sleeve. «You're hovering, Peter. Sit down and eat. You're making the guests nervous.»

Peter looked around the room. Nobody looked nervous to him, but he wouldn't mind sitting close to Sebastian for a moment. «Now, tell me what you want to eat and I'll get you some food.» «I'm not really hungry, to tell you the truth, Sebastian.»

Sebastian got up, poured a glass of the golden Riesling, put a couple of crackers and some crab dip on a plate. He brought them back to the couch and handed them to Peter.

Peter took a sip of wine. It really was delicious, a spring wine, cold and faintly sweet and the color of sunshine. «Thank you, Sebastian.»

Sebastian nodded, met his eyes, and Peter lost himself in them for a moment. He had learned over the years to savor these moments, to hold every precious second as close to his heart as he could. Sebastian looked as big as an oak, strong and hard, the lines around his eyes laughter, years of good humor, and happiness. Sebastian reached for his face, traced his bottom lip with a rough thumb. The sharp pang of desire went straight into his belly. It was very unlike Sebastian to touch him like this, to show any physical affection in public. They were both in their forties, with the reserve common in men that age. The tenderness of the gesture caught him by surprise, and he had to turn his head away. «I'm gonna work out in the garden after tea, Peter, maybe get some dog pens built for the puppies.»

Mike was watching them. Peter lowered his eyes, then glanced up at Jesse and Phillip, giggling at the table.

«I know you want a piece of that lemon cake up there,» Casper said, gently taking Mike's empty plate out of his hand. «I've noticed you've got a sweet tooth like me.» Mike blinked up at him. «Yeah, I do. Thanks, Casper.»

Casper brought the wine bottle back, filled both their glasses, then returned with the cake. He sat back down next to Mike. «I've been coming out here for four years,» Casper said, very quietly. «I see what you're doing. You're looking around, thinking everybody's hooked up and happy except you. You're thinking, once again you are sitting here alone, the last man chosen. But that isn't the way it is in this room, Mike. You're just feeling miserable. You need to spend a little more time looking at the people around you, and decide you don't want to keep feeling like shit just out of habit.» Mike didn't say anything. His glass of wine was suspended in the air. «Want to come fishing with me?»

Mike blinked, his cheeks flushing pink. «I don't know how to fish.» His voice was a bit accusatory, as if Casper had just questioned his manliness. «Do you know how to sit in a boat?»

Mike set his glass of wine down carefully, sat back, and took a bite of lemon cake. «Yes, I do,» he said, finally. «It might be worth sitting in a boat, getting cold and wet and stiff, to find out what it is you want from me.»

Casper leaned back, grinning. Then he laughed, a big, booming laugh, and for a moment he looked so ferocious and wolf like that Peter thought he might very well appeal to the legal mind. «Good. I'm looking forward to it. I'll wake you up early.» Sebastian nudged Peter with an elbow, grinning. * * * * *

Mike and Casper took a stroll in the mild evening light, both with their hands in their pockets, glancing at each other shyly as they walked down his garden paths. Peter could not believe it. He stood at the big kitchen window, shaking his head, watched them walk out of sight along a path through the woods Sebastian had laid out over ten years earlier. «I do not believe it,» he said, when Sebastian came into the kitchen carrying a stack of plates. «Why not?»

«They're just so different. I mean, they have nothing in common. Mike is a cynical ass and he uses drugs. Not to mention his unfortunate career. Casper is…»

He stopped when Sebastian laughed at him and told him he sounded like a fool. «You're developing this control thing, Peter. You want everybody to do what you want them to do. You're shocked when adult men make choices that are different than the choices you would make for them.»

Peter turned around from the sink, suds dripping off his hands. «I am not a control freak. How can you say that?»

Sebastian piled plates in the dishwasher. Peter caught himself removing them for a quick rinse, then putting them back in the dishwasher in their proper place. They would not get cleaned shoved all in there together with sour cream dried on the glaze, and they needed these plates for dinner. It wasn't like they were Felix and Oscar, the Odd Couple, for crying out loud. He just needed the plates cleaned right… Sebastian watched him, his arms crossed over his chest, but he didn't say anything else.

«Do you think it's just because of the hotel? Maybe I'm getting, I don't know, worse as I get older, more finicky. Am I such a control freak I'm running you off?»

He tried to keep his voice light, but Sebastian pulled him away from the sink and into his arms. «Try not to think so much, Peter.» Sebastian's neck smelled like fresh air, sunshine, Glacier Bay, and blueberries and Peter nuzzled into him, had to keep himself from wrapping his legs around Sebastian and clinging to him like a black bear cub stuck up a tree. And then Sebastian's mouth was on his, and suddenly it was easy to do what he had been told to do, and not think so much.

«Come upstairs, Peter. We have a little time before the cops show up and drag me off in cuffs.» «Sebastian, don't even say that. Oh, God. I don't think I can take much more.»

«Stop fussing. Just come on with me.» Sebastian pulled him by the hand up the stairs, but Peter couldn't concentrate, that picture was looming so hugely in his mind, of Sebastian under arrest, hands cuffed behind his back, and it was all his fault. All his fault. He needed a good cry, a long vacation away from here, something.

«What you need is me, and us, back the way we're supposed to be,» Sebastian said, and it wasn't the first time Peter had suspected that Sebastian could read his mind.

In the bedroom Sebastian went about closing the curtains, then he lit the small sandalwood candle Peter kept next to their bed. He turned and looked at Peter over his shoulder. «Get undressed.»

In the dusky room his eyes were dark and hooded, and Peter felt a shiver go through him, anticipation and the tone in Sebastian's voice, a simmering undercurrent of anger. It must have been there all along. Peter unbuttoned his shirt, hung it in the closet, slid his cords and underwear and socks off and Sebastian stood there next to the bed, watching him, his arms crossed over his chest. He jerked his chin, and Peter climbed on the bed, sat up on his knees, and waited.

Sebastian got the lube out of the bedside drawer, walked around the bed and pushed Peer over to his hands and knees. He dribbled a bit of lube across his fingers, slid them down the smooth skin of his ass until he pressed gently into his anus. He put that hand on Peter's lower back, holding him still, and reached for the waistband of his jeans with the other.

Sebastian didn't get undressed; he just pushed his jeans and boxers down enough so his dark and angry cock sprang out, then he pulled Peter by the hips to the edge of the bed.

Peter turned around and stared at him over his shoulder. Twin flames from the candlelight were burning in his dark eyes, candlelight and something more. «Sebastian. I'm sorry.»

He didn't speak, just shoved forward until the head of his cock was lodged against Peter's ass. They stared at each other for a moment longer, then Peter turned back around and braced his hands and shoved his ass back, let Sebastian come inside him.

Sebastian had him around the hips, then around the waist, then his hands reached up and stroked Peter's nipples, gave them a little pinch. He leaned forward, thrusting deep, took a little bite from his neck, and Peter could feel Sebastian's hair sliding across his skin.

Then he stood back up, pulled Peter back until they were seated together, started rocking hard and thrusting in some fury or passion, love, or jealousy. «Don't you ever let another man put his hands on you, Peter. Ever. Do you understand me?»

«Yes, Sebastian. I understand.» He could hardly get the words out, the heat was rolling off Sebastian like a wildfire and he was burning up, possessed, and then Peter's anger, the resentment, the months of waiting alone, gone, ash and smoke.

Peter couldn't speak, the waves of sensation were closing his throat, sweeping down across his belly and into his balls, and Sebastian slammed into him over and over. His hands were like a vise on Peter's hips, and Peter knew Sebastian was close to coming, the sweat from his face dripping down Peter's back. «Say it, Peter.»

«You're the only one.» Sebastian was bucking against his ass, dark groans with each wild thrust like they were torn from his throat. «You're the only one.» Then Sebastian was coming, his body quivering and taut as an arrow, and when he was done he lay his head down on Peter's back and cried. * * * * *

The state cop had a spoiled, petulant mouth under a sandy red mustache and a soft chin that shook just a bit when he spoke. Peter regarded him with the gravest foreboding.

Susan was sitting with him in Peter's dining room, and he was reading copies of the witness statements. Peter noticed that he was licking the tip of a red pencil before making notes on the statements. That was disgusting. Could you get lead poisoning from a red pencil? The cop looked up at him, his expression peeved. «Would you mind?»

«Would I mind what?» Peter spread the damask runner across the buffet, then put the stack of bread plates warm from the dishwasher on the gold cloth. «I'm trying to work here.»

«So am I,» Peter said. «I'm serving dinner for the hotel's guests in half an hour in this room.»

«This whole place is a crime scene. Don't push me. I could close you down, and I will, don't mistake me.»

Peter looked into the weak eyes of a bully. «You're welcome to join us for dinner, Officer, but I will be serving in this room before the hour is up. I will be moving in and out. Feel free to find another room or another hotel altogether for your law enforcement work.»

The cop, whose name tag said Mulligan, sat back in one of Peter's good chairs, tilted it onto its legs. «Pretty fancy-looking place for an island this size. You got a lot of gays coming out here to experience the real Alaska, have a wild adventure or something? Frolic in Glacier Bay?» The sneer in his voice was faint. «This is one of those gay hotels?»

«I'm not aware that the hotel has any sexual feelings of that nature,» Peter said. «But I don't discriminate. If the hotel turns out to be gay, I'll probably still keep it.»

Mulligan looked irritated and confused, and Peter suspected this was his default expression. He looked pointedly away from Peter to Susan. «So, I think we can reasonably assume it had to be somebody staying at the hotel.»

«No, not at all,» Susan said. She had already made this point in Peter's hearing several times, but her voice was patient as she said it again. «Anyone could have walked here from town in fifteen minutes.» «But why would they?»

Susan blinked. «Excuse me? I guess they would come here in order to murder Jacob.» «You're on a first name basis with the victim?» «I met him, yes.»

«So he was staying here. Was it some gay love affair gone wrong, or one of these sex triangles, or…»

«No,» Susan said. «We have no reason to believe sex or his sexual orientation had anything to do with his murder. He was a person with a full and complete life, Officer Mulligan, and something in that life may or may not have triggered this horrible violence

against him. We have the report on his sister's rape and death, and the fact that the man responsible is still missing. We still have not gotten fingerprints or done a criminal background check on the pilot who brought him to the island or on Nelson, who works here as the maintenance person. Nelson is his last name, apparently, but I can't get him to come into the office to –« «What's the pilot's name?» The red pencil was out again.

«I'm not sure,» Susan began. «The company said the usual pilot for that flight was called for medevac, and they had somebody fill in, but the fill-in was either –«

«Oh, come on!» Mulligan slammed his notebook shut. «That is the most basic information gathering. I didn't come out here to do your grunt work. I've been a state trooper for eight years, and I will tell you that this is the worst mess of paperwork and confusion I have ever seen! You've got these gay men here at the time of the murder. One admits he saw the vic just minutes before he found the body. Then there's this suspicious conversation with a stranger in the kitchen. Convenient, ain't it?» He rocked back on the back chair legs again and pointed the red pencil at Susan. «Why are you looking for zebras, when you hear the pounding of hoof beats coming closer? You understand what I'm saying? I wonder if this boy Travis thought through his statement clearly!» «What about the journal?»

Susan was making shushing motions behind Mulligan's back, but Peter ignored her. «Jacob had a journal and it seems to have disappeared. Someone broke into his room to look for it. That suggests that it might be important.» «You ever see this journal yourself?» Peter shook his head. «No, but Travis said –«

«Travis being one of two people in the hotel at the time of the murder. Travis being the person who heard this alleged, strange conversation between the vic and someone else in the kitchen. Travis being the person who found the vic less than five minutes later. So tell me

about this Travis. He's the vet, just got out of the Marine Corps, right? He had combat experience? Did it seem like he was suffering that combat stress?»

Peter set a stack of plates down with a bang. He was starting to really feel afraid now. What had Casper said to Travis, something about military men being presumed to be more violent? This guy looked exactly like the sort of dim-witted functionary who would believe that sort of nonsense.

«If you knew him, Officer Mulligan, you would know it is ridiculous to presume –«

«Would that be knowing him in the biblical sense of the words?» Mulligan smothered a chuckle. «What I know is basic police work. He was here, his statement is questionable, you've got the whole gay thing; that's motive and opportunity.»

«What whole gay thing?» Peter had his hands on his hips, could feel his face flushing.

«Just the usual. Your vic, he was a pretty young boy. One of 'em asks, one of 'em says no. Somebody gets pissed off, tries to force the issue. Violence ensues. That gay thing.»

«There were no signs of a struggle,» Susan reminded him. «No skin under the nails, no defense wounds.»

Mulligan pointed his red pencil at Peter. «You mind stepping out of this room so I can get some work done?» He moved the pencil over and pointed it at Susan. «Now, tell me about Travis.»

It got worse, of course. Mulligan's face was bright pink with glee when he called Peter back into the dining room. «Seems like you forgot to mention you were having some sort of sexual relationship with the vic.»

«His name was Jacob and I think you're calling him the vic over and over to upset me. Why would you do that?»

«I'm just a policeman trying to do basic police work.» He cut his eyes at Susan, then looked back at Peter. «Were you and the vic, excuse me, Jacob, having any sort of disagreement?» «No.» «Then why was he leaving?»

«He was moving to Montreal. I believe he had nonrefundable flight reservations.» Peter sat there woodenly, and watched Mulligan write this down. Did he really believe…?

«And what did your other boyfriend think about this little fling you were having with one of the hotel guests? What is he, like, your steady boyfriend?» «I don't have boyfriends, Officer Mulligan. I only sleep with men, not boys.»

Mulligan sucked on his teeth like somebody had just shoved a lemon up his ass. «Sebastian McCann. Now that is unfuckingbelievable. I saw him on the Iditarod last year, and the Yukon Quest just a couple months ago. I still can't believe he's one of those gay boys. Oh, excuse me. He's not a boy, right. You only sleep with men.»

Peter stared at him, could see a lonely life of barbecue pork rinds and beer and delivery pizza for supper in front of the TV, always wondering why he was sitting there alone. What was wrong with everyone else, that he was there alone? Peter thought that they should all be afraid of him. It was the weak ones, the ones who were sad and not very smart who were the most dangerous, the most likely to attack. «When did you first speak to Sebastian McCann after the murder?»

Peter tried to think, but he couldn't remember. Was it the night of the murder, or the next morning? «I'm not really sure. Maybe in the middle of the night? Susan, can you remember?» Mulligan raised his pencil. «I'm asking you, not her. Did you call him?»

«No, I…» Peter felt a frisson of fear in his stomach. «He was up the Yukon at his fishing camp.» «Did he know about your little boyfriend when he called?» Little boyfriend? Peter stood up. «Susan, are you taping this interview?» «That's standard procedure,» Susan said, agreeably.

«Whoa, whoa.» Mulligan held a meaty hand toward Peter, palm out. «Next you'll be calling a lawyer and then I'll know something's really fishy here.»

«We have an attorney as a guest here, Officer. Maybe it would be a prudent idea to ask him to sit in. I'm feeling uncomfortable with the nature and tone of your questions.»

Officer Mulligan sat back, grinning under that little mustache. «The nature and tone of my questions? Now, what do you mean, exactly?»

«No need to answer. Peter, I think it's my turn.» Sebastian had pushed through the door with Mike, and they both sat down at the table. Mike was wearing a pale blue button-down oxford with a British school tie, very lawyerly.

Mike put on his reading glasses and opened a legal pad, then looked carefully around the table. «Do I have your credentials, Officer? Are we ready?» He pulled out a small tape recorder, set it on the table so it pointed toward Mulligan. «Anytime, Officer Mulligan, is it? Naturally we just want to help law enforcement solve this terrible crime.» * * * * *