Trial By Fury

"Great!" He glanced at Joa

He disappeared down a short hallway. I offered Joa

"Right this way, miss," he said. I winced. He wasn’t going to win any prizes for diplomacy, or for observation either, for that matter.

He led us down the same hallway and stopped in front of a swinging laboratory door. He pushed it open and held it for her to enter. Joa

A sheet-draped figure lay on a gurney in the far corner of the room. "This way, please," the tech said.

Joa

The tech moved to the head of the gurney and held up a corner of the sheet far enough to expose the still face beneath it. In the quiet room, Joa

"I need to lie down," she said.

CHAPTER 4

I led Joa

Glancing back at her, I saw tears streaming down her face. She didn’t need a doctor or a whole roomful of people. "No," I told him. "She’ll be okay. I’ll let you know if she needs help."

The tech backed out of the room. I set the water down on a table without offering any to her. She didn’t need plain water, either.

For several long minutes, I waited for her sobs to become quiet. Eventually, they did, a little. "Mrs. Ridley," I asked gently, "is there anything I can do to help? Someone I can call?"

Her sobs intensified into an anguished wail. "How could this happen when the baby…"

She broke off suddenly, and my adrenaline started pumping. "The baby! Is it coming now? Should I call a doctor?"

Joa

My own relief was so great, I walked to the table and helped myself to her glass of water, all of it, before I spoke, offering what comfort I could. "It’ll be all right. You’ll see. Really, isn’t there someone I can call?"

Her sobbing ceased abruptly. Raising herself up on one elbow, she glared at me angrily. In her eyes I was something less than an unfeeling clod. "You don’t understand. My baby’s father is dead."

Unfortunately, I did understand, all too well. I knew far better than she did what was ahead for both her and her baby. From personal experience. Except my mother hadn’t had so much as a marriage certificate to back her up when I was born. Society was a hell of a lot less permissive back in the forties.

"My mother did it," I said quietly. "You can, too."

She looked at me silently for a long moment, assimilating what I had said. Then, before she could respond, the technician burst into the room. "Dr. Baker’s on the phone. He wants to talk to you, Detective Beaumont." The tech bounded back out of the room with me right behind him. "He wants to know who it was," he said over his shoulder.

"How the hell did he find out?"

"He told me to call if we came up with something."

"What do you mean we?" I fumed.

He led me into another office, picked up a telephone receiver, and held it toward me. I snatched it from his hand.

" Beaumont," I growled into the phone.

"Understand you’ve got a positive ID. Good work, Beau. That was quick. What have you got?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are, calling me to the phone like this? I just barely found out myself. All I know so far is a name and address."

"Well, get on with it for chrissakes."

"Look, Baker. That poor woman just learned her husband’s dead. I’ll start asking questions when I’m damn good and ready."

"Don’t be a prima do

"Like hell!"

I flung the receiver at the startled tech, who stared at me dumbfounded. I hurried back down the hall to the room where Joa

Hustling back into the waiting room, I startled Joa

"Where are we going?"

"I’ll take you home. We’ve got to go now, before we’re overrun with cops and reporters."

The tech had followed me. We ran into him head-on in the doorway. He was carrying a metal clipboard and had a pen poised to take down information. "Detective Beaumont, you can’t leave."

"Oh, yeah? Watch me!"

"But I need some information…"

"You’ll have it when I’m damn good and ready."

"What’s going on?" Joa

"This place is going to be crawling with officers and reporters in about two minutes flat."

The technician trailed behind us, whimpering like a scolded puppy. " But Dr. Baker says…"

"Piss on Doc Baker. You had no business calling him! Now get out of here."

I helped Joa

Dodging through a series of side streets, I paused at a stop sign on Boren, signaling for a right-hand turn, pla

"I don’t want to go home," she said.

Surprised, I glanced in her direction. She seemed under control. "Are you sure? I’m going to have to ask you some questions. It might be easier."

A marked patrol car, red lights flashing, raced past us on Boren. Obviously, Baker had sounded the alarm and troops were out in force to pull J. P. Beaumont back into line. I waited until the car turned off toward Harborview before I eased the Porsche out into the intersection and turned left.

"I understand what you did back there," Joa

"No problem."

I wondered where to take her. Obviously, we couldn’t go to the department, and my own apartment was a bad idea as well. I settled on the only logical answer, the Dog House.

The Dog House is actually a Seattle institution. It’s a twenty-four-hour restaurant three blocks from my apartment that’s been in business for more than fifty years. I’ve needed. almost daily help from both McDonald’s and the Dog House kitchen to survive my reluctant return to bachelorhood.

You’ll notice I said the kitchen. The bar at the Dog House is a different story.

Steering clear of the scene of my previous night’s solo performance, I took Joa

She brought two cups of coffee at the same time she brought menus. Joa