Trial By Fury

The look on her face, far more than what she said, told me exactly how badly Joa

Sometimes, life isn't fair. Make that usually.

The doorbell rang, and Joa

Joa

"You have anything to eat today, Joa

"No, I…" Joa

"Now you listen to Fa

"What did you do after you left the Coliseum?" Peters asked as soon as she sat back down.

Joa

" Portland, Oregon? Why?"

"To see my father."

"And did you?"

Joa

"Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You left the Coliseum after talking to your husband, drove all the way to Portland to talk to your father, and then didn't go in to see him once you got there?"

"That's right."

"Why not?"

"Because I changed my mind. I realized I'd never go through with it, the divorce, I mean."

If I had been trying to sell Peters Fuller Brushes right then, I would have known I'd blown the sale. He lay his finger next to his nose, the palm of his hand covering his mouth. He wasn't buying Joa

"What time did you get back?" I asked, stepping into the conversation.

"Midnight. Maybe later."

"Did you see anyone along the way? Someone who would be able to say that they saw you there during that time?"

She shrugged. "I stopped for gas in Vancouver, but I don't know if anyone there would remember me."

"What kind of station, Joa

"A Texaco. On Mill Plain Road."

"How did you pay? Credit card? Cash?"

"Credit card. I think I used my VISA."

"Could you give us that number?"

Joa

Within minutes several other visitors showed up, and it seemed best for us to eave. I wasn't looking forward to being alone with Peters. I figured he'd land on me with all fours. I wasn't wrong.

"You've really done it this time!"

"Done what?" I made a stab at playing i

"Jesus, Beau. We never even read her her rights."

"We didn't need to. She didn't do it."

"What? How can you be so sure?"

"Instinct, Peters. Pure gut instinct."

"I can quote you chapter and verse when your instincts haven't been absolutely, one hundred percent accurate."

I could, too, but I didn't tell Peters that. Instead, I said, "Ridley was too big. With the morphine, he would have been all dead weight. She couldn't have strung him up, certainly not in her condition."

"She could have had help."

"She didn't."

Peters wasn't about to give up his pet suspect. "What about her father? The two of them could have done it together. She said she got back around midnight. The coroner said he died about two A.M. Portland doesn't give her an alibi, if you ask me."

I thought about Joa

We let it go at that. Neither of us was going to change the other's mind.

Before leaving Joa

Unable to go forward or back, we spent the next hour stuck in traffic while workers building the new floating bridge across Lake Washington escorted traffic through the construction, one snail-paced lane at a time.

We should have phoned first. We got to the school about twelve-fifteen, only to discover that Candace Wy

Ned Browning's clerk wasn't exactly cordial, but she was somewhat more helpful than she had been the previous day. She gave us Mrs. Wy

Back in the car, we started toward Seattle. Thinking the other bridge might be faster, we avoided I-90 and circled around through Bellevue. Unfortunately, a lot of other people had the same idea, including two drivers who managed to smack into one another head-on in the middle of the Evergreen Point span. It wasn't a serious accident, but it was enough to tie us up in traffic for another hour, along with several thousand other hapless souls.

It was a flawless spring day, without a cloud in the sky, with Lake Washington glassy and smooth beneath us, and with Mount Rainier a snow-covered vision to our left. Unfortunately, Peters was still ripped about Joa

We finally got back to the department around two. I took Joa

Fremont is a Seattle neighborhood where aging hippies who've grown up and gone relatively straight try to sell goods and services to whatever brand of flower children is currently in vogue. Costas Opa, a Greek restaurant right across from the Fremont Bridge, is quite a bit more upscale than some of its funky neighbors. It was late afternoon by then. The place was long on tables and short on customers when we got there.

We sat at a corner window table where we could see traffic coming in all directions. Across the street, Seattle 's favorite piece of public art was still wearing the green two days after St. Patrick's day. Waiting For The Interurban is a homey piece of statuary made up of seven life-size figures, including a dog, whose face is rumored to bear a remarkable resemblance to one of the sculptor's sworn enemies. They stand under what seems to be a train station platform, waiting for an old Seattle/Tacoma commuter that has long since quit ru

Throughout the year, concerned citizens and frustrated artists make additions and corrections by adding seasonal touches to the statues' costumes. That day, they all wore emerald green full-length scarves.

I expected Candace Wy