Trial By Fury

"Are you saying…" he began.

"If the shoe fits!"

With that, I hung up. The phone began ringing again within seconds, but I ignored it. It rang twenty times or so before it finally stopped.

Within minutes, I was sound asleep and dreaming about Girl Scout cookies.

CHAPTER 10

There's only one thing to do with that many Girl Scout cookies-take them to the office and share the wealth. So I drove to the Public Safety Building and parked the Porsche in the bargain basement garage at the foot of Columbia. I've noticed that my 928 commands a fair amount of respect from parking garage attendants.

This one held the door open for me as I got out. Then I crawled back inside and dredged out the two cartons of cookies. When the kid handed me my parking ticket, I gave him a box of cookies.

"Hey, thanks," he said, gri

"Just handle my baby with care," I told him.

"We always do," he replied.

I was halfway up the block when I heard squealing tires as he jockeyed the Porsche into a parking place. There was no accompanying sound of crumpling metal, so I didn't worry about it.

Peters glanced up from his newspaper as I put the cookies on my desk. "Want one?" I asked.

"Are you kidding? That much sugar will kill you, Beau. What are you doing, peddling them for one of your neighbors?"

"Peddling, hell! I'm giving this stuff away, all in the line of duty."

"Don't tell me you bought that many cookies last night when you were talking to that little girl about the Ridleys."

"She's a terrific salesman."

"And you're an easy mark."

For the remainder of the morning, while Peters and I valiantly worked at ru

He wasn't above taking a cookie or two before he lit into us. "Whenever you two finish socializing, how about stopping by my office for a little chat."

Larry Powell's glass-enclosed, supposedly private office offers all the privacy of a fishbowl, which is what we call it. It isn't sound-proofed, either. You don't have to be a lip-reader to know everything that's going on behind Powell's closed door.

"You're out of line, Beau," he said. "Dr. Baker has sent a formal complaint to the chief."

"That jerk," I said.

"Detective Beaumont, this is serious. Just because you can literally buy and sell city blocks in this town doesn't give you the right to run roughshod over elected public officials."

"Look, Larry, we're not talking net worth here. Baker demanded information before I had it. Then he pitched a fit because I wouldn't give it to him."

"This is a sensitive case, Beau. If you're going to go off half-cocked, I'll pull you two off it and give it to someone who isn't as hot-headed."

"It wouldn't be such a sensitive case, as you put it, if Peters and I hadn't figured out who he was. Darwin Ridley was just an unidentified corpse by a garbage dumpster until we got hold of him, remember?"

"We're making progress," Peters put in helpfully, hoping to defuse the situation a little.

Powell turned from me to Peters. "You are?"

"We've been working one possibility all morning."

"Well, get on with it, then, but don't step on any more toes. You got that?" Powell had worked himself into a real temper tantrum.

"You bet! I've got it all right." I steamed out of the fishbowl with Peters right behind me. Making a detour past our cubicle, I grabbed up our jackets, tossed Peters his, and shrugged my way into mine.

"Where are we going?" Peters asked.

"Out!" I snapped.

It took a while for the attendant to free my Porsche. It had been buried among a group of all-day cars as opposed to short-term ones. Once out of the garage, I hauled ass through Pioneer Square, driving south.

"I asked you before, where are we going?"

"Any objections to letting Joa

"None from me."

"Good. That's where we're going."

"Do you think it'll work?" he asked.

"She's no pro. She's not even a particularly good liar. It won't take much to push her over the edge, just a little nudge, especially in her condition."

Peters nodded in agreement.

By the time we got off the freeway, fast driving had pretty well boiled the venom out of my gut. It wasn't the first time I'd heard sly references to the fact that having money had somehow spoiled J. P. Beaumont. Money doesn't automatically make you an asshole. Or a prima do

We drove across Beacon Hill, one of the glacial ridges that separates Puget Sound from Lake Washington. When we stopped in front of Joa

We had turned around and were heading back to the department when we met Joa

"We're in luck," I said.

I made a U-turn and parked in the driveway behind the Mustang. When we stepped onto Joa

"We need to talk."

She stood looking up at us questioningly, one hand resting on the small of her back as though it was bothering her. "What about?"

"About last Friday."

"I've told you everything I know."

"No, you didn't, Joa

Defiance crept across her face. "So I went there to talk to him. What difference does that make?"

"Why did you lie to us? You said the last time you saw him was at breakfast."

She dropped her gaze. With eyes averted, Joa

"After you," Peters said.

We found Joa

"How did you find out?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It doesn't matter. The point is, we know you were there. We have a witness who saw you there. You signed a piece of paper."

She looked at me for a long minute. "The cookies," she said. "I forgot about the cookies. I wrote a check."

Putting her hand to her mouth, she started to laugh, the semihysterical giggle of one whose life has been strung so tight that the ends are begi

"I don't know why I'm laughing. I went to tell him I wanted a divorce, and I didn't even do that right," she said finally. "I ended up paying for all those damn cookies."

"You didn't mention a divorce to us before."

"I didn't tell anyone. Why tell? If Darwin was dead, what did it matter?"

"But it could have some bearing on how he died, Mrs. Ridley. Do you mind if I ask why you wanted a divorce?"

"Mind? Yes, I mind."

"But we need to know," Peters insisted. "It could be important."

She sat silently for what seemed like a long time, looking first at Peters then at me. At last she shook her head. " Darwin was screwing around," she whispered. Once more Joa