'Are you okay?'
'Physically, I'm fine. Emotionally . . . that's something else.'
'I can imagine. You're the talk of the courthouse. First that ruling in Crease, then this attack in the garage.'
'I want to take some time off, Stan.'
'That makes sense. How long do you want?'
'I cleared my desk when I thought that the Crease trial would take most of the month. I can take a few days off without disrupting the work of the court. I'll write memos in all of my cases so that any judge you assign will be able to get up to speed easily.'
'All right. Being attacked like that has to be frightening. Go home and rest. Call me next week and let me know how you feel. Maybe you and Laura should head for the coast. Lily and I used to rent a little bungalow in Cannon Beach and watch the storms with hot buttered rums and a good fire.' Sax smiled. 'A little romance is a great remedy for the blues.'
Sax's reminder of his empty marriage hurt, but Quinn faked a smile and said, 'Thanks for the advice and for being so understanding.'
Sax waved off Quinn. The judge left Sax's chambers and headed for his own. Fran Stuart examined Quinn's face. Before she could ask, Quinn said, 'This looks pretty bad, but I'm fine.'
Fran handed Quinn a stack of messages. As Quinn thumbed quickly through the stack to see if there was one from Crease or Brademas, his secretary said, 'Most of these are from friends asking if you're okay or from reporters who want to interview you. There was also a call from an Officer Ramirez. He wanted to set up an appointment for this afternoon so he can get a statement about the attack.'
Quinn looked at his watch. It was a little after three. He could probably fit in Ramirez around four-thirty. Quinn started toward his office.
'And your wife called several times.' Quinn's heart jumped. 'She wanted you to call her as soon as you got in.'
Quinn had been too exhausted physically and emotionally to call Laura after his visit to Ellen Crease. Her calls made Quinn anxious. Was she calling to reconcile or to ask for a divorce?
'Oh,' Fran said, 'there was one unusual call. It came in ten minutes ago. A woman named Denise Ritter. She said it was urgent. She wanted to talk to you about that woman who was murdered at the Heathman Hotel. She said that she's the woman's sister.'
'Her sister?'
'Yes. She sounded very upset.'
'Thank you, Fran.'
Quinn thumbed through his messages until he found the slip with Ritter's phone number. It had a Seattle area code. The phone rang twice, then a woman answered.
'Is this Denise Ritter?' Quinn asked.
'Yes?'
This is Judge Richard Quinn.'
Quinn could hear breathing on the other end of the phone.
'Ms. Ritter?'
'I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have called.'
'Is this about the woman who was murdered?'
'Yes. Marie is . . . was my sister.'
Quinn heard the woman's breath catch. Then he heard a sob.
''Are you all right?'
'I'm sorry. I ... I flew down this morning on the shuttle to identify Marie's body.'
'That must have been awful.'
'The detectives were very kind, but ...'
Ritter's voice trailed off and Quinn heard her blowing her nose. She apologized again.
'Ms. Ritter, why did you call me?'
'The detectives showed me a picture of you and Marie on a beach.'
'You told them that the woman in the pictures was Marie?'
'Yes.'
'Did they seemed surprised?'
'Now that you mention it, they did.'
' 4What did they ask you when you said that?'
'They wanted to know if Marie had ever mentioned you, but they wouldn't tell me why they were asking.'
Ritter hesitated. Then she said, 4 Judge, Marie and I weren't close. Especially these past few years. I was hoping you could tell me what went wrong. How this happened.'
'Ms. Ritter, I would like to talk with you about Marie, too. If I took the shuttle to Seattle, would you meet with me tonight?'
[2]
The shuttle touched down a little after six P. M. Twenty minutes later, the cab Quinn hired at Sea-Tac Airport rounded a curve on the freeway and the judge saw the massive, glass and concrete structures that dominated Seattle's city center. Seattle had its share of interesting architecture: the Space Needle towered over everything, and the Pike Place Market, a collection of ramshackle stalls, shops and restaurants seemingly held together by glue, tottered on a hillside overlooking Elliott Bay. However, Seattle's buildings were nowhere near as spectacular as its geography. The 'Emerald City' sat on a narrow strip of land between Puget Sound and eighteen-mile-long Lake Washington. Massive Mount Rainier dominated the landscape east of the city, and to the west were the jagged peaks of the Olympic Mountains.
Shortly after reaching the city, the cab turned off the interstate and traveled downhill toward the Pioneer Square Historic District, an area of late-Victorian and early-twentieth-century buildings that had been built up after the Great Fire of 1889. Day and night, the district swarmed with crowds attracted to its galleries, restaurants, antique shops and theaters. Denise Ritter had agreed to meet Quinn in an espresso bar at First and James near the original Pioneer Square. Quinn spotted the totem pole in the square before he located the cafe, a dark and narrow space squeezed between a gallery featuring Native American art and an occult bookstore. Toward the back of the espresso bar, a woman wearing a peasant dress nervously scanned the door.
Denise Ritter bore little resemblance to her sister. She was five nine and stoop-shouldered. Her hair was black like Marie's, but it was frizzy and collected behind her in a barrette, and her blue eyes hid behind thick, tortoiseshell glasses. Behind the thick lenses, Ritter's eyes were red from crying. When she noticed Quinn walking toward her, Ritter seemed to pull into herself. It took Quinn a moment to realize that Marie had modeled her Claire Reston persona on her real sister.
'Tm Richard Quinn,' the judge said when he reached Ritter's table. Ritter held out her hand selfconsciously and Quinn took it. The skin felt cold and she looked exhausted.
'Are you all right?' Quinn asked as he sat down.
'No,' Ritter answered frankly. 'Seeing Marie like that was really hard for me.'
She could not go on and Quinn was relieved when a skinny waiter in jeans and a T-shirt walked up to the table. Quinn asked for coffee. Ritter was nursing a latte.
'I appreciate your willingness to meet with me, under the circumstances,' Quinn told Ritter.
'I'm doing this as much for me as for you. Marie was my sister. What I don't understand is your interest.'
'What did the police tell you about me?'
'That you knew Marie.'
'Did they say that I was a suspect in Marie's death?'
The question startled Ritter. She shook her head while examining Quinn more closely.
'And Marie never mentioned me to you, or talked about a judge that she knew?'
Ritter looked down at the tabletop. 'I rarely talked to Marie about her business.'
'What exactly did you understand Marie's business to be?'
