I know its hard, dealing with this. And I didnt want to bother you, not today. But you know how it is. All those reports to be filed. He looked at Chase, a deceptively casual glance. The little Napoleon, Chase noted, had sharp eyes that saw everything.
This is Chase, said Evelyn, brushing the sleeve of her blouse, as though to wipe away Chief Tibbettss paw print. Richards brother. He drove in this morning from Connecticut.
Oh, yeah, said Tibbetts, his eyes registering instant recognition of the name. Ive seen a picture of you hanging in the high school gym. He offered his hand. His grasp was crushing, the handshake of a man trying to compensate for his size. You know, the one of you in the basketball uniform.
Chase blinked in surprise. They still have that thing hanging up?
Its the local hall of fame. Lets see, you were class of 71. Star center, varsity basketball. Right?
Im surprised you know all that.
I was a basketball player myself. Madison High School, Wisconsin. Record holder in free throws. And points scored.
Yes, Chase saw it clearly. Lorne Tibbetts, rampaging midget of the basketball court. It would fit right in with that bone-crushing handshake.
The station door suddenly swung open. A woman called out, Hey, Lorne?
Tibbetts turned and wearily confronted the visitor, who looked as if shed just blown in from the street. You back again, Annie?
Like the proverbial bad penny. The woman shifted her battered shoulder bag to her other side. So when am I gonna get a statement, huh?
When I have one to make. Now scram.
The woman, undaunted, turned to Evelyn. The pair of them could have posed for a magazine feature on fashion make-overs. Annie, blowsy haired and dressed in a lumpy sweatshirt and jeans, would have earned the label Before.
Mrs. Tremain? she said politely. I know this is a bad time, but Im under deadline and I just need a short quote
Oh, for Chrissakes, Annie! snapped Tibbetts. He turned to the cop manning the front desk. Ellis, get her out of here!
Ellis popped up from his chair like a spindly jack-in-the-box. Cmon, Annie. Get a move on, less you wanna write your story from the inside lookin out.
Im going. Im going. Annie yanked open the door. As she walked out they heard her mutter, Geez, they wont let a gal do her job around here.
Evelyn looked at Chase. Thats Annie Berenger. One of Richards star reporters. Now a star pest.
Cant exactly blame her, said Tibbetts. Thats what you pay her for, isnt it? He took Evelyns arm. Come on, well get started. Ill take you into my office. Its the only private place in this whole fishbowl.
Lornes office was at the far end of the hallway, past a series of closet-size rooms. Almost every square inch was crammed with furniture: a desk, two chairs, a bookcase, filing cabinets. A fern wilted, unnoticed, in a corner. Despite the cramped space, everything was tidy, the shelves dusted, all the papers stacked in the Out box. On the wall, prominently displayed, hung a plaque: The smaller the dog, the bigger the fight.
Tibbetts and Evelyn sat in the two chairs. A third chair was brought in for the secretary to take accessory notes. Chase stood off to the side. It felt good to stand, good to straighten those cramped legs.
At least, it felt good for about ten minutes. Then he found himself sagging, scarcely able to pay attention to what was being said. He felt like that wretched fern in the corner, wilting away.
Tibbetts asked the questions and Evelyn answered in her usual whispery voice, a voice that could induce hibernation. She gave a detailed summary of the nights events. A typical evening, she said. Supper at six oclock, the whole family. Leg of lamb and asparagus, lemon soufflé for dessert. Richard had had a glass of wine; he always did. The conversation was routine, the latest gossip from the paper. Circulation down, cost of newsprint up. Worries about a possible libel suit. Tony Graffam upset about that last article. And then talk about Phillips exams, Cassies grades. The lilacs were lovely this year, the driveway needed resurfacing. Typical dialogue from a family dinner.
At nine oclock Richard had left the house to do some work at the office or so hed said. And Evelyn?
I went upstairs to bed, she said.
What about Cassie and Phillip?
They went out. To a movie, I think.
So everyone went their separate ways.
Yes. Evelyn looked down at her lap. And thats it. Until twelve-thirty, when I got the call.
Lets go back to that dinner conversation.
The account went into replay. A few extra details here and there, but essentially the same story. Chase, his last reserves of alertness wearing thin, began to drift into a state of semiconsciousness. Already his legs were going numb, sinking into a sleep that his brain longed to join. The floor began to look pretty good. At least it was horizontal. He felt himself sliding.
Suddenly he jerked awake and saw that everyone was looking at him.
Are you all right, Chase? asked Evelyn.
Sorry, he muttered. I guess Im just more tired than I thought. He gave his head a shake. Could I, uh, get a cup of coffee somewhere?