morning.'
Her slender fingers tightened around the picture frame, gripping it until the knuckles showed light against the darker skin. She stepped backward, sinking heavily onto the couch.
I hurried on. 'We need someone to make a positive identification. This afternoon we discovered that over the weekend your husband’s car was towed away from the same parking lot in which the victim was found.'
'You think he’s dead?' She choked over the last word.
'As I said, Mrs. Ridley. We’re not sure. From looking at the picture, I’d say it was the same man, but that doesn’t constitute a positive identification. There’s certainly a strong resemblance.'
She leaned back against the couch, resting her head on the wall behind her, closing her eyes. Her breathing quickened. I was afraid she was going to faint. Alarmed, I got up and went to her.
'Are you all right, Mrs. Ridley? Can I get you something? A glass of water? Something stronger?'
She looked up at me through eyes bright with tears. 'Where is he?'
'The medical examiner’s office. Harborview Medical Center.'
'And you came to take me there?'
I nodded. 'If you’re up to going. You could send someone else-a relative, a close friend. A person in your condition…'
She stood up abruptly. 'I’ll go.'
'You’re sure it won’t be too hard on you?'
'I said I’ll go,' she repeated.
She paused by the door long enough to pull on a pair of leg warmers and some short boots. She draped a long yellow wool shawl over her shoulders. 'I’m ready,' she said.
Outside, I helped her into my car. Sports cars are not built with pregnant ladies in mind, whether or not they do aerobics. There was absolute silence between us during the drive to Harborview. She asked no questions; I offered no information. What could I say?
A brand new, peach-fuzzed night tech in Doc Baker’s office came out of the back as we entered. 'What can I do for you?'
'I’m Detective Beaumont. Seattle P.D. I believe we have a tentative identification on the Queen Anne victim.'
'Great!' He glanced at Joanna Ridley’s somber face. She stood there silently, biting her lower lip. He curbed some of his youthful enthusiasm. 'Sure thing,' he said. 'If you’ll wait here for a couple of minutes…'
He disappeared down a short hallway. I offered Joanna a chair, which she refused. Instead, she walked over to the doorway and stood peering out. Harborview Medical Center sits on the flank of First Hill. Even from the ground floor she could look down at the city spread out below and beyond the early evening hazy glow of parking lot lights. Eventually, the tech came back for us.
'Right this way, miss,' he said. I winced. He wasn’t going to win any prizes for diplomacy, or for observation either, for that matter.
He led us down the same hallway and stopped in front of a swinging laboratory door. He pushed it open and held it for her to enter. Joanna seemed to falter. I didn’t blame her. Eventually, she got a grip on herself and went inside. I followed her, with the tech bringing up the rear.
A sheet-draped figure lay on a gurney in the far corner of the room. 'This way, please,' the tech said.
Joanna Ridley didn’t move. She seemed frozen to the spot. I stepped to her side and took hold of an arm, just above the elbow. Gently, I led her forward.
The tech moved to the head of the gurney and held up a corner of the sheet far enough to expose the still face beneath it. In the quiet room, Joanna gave a sudden, sharp intake of breath and turned away.
'I need to lie down,' she said.
CHAPTER 4
I led Joanna Ridley into a small, private waiting room and helped her lie down on a dilapidated couch. The tech brought a glass of water. 'Is she going to be all right?' he asked nervously. 'I can call somebody down from Emergency.'
Glancing back at her, I saw tears streaming down her face. She didn’t need a doctor or a whole roomful of people. 'No,' I told him. 'She’ll be okay. I’ll let you know if she needs help.'
The tech backed out of the room. I set the water down on a table without offering any to her. She didn’t need plain water, either.
For several long minutes, I waited for her sobs to become quiet. Eventually, they did, a little. 'Mrs. Ridley,' I asked gently, 'is there anything I can do to help? Someone I can call?'
Her sobs intensified into an anguished wail. 'How could this happen when the baby…'
She broke off suddenly, and my adrenaline started pumping. 'The baby! Is it coming now? Should I call a doctor?'
Joanna shook her head. 'My baby’s not even born yet, and his father’s…' She stopped again, unable to continue.
My own relief was so great, I walked to the table and helped myself to her glass of water, all of it, before I spoke, offering what comfort I could. 'It’ll be all right. You’ll see. Really, isn’t there someone I can call?'
Her sobbing ceased abruptly. Raising herself up on one elbow, she glared at me angrily. In her eyes I was something less than an unfeeling clod. 'You don’t understand. My baby’s father is dead.'
Unfortunately, I did understand, all too well. I knew far better than she did what was ahead for both her and her baby. From personal experience. Except my mother hadn’t had so much as a marriage certificate to back her up when I was born. Society was a hell of a lot less permissive back in the forties.
'My mother did it,' I said quietly. 'You can, too.'
She looked at me silently for a long moment, assimilating what I had said. Then, before she could respond, the technician burst into the room. 'Dr. Baker’s on the phone. He wants to talk to you, Detective Beaumont.' The tech bounded back out of the room with me right behind him. 'He wants to know who it was,' he said over his shoulder.
'How the hell did he find out?'
'He told me to call if we came up with something.'
'What do you mean we?' I fumed.
He led me into another office, picked up a telephone receiver, and held it toward me. I snatched it from his hand.
' Beaumont,' I growled into the phone.
'Understand you’ve got a positive ID. Good work, Beau. That was quick. What have you got?'
'Who the fuck do you think you are, calling me to the phone like this? I just barely found out myself. All I know so far is a name and address.'
'Well, get on with it for chrissakes.'
'Look, Baker. That poor woman just learned her husband’s dead. I’ll start asking questions when I’m damn good and ready.'
'Don’t be a prima donna, Beau. Give me what you have.'
'Like hell!'
I flung the receiver at the startled tech, who stared at me dumbfounded. I hurried back down the hall to the room where Joanna Ridley waited. The phone rang again, but I didn’t pause long enough to hear what the tech said to his irate boss. Besides, I was sure Baker’s next phone call would be to either Captain Powell or Sergeant Watkins.
Hustling back into the waiting room, I startled Joanna Ridley, who was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. There was no time to waste in idle explanations. 'Come on,' I said, helping her up. 'Let’s get out of here.'
'Where are we going?'
'I’ll take you home. We’ve got to go now, before we’re overrun with cops and reporters.'
The tech had followed me. We ran into him head-on in the doorway. He was carrying a metal clipboard and had
