Stone Quarry

I tilted the bed as upright as it would go, and then I asked Brinkman to find me some water. By the time he got back I'd found a way to tell it, very close to the truth.

'Ginny Sanderson,' I said, after a drink.

'Snotty little bitch,' he drawled. 'What about her?'

That jolted me; but then I realized he didn't know.

'She's dead, Brinkman. Grice killed her.'

Nothing moved but his eyes. They narrowed into slits. 'The hell you say.'

I drank more water, spoke slowly. 'She wanted to be part of Grice's in-crowd. But Grice wasn't having any. She thought it was her, so she tried harder. She took up with Jimmy; she robbed a house.'

'Robbed what house?' Brinkman interrupted.

'Eve Colgate's.'

'Miss Colgate didn't report that.'

'No,' I said. 'She called me instead.'

'Why?'

I shrugged. 'Some people aren't crazy about cops.' 'Smith—'

'Oh, Christ, Brinkman, will you shut up and let me finish? Let me get through this, then you can arrest me or shoot me or whatever the fuck you want.'

His face darkened, and I wondered briefly whether it was beyond him to beat up a man lying in a hospital bed. Maybe I'd get to find out.

Meanwhile, I went on. 'I traced the burglary to Ginny pretty easily. She denied it, but sooner or later she'd have come across. But there was a wrinkle: some of the stuff she'd stolen was really valuable. She thought Grice would be impressed with that, so she showed him. He wasn't.'

Brinkman asked through gritted teeth, 'Why not?'

'Well, he was, but it was hard stuff to fence. And Grice had a sweetheart deal going with her father. He didn't want to blow that by getting caught fooling around with her.'

'Grice? You're telling me Frank Grice was making deals with Mark Sanderson?'

'Uh-huh. Based on blackmail, I think.'

'Blackmail over what?'

'The murder of Lena Sanderson.'

'The what? Jesus, city boy, what the fuck are you talking about?'

'When Lena disappeared,' I said, 'Sanderson called the cops, it's true; but it would've looked too odd if he hadn't. But he didn't hire anyone to look privately, after you guys turned up nothing. Okay, so maybe he figured good riddance. But he also didn't cancel her credit cards. He didn't close bank accounts she had access to. He never filed for a legal separation. He didn't make any effort to protect himself from her. All I can figure is he knew he didn't have to.'

'You're saying—'

'I think Sanderson killed her. Either that, or he hired Grice to do it; but my money's on him. In anger; probably by accident. She played around one too many times; the whole county was full of it, from what I hear, but it took him forever to catch on.

'Then I'll bet he lost his nerve. He called Grice. They knew each other: Grice did muscle work for Sanderson. So Sanderson calls. I've got this body in my living room, get rid of it. No problem, Grice gets rid of it. And suddenly Grice is a big shot. He's running the county. Sanderson buys him a cop, Sanderson buys him information, and he and Sanderson go into business together.'

Brinkman's eyes were hard, his mouth tight with anger. I thought he was going to tell me to shove my theories, but when he spoke, it was to ask, 'What business?'

'Appleseed Holdings.' I told him about that.

Brinkman sat silent for a while when I was through, then stood abruptly. 'City boy,' he said, 'the Sandersons fought under George Washington. When that war was over they came up here and settled this county. My county, Smith. Now you want me to believe Mark Sanderson murdered his wife and bends over for Frank Grice?' He shook his head. 'I don't know, city boy. I don't know.'

'I don't give a shit what you believe, Brinkman. I'm telling you what happened. A real cop would check it out.'

'A—' His hand curled into a fist, but he said, 'Ginny. You're so fucking smart, what about Ginny?'

I told him about Ginny, Wally Gould, Frank Grice. He asked what it was Ginny had stolen that was so valuable, and I told him the only lie I had for him: 'I don't know.'

After a long silence, he asked, 'Where are they?'

It took me a moment; then I caught on. 'The bodies? I'll bet you'll find them if you drag the quarry.'

Brinkman looked at me long and hard, his small eyes like a cold, close weight, stones on my chest. 'All right,' he said at last. 'I'll check it out. Otis Huttner's still alive; I'll see what he has to say. And I'll drag the quarry. And you'd better be right, Smith. You'd better be right, or you're fucked.'

He turned and strode out, the curtain closing behind him.