"Nossir." Quill could hear both embarrassment and determination in his tones. "I mean, yessir, it is, but I should prob'ly stay here. You might need a wit - "
Dorset interrupted like a knife shaving beef. "That wasn't a question."
"Sir?"
"I said get your ass out of here."
Quill, who recognized that she was too mad to be scared, said, "I'll be fine, Davy. Don't worry about a thing."
"Thing," Dorset repeated softly. "Not a thing." He said loudly, "Deputy!"
Quill jumped.
Davy shuffled reluctantly to his feet. "Leave the recorder, son."
Davy put the tape recorder near Quill's left hand, then shrugged himself into his anorak. "I'll be around, Sheriff. Just down the street at the Croh Bar."
Dorset grunted. The clock on the wall filled the silence with a soft and steady tick-tick-tick. She heard Davy close the outside door, then the crunch of his feet in the snow in the parking lot. His car door slammed. The engine turned over. He drove out of the lot and out of hearing.
Dorset leaned close. He smelled like peppermint toothpaste, sour sweat, and damp wool. "Ms. Quilliam? One more time. When did you last see Nora Cahill?"
"Right here. About twelve-fifteen this afternoon."
"She got back to the Inn around five-thirty this evening."
"Well, I didn't see her," said Quill.
"I can spit from one end of that place to the other. And you didn't see her? Not once? All evening?"
"It was a busy night, Sheriff. In case you hadn't noticed, we've got a full house."
"Huh."
He was so close she could see flecks of red on his canine teeth.
"Did you have pizza for dinner?"
His right hand came up, palm out. He shoved it into her left shoulder so hard that she spun and smacked her cheek against the wall. He grabbed the teal scarf at her throat, twisted it, and pulled her forward. "You listen," he hissed, "to me. You get that? You listen" - he whipped the scarf back and forth, pulling her from side to side - "to me! Are you listening?"
"Yes," Quill said calmly. "I'm listening."
He released the scarf with a swift, upward movement that jerked her chin backward. "I want you to sit there. Sit right there." He swung himself off the desk and turned his back. He whipped around so suddenly that she jumped. "You sitting? You sitting just nice and quiet, like?"
Quill nodded. It was an effort to keep her face still. She wanted to gasp for air. She took slow, shallow breaths through her nose. She felt as if she were suffocating.
"Good."
The tall metal cabinet was padlocked. Dorset pulled his ring of keys from his belt and opened it, and took out a small, hand-held videocassette viewer from the top shelf. He began to hum in a high nasal whine, an insinuating, minor-keyed tune that Quill had never heard before. He set the viewer on the desk, then scrabbled inside the cabinet for a tape. He turned, shoved the cassette into the viewer, and plugged the cord into an outlet on the wall. He swayed a little as he moved, humming.
Quill took a long, quiet breath. He whipped his head around. "You sitting? Nice and calm, like? You little, little thing." He leaned across the desk, shoving his face against her cheek. He whispered, "Watch. This." Holding his head against her, he reached out and turned the viewer on.
The tape was black-and-white. Flickering. Grainy. The tape from the hidden camera. The LED flashed the date and 09:15,09:16,09:17. P.M. P.M. P.M.
The remote switched on, triggered by the approach of a car headed west on main. The car slowed, stopped, the headlights casting a dim field across the snowy street. Someone opened the driver's door and got out. Nora Cahill, her sharp nose prominent for a moment, bent down in front of the headlights to knock the snow from her boots.
A second figure emerged from the darkness. Tall. Slender. Wearing a long down coat and a round fur hat.
My God, thought Quill. She knew that coat. And that hat. And she hadn't been able to find them half an hour ago.
There was a pause in the tape. Quill strained her eyes. The other person, the one who was not Nora - the one, thought Quill, who is not me! Not me! - pulled an envelope from the depths of the coat and handed it to Nora. She thumbed through the contents.
"Money," Quill said involuntarily. "Money."
"Yowser," Dorset said in his soft silky voice.
The tape jumped, flickered, and resumed its steady whirr. Nora stuffed the money in her purse, tossed the envelope to the ground, and turned.
The dark figure stirred. Swung. And struck.
Nora fell, faceup, the headlights illuminating her face. Her lips moved. Silently. Quill shuddered and closed her eyes. She heard a click. The tape stopped. She opened her eyes to see Nora, frozen in time, her hand lifted in a last gesture, the fingers splayed out like claws, mouth open, eyes open.
"Dead," said Dorset.
"How?" asked Quill.
"You should know."
Quill shook her head.
Dorset pulled at her coat. John's coat. "When did you last see Nora Cahill?"
"This is ridiculous," said Quill. "Look. The time on the monitor. 9:23 p.m. I was at the Inn this evening."
"You got somebody besides your sister's gonna swear where you were between five after nine and nine-thirty? 'Cause that's all the time it'd take to hop down the road and off that broad. Maybe less. Haven't found a witness yet could swear to a time frame that tight in court. We blow this tape up, we're gonna see your cute little face right there."
"You will not," snapped Quill. "And somebody stole my coat. They must have."
He leaned close again, and blew out once, twice, against her cheek. Quill felt her stomach roil. "Just. Tell. Me," he coaxed. "Just me." He sat up suddenly, like a dog that hears the approach of an intruder. He laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it painfully tight. Quill heard a car door slam, then the sound of two - no, three people outside. There was a banging on the door, and then Howie, Meg, and John came in, the three of them abreast, like the cavalry in the kind of movies they didn't make anymore.
"Hi, guys," said Quill, dismayed to hear the quiver in her voice.
Howie glanced briefly at her, then turned his attention to Dorset. Meg, for once completely silent, came to the chair and stood to her right; John took up a position on the left. Meg reached down and squeezed Quill's hand hard.
"What's the meaning of this, Dorset?" Howie asked mildly.
"Should be obvious. I have a warrant for the little lady's arrest as a material witness to the murder of Nora Cahill this evening at 9:23. The good news is that she won't be charged with murder until the coroner's report comes in. Should be some time tomorrow. The deceased was taken to the county morgue not forty-five minutes ago."
"Can I see the warrant, please?"
Dorset pulled it from his shirt pocket. Howie unfolded it and read intently.
"This is absolutely ridiculous, Sheriff," Meg snapped. "Quill was at the Inn all evening. She was never out of my sight."