The Maze
Page 52
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
"So she'd only been married three years when she was killed?"
"Yes. She'd just had her thirty-first birthday."
"If she didn't curse or bad-mouth her husband in public, then Marlin wouldn't have had any reason to go after her. You remember that he wouldn't have touched you if you hadn't let loose with all those curse words. Then you added the bad-mouth of your mythical husband for frosting on the cake. So it only makes sense that your sister did something to make him go after her. Either she really lost it and cursed up a storm within his hearing, or she put down her husband in his hearing. One or the other, Sherlock. What's the most likely?"
"I don't know. That's why I've got to talk to Marlin. He's got to tell me."
"If he refuses to talk to you at all?"
She was silent, staring down at a forkful of scrambled eggs that she'd sprinkled too much pepper on. "It's odd. All the other women, no one admitted that they'd ever cursed a word in their lives or bad-mouthed their husbands. But they must have. You saw how Marlin came after me."
"You shocked my socks off when I listened to you let loose on Marlin in that hardware store."
"Good, because I knew you'd be the toughest to convince."
"As for the other women, evidently the family and friends were just trying to protect the good name of the dead. It happens all the time, and that makes it even more difficult for the cops."
"He's got to tell me."
He said very gently, "You've got to bring it to a close, Sherlock."
She hated him for the gentleness, the kindness. He had no idea. He couldn't begin to understand. She jerked up to look
at him across the table. Her voice was as cold as Albany in January as she said, "Would you like another bagel?"
He sat back, folding his arms over his chest. "You're tough, Sherlock, but you still aren't in my league. If you put cream cheese on the bagel, I'll eat it."
16
BOTH CAPTAIN DOUGHERTY and Ralph Budnack were standing outside Room 423 when Savich and Lacey arrived at Boston Memorial Hospital.
"You don't look too bad," Ralph said, peering down at her. "On the other hand, Savich doesn't look too good. You haven't been a pain in the butt, have you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Why do you guys always stick together? I'm the one injured here, not Savich."
"Yeah, but Savich had to make sure you didn't croak it at the hotel. He deserves combat pay."
"I slept all the way through, didn't moan or whine or anything to disturb His Highness. He just had to order room service. How about Marlin Jones? Can we see him now?"
Dr. Raymond Otherton, wearing surgical scrubs dotted with blood, said from behind her, "Not more than three at a time. He still isn't all that stable. You the one who shot him?" At her nod, he said, "Well, you blew a big hole in his gut. Either you're a bad shot, or you didn't want to kill him."
"I didn't want to kill him. Not yet."
"If that's true, then go easy now, all right?"
Marlin Jones was pasty white, his lips bluish. His eyes were closed. She could see purple veins beneath the thin flesh under his eyes. There was an IV going in each arm, a tube in his nose, and he was hooked up to a monitor. A police officer sat in a chair beside his bed, and another officer sat in a chair outside the hospital room.
He was awake. Lacey saw his eyelashes flutter-dark, thick lashes.
Captain Dougherty looked at Lacey, frowned just a moment, then said quietly, "You worked him, it's only fair that you talk to him first. We've Mirandized him. He said he didn't want a lawyer yet. I really pressed him on that, even taped it. So, everything's aboveboard."
She looked at Savich. He gave her a long emotionless look, then slowly nodded.
She felt her blood pound, a delicious feeling, her arm began to throb and that made her feel even better as she leaned down, and said, "Hello, Marlin. It's me, Marty Bramfort."
He moaned.
"Come on, Marlin, don't be a coward. Open your eyes and look at me. You'll be pleased to see that my left arm is in a sling. You did punish me, don't you want to see it?"
He opened his eyes and stared at that sling. "I've thrown a knife since I was a boy. It should have gone through your heart. You moved too fast."
"Yes."
"You didn't kill me either."
"I didn't want to. I thought that a gut shot would make you feel really bad, make you suffer for a good long time. I want you to suffer until you yell with it. Are you suffering, Marlin?"
"Yes. She'd just had her thirty-first birthday."
"If she didn't curse or bad-mouth her husband in public, then Marlin wouldn't have had any reason to go after her. You remember that he wouldn't have touched you if you hadn't let loose with all those curse words. Then you added the bad-mouth of your mythical husband for frosting on the cake. So it only makes sense that your sister did something to make him go after her. Either she really lost it and cursed up a storm within his hearing, or she put down her husband in his hearing. One or the other, Sherlock. What's the most likely?"
"I don't know. That's why I've got to talk to Marlin. He's got to tell me."
"If he refuses to talk to you at all?"
She was silent, staring down at a forkful of scrambled eggs that she'd sprinkled too much pepper on. "It's odd. All the other women, no one admitted that they'd ever cursed a word in their lives or bad-mouthed their husbands. But they must have. You saw how Marlin came after me."
"You shocked my socks off when I listened to you let loose on Marlin in that hardware store."
"Good, because I knew you'd be the toughest to convince."
"As for the other women, evidently the family and friends were just trying to protect the good name of the dead. It happens all the time, and that makes it even more difficult for the cops."
"He's got to tell me."
He said very gently, "You've got to bring it to a close, Sherlock."
She hated him for the gentleness, the kindness. He had no idea. He couldn't begin to understand. She jerked up to look
at him across the table. Her voice was as cold as Albany in January as she said, "Would you like another bagel?"
He sat back, folding his arms over his chest. "You're tough, Sherlock, but you still aren't in my league. If you put cream cheese on the bagel, I'll eat it."
16
BOTH CAPTAIN DOUGHERTY and Ralph Budnack were standing outside Room 423 when Savich and Lacey arrived at Boston Memorial Hospital.
"You don't look too bad," Ralph said, peering down at her. "On the other hand, Savich doesn't look too good. You haven't been a pain in the butt, have you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Why do you guys always stick together? I'm the one injured here, not Savich."
"Yeah, but Savich had to make sure you didn't croak it at the hotel. He deserves combat pay."
"I slept all the way through, didn't moan or whine or anything to disturb His Highness. He just had to order room service. How about Marlin Jones? Can we see him now?"
Dr. Raymond Otherton, wearing surgical scrubs dotted with blood, said from behind her, "Not more than three at a time. He still isn't all that stable. You the one who shot him?" At her nod, he said, "Well, you blew a big hole in his gut. Either you're a bad shot, or you didn't want to kill him."
"I didn't want to kill him. Not yet."
"If that's true, then go easy now, all right?"
Marlin Jones was pasty white, his lips bluish. His eyes were closed. She could see purple veins beneath the thin flesh under his eyes. There was an IV going in each arm, a tube in his nose, and he was hooked up to a monitor. A police officer sat in a chair beside his bed, and another officer sat in a chair outside the hospital room.
He was awake. Lacey saw his eyelashes flutter-dark, thick lashes.
Captain Dougherty looked at Lacey, frowned just a moment, then said quietly, "You worked him, it's only fair that you talk to him first. We've Mirandized him. He said he didn't want a lawyer yet. I really pressed him on that, even taped it. So, everything's aboveboard."
She looked at Savich. He gave her a long emotionless look, then slowly nodded.
She felt her blood pound, a delicious feeling, her arm began to throb and that made her feel even better as she leaned down, and said, "Hello, Marlin. It's me, Marty Bramfort."
He moaned.
"Come on, Marlin, don't be a coward. Open your eyes and look at me. You'll be pleased to see that my left arm is in a sling. You did punish me, don't you want to see it?"
He opened his eyes and stared at that sling. "I've thrown a knife since I was a boy. It should have gone through your heart. You moved too fast."
"Yes."
"You didn't kill me either."
"I didn't want to. I thought that a gut shot would make you feel really bad, make you suffer for a good long time. I want you to suffer until you yell with it. Are you suffering, Marlin?"
