The rookie tried to tell his chief that he’d just been concerned about Ms. Wirechinski (he nearly had the name down), but Junebug wasn’t having any of that. I heard him speak in low, kinder tones to Lorna and she sniffled an answer. We three civilians were relegated to the kitchen while the authorities took over. Lorna refused Chet’s offer of whiskey, but coughed out that she would like a glass of brandy. One of the policemen sat stonily in our midst-I guess making sure none of us headed for the border. He gave Lorna first aid for her injured finger while I watched. After thirty minutes Junebug came back in and said, “Jesus Christ. Jesus H. Christ” Chet, ever the professional host, offered Junebug a drink. He refused and watched Lorna carefully. “Ms.
Wiercinski,” he finally said, “I’d like you to come down to the station with us and answer a few questions. If you feel up to that”
“Of course, Mr. Moncrief.” She rose unsteadily, then as if suddenly remembering that I was there, took my hand. “Can Jordan come, too?”
“Of course,” Junebug answered. “I’m not quite sure why he’s here.”
“I’m an old friend of Lorna’s. We knew each other in Boston.” I didn’t want to go into more detail while Chet was there. He’s a rotten gossip. “He’s a good old friend to have.” Junebug nodded, and so we had ended up here. Junebug had asked us to wait in the lobby for a few minutes and had disappeared into his office. I was dying to know what had happened but thought it wouldn’t look too cool to be grilling Lorna when Junebug came back. Her fingers laced with mine and I didn’t pull back. My arm felt stiff and sore and I tried to keep the sling still and close to my body. “Y’all come on back,” Junebug returned, and escorted us into the station’s one interrogation room. I felt distinctly unwell; I presumed we’d get questioned in the less accusatory surroundings of Junebug’s office. Lorna and I sat on one side of the table, Junebug across from us. He scratched his crew cut and blinked at our entwined hands. He didn’t comment, but he was doubtless wondering what my relationship was with Lorna. “Now, Jordy, maybe you can tell me what you’re doing in the middle of this,”
Junebug said. Lorna glanced at me. “Jordy? I’ve never heard you called that before.” “Please, Lorna, not now.” I took a deep breath and recounted Chet’s phone call. Junebug listened without comment. “Now, Ms. Wiercinski, maybe you can tell me what happened.” Lorna ran a thin fingernail across her bottom lip. She briefly explained her and Greg’s presence in Mirabeau. “Okay. About eight-fifteen we went to the library because Greg was upset-” “Wait a second, ma’am. Who’s we?”
“Me, Greg, and a local real-estate agent, Freddy Jacksill. I had dinner with Jordan”-one Junebug eyebrow went up, then settled back where it belonged-“and then I’d come back to the bed-and-breakfast.
Greg had already heard about the meeting and he was upset. He abhors Nina Hernandez; says she’s an extremist who always gets in his way.”
“Wait another second!” Junebug exploded. “What’s this all about?”
Lorna told him about the ongoing animosity between Nina Hernandez and Greg’s company. Junebug made notes. “Okay,” he said, “so he wanted to bust up this meeting.” “Not exactly. He just wanted to let people know that Nina is dead wrong about Intraglobal and clarify what we want to do here. He wanted to announce his own meeting-which would have been tonight.” “How had he heard about the library meeting?” “I don’t know, Mr. Moncrief. I guess Freddy Jacksill told him.” She went on to describe Greg’s arrival during Nina’s speech and the ensuing charges and countercharges. I helpfully filled in what had happened before Greg and Lorna’s arrival. “And after you left the library?” Junebug prodded. “Greg was very confident that he’d win, but I could see that he was seething. He really hates Nina Hernandez. I mean, he really hated-” Her voice broke off as she corrected her tense. Junebug offered a tissue and she waved it away. “I’m okay. “Anyhow, after we left, Greg, Freddy, and I came back to the Mirabeau B. I was tired and a little upset”-a glance at me spoke volumes-“and I wanted to go to bed. This is my first deal working with Intraglobal and I’m not accustomed to all this confrontational crap. Greg had calmed and seemed ready to celebrate. He said that Nina would mess up her campaign to stop us and we’d be able to get the land for the river resort. He wanted to have drinks with Freddy and me, but I begged off.
So he and Freddy went into Greg’s room. Around nine-thirty I went to bed-” She broke off, sounding uncertain. “Is that all, ma’am?” Junebug seemed to sense she was holding something back and his tone was pressing. “I dozed off, but then I woke up. I heard Greg’s voice yelling at someone. Whoever it was wasn’t yelling back.” “Did he sound afraid?” I asked, ignoring Junebug’s scowl at my intervention. “No, more mad than afraid.” “You didn’t hear Mr. Jacksill talking with him?” Junebug asked. “No, not that I remember.” “What happened then?”
“I went back to sleep. I woke up later, maybe around midnight-I heard a door slam down the hall. But I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Then-a little before two-I woke up again. I’m not sure what woke me up, I just snapped awake.” A slamming door, I thought. Chet had told me while we waited for the police to finish their preliminary examination of Greg’s room that Lorna and Greg were his only guests at the moment. So it must’ve been Greg’s door that she heard. Junebug listened to her carefully, as though a clue might drop from her unsuspecting lips. “Think again, miss. Did you hear a noise? Someone crying out? Another door slam?” Lorna pursed her lips. I could see the effort of her recollection as she dredged through her shock. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything. I think I woke because I was thirsty.” “Okay,” Junebug said. “You were thirsty.” “I decided to go down to the kitchen for some apple juice. I opened my door and started for the stairs. I passed Greg’s room and I could see that the door was ajar. I…” She stared at her clenched fingers. Junebug didn’t prompt her; neither did I. We both sensed that she had to tell this at her pace. After a long intake of breath she continued: “I knocked at the door, very softly. I thought maybe Greg fell asleep with it open, but that would have been very unlike him. He was a maniac about his privacy. So I pushed at the door. It was ink black inside, what with the curtains down. But my eyes were used to the dark now, and I could see his bed hadn’t been slept in. So I stepped inside the room-I remember my hand went out for the light switch. The lights came on-I was looking at Greg’s bed. I couldn’t see his body from there. I didn’t know he was there. And then these gloves closed around my mouth and my throat…” She took a long, shuddering breath. Junebug leaned forward. “Okay, Ms. Wiercinski. Please describe what happened very carefully. Take as much time as you need.” Lorna, her closed eyes tight lines, nodded. “Okay. One glove went over my mouth because I started to scream. The other went behind my neck”-she pantomimed for us-“holding me at the base of the throat. I just stopped dead, because as they closed around me this voice whispered to me, ‘Make a sound, bitch, and you’re dead.’” “A man’s voice or a woman’s?” I asked.
Junebug didn’t seem to object. Lorna shook her head. “I couldn’t tell-the voice was a ratchety, harsh whisper. A man’s, I think.
Maybe.” “What about the gloves? What kind were they?” “Thick, coarse.
Not like driving or dress gloves, but like heavy work gloves.” “Of course,” I said. “Whoever used that garrote on Greg would have to protect his own hands from the barbs. Pulling it taut could be painful.” “From the way the person was holding you, Ms. Wiercinski, could you tell if they were bigger or smaller than you, or around your own size?” Junebug asked, ignoring my valuable insight. He’d probably already thought of it, anyway. Lorna shook her head. “I couldn’t tell-the way he was holding me, it was at something of a distance from him; I wasn’t pressed up against him. I-I thought of fighting, but I was too scared. I mean, everything I’d heard of what you’re supposed to do-fight, kick, scream-my mind wouldn’t do it. I just froze.” “What happened next?” Lorna swallowed. “He-or she- pushed me facedown on the bed. I remember saying, ‘Please don’t hurt me.’ He didn’t say anything. He blindfolded me with what I later found was one of Greg’s ties. Then he tied my arms together with the bedsheets. He shoved another tie in my mouth as a gag and put a pillowcase over my head.
Then he shoved me into Greg’s closet and said in that hoarse whisper, ‘You just stay right there.’ I could hear the closet door shut and the key turn in the lock.” She sniffed. “I guess that’s when you know you’re staying in a real old house-when you have keys for the closets.
I thought he was gone, but I couldn’t be sure. I heard movements at different times, so I just lay there for a while and I started to get panicky. I was pretty sure he’d left, so I worked my way out of the sheets, got the gag out of my mouth, and took off the blindfold and the pillowcase. I peered out of the keyhole, but I couldn’t see anything. I started screaming and kicking on the door; finally I kicked it loose. I saw Greg’s body and screamed. Chet rushed in and got me out, and he called the police. I-I asked him to call Jordan.”
Junebug said nothing, but tapped his pencil against his pad in an annoying staccato. “How long have you been in Mirabeau, ma’am?” “Only a day or so. Greg’s been here a few days longer.” She frowned. “And you can’t even say whether or not the person who grabbed you was a man or a woman, how tall they were, or nothing?” Junebug demanded. “Not with certainty.” Lorna’s jaw set. “If I could tell you, I would.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t,” Junebug said. “We don’t know you here.” I’d had enough. “Look, Junebug, I’ve known
