When Quinn did not respond, Dennis asked, 'Judge, can you tell us where you were last night between six and eight?'
'Six and eight?' Quinn repeated inanely.
'Yes, sir.'
'I was at the courthouse, in my chambers. I ... I was working on the order in the Crease case.'
'Can anyone vouch for you?'
'My secretary, Fran Stuart. She was there.'
'The whole time?'
'No. She typed up a first draft for me, then went to dinner sometime between six and seven. Then she came back and typed the final. I think she left around seven-thirty.'
'So there was an hour and a half between six and eight when you were alone?'
Quinn nodded.
'No cleaning people came in, no one called?'
Quinn shook his head. He felt completely helpless.
'You see our problem here, Judge?' Dennis asked. 'The Heathman is only a short walk from the courthouse. Td bet five minutes max. And there was a lot going on in the hotel between six and eight, which is the time when the medical examiner estimates that Claire Reston was murdered. It would have been easy for you to walk from the courthouse to the hotel, slip up to the third floor unnoticed and ...' Dennis shrugged. 'Can you help us out here?'
Quinn looked back and forth between the two policemen. Both men watched him with blank expressions.
'You can't think . . . My, God, I could never do something like . . . like what was done to that poor woman.'
'Nice people sometimes do terrible things under stress, Judge,' Dennis said sympathetically. 'She showed you the photos, you see your marriage and career going down the toilet. We see a lot of this kind of thing. If you did it, let us know so we can help you.'
'That . . . that woman wasn't just killed. That was methodical. That was torture.'
'Maybe you got a taste on St. Jerome,' Anthony said harshly. 'The thrill of having Chapman helpless, begging. It can be a turn-on for some people. Was it a turn-on for you?'
Quinn stared at Anthony in disbelief. Then he looked at Dennis. They had been playing with him and he was too distracted to see it. They really believed that he could tie up and torture a defenseless woman.
'Gentlemen, I've tried to be cooperative, but it is now clear to me . . . I don't want to continue this conversation, except to say that I did not hurt Claire Reston. I want to go now. I won t talk to you anymore without a lawyer.'
'Why don't you sit and think a minute while I discuss this with Detective Anthony?' Dennis said as he motioned Anthony into the outer room.
Quinn let his head fall into his hands. He wanted to tell the detectives the truth, but he would be providing them with a massive motive for murder if he revealed that the dead woman had been used to blackmail him. Dennis and Anthony would believe that Quinn, enraged by her betrayal, had murdered Reston. The conclusion was logical, even if it was false.
The door opened and Dennis and Anthony reentered the bedroom.
'We're going to let you go, Judge,' Dennis told Quinn. 'Neither one of us thinks you've told the truth, but we don't want to rush this investigation. I advise you to think very seriously about your duties as a citizen. If you have information that would help us solve the death of the poor girl in the other room, you have to tell us. You're not just some nobody on the street. You're a judge. From what they say, that means something to you. Think about how you should be acting here.'
[2]
Fran Stuart stood up as soon as Quinn walked into the reception area. She looked very upset.
'I waited for you to come back. I didn't know where to reach you.'
'Calm down, Fran. What's wrong?'
'It's Mr. Price. He's had a heart attack. Richard Kahn called you ten minutes after you left with the detectives.'
'Is he . . . ?'
'No. Mr. Kahn said they were talking about a case in Mr. Price's office when he complained about chest pains. He's at St. Vincent's Hospital. They're in surgery right now.'
Quinn was nursing a cup of coffee in the hospital cafeteria when a tall, middle-aged woman wearing a black skirt and a gray sweater approached his table.
'Judge Quinn?'
'Yes.'
'I'm Dr. Loerts. I operated on Mr. Price.'
'Sit down, please. Can I get you some coffee?'
'No, thanks,' the surgeon answered with a weary smile. She looked tired. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she rubbed her eyelids as soon as she slid onto the chair across from the judge.
'Mr. Price is going to be fine. We performed a triple bypass. That sounds scary, but we do a ton of them and it's routine for my team.'
'What happened?'
'Three of Mr. Price's arteries were clogged and that was keeping an adequate supply of blood from reaching his heart. We took one vein from his leg and another from his chest and attached them to the arteries at a spot in front of and behind the area that was blocked. In other words, we literally bypassed the area. Everything is working just fine now. In fact, he's probably in better shape because there isn't anything blocking the flow of blood to his heart.'
'Can I see him?'
'Not right now. He's in the recovery room and he'll probably be there for another hour or two. He'll go to the coronary care unit when he's ready. You can see him there but he's going to be heavily medicated. He probably won't even remember your visit. When he's well enough, he'll go up to the sixth floor for the rest of his stay. That floor is reserved for people with heart problems. I expect him to be out of the hospital by next week.'
'I'd still like to see him today, even if he doesn't know. When can I do that?'
The doctor looked at her watch. 'We'll transfer him to coronary care in an hour or so. You can only stay for a short time, but I'd guess that you'll be able to see him around six.'
'You're certain my ... my father is okay?'
Dr. Loerts pushed herself to her feet. 'Your dad is going to be fine, so don't worry.'
[3]
Quinn could not return to the gloomy solitude of his rented apartment. The only other place he could think to go was his chambers, where he planned to finish writing his letter of resignation and put his cases in order for the judges who would inherit them. Quinn drove the route to the courthouse in a mental fog. Dr. Loerts had assured Quinn that Frank would be okay, but Frank was eighty years old and Quinn knew that the years they had together were growing short.
Quinn's eyes watered and he felt a painful lump in his throat as he recalled asking Dr. Loerts if his 'father' was okay. It was the first time that he had ever referred to Frank Price as his father, even though the quiet, taciturn man had slowly insinuated himself into Quinn's consciousness in that way.
Quinn remembered the day that he moved into the Price home. It had been the day of his parents' funeral. He'd been putting his clothes away, still dressed in his black suit and too stunned to change, when Price came into his new bedroom. Quinn could picture him standing in the middle of the room, his arms dangling at his side, looking ill at ease. Quinn had been holding a stack of white crew-neck undershirts in his hand.
'I know you're about all in, so I'll make this short,' Frank had said. 'Anna and I don't have children. We didn't plan it that way. It's just the way it worked out. Your father is as close as we came. He was a great lawyer and one of the best men I ever met. When he married your mother, we were overjoyed and we came to love her as much as we loved Pat. Anna and I can't take the place of your parents. We'd never try. But we're here for you whenever you need us.'
