overcome that training, but I'm learning.
Jamie flushed. I had gotten a little of my own back. Not enough, but it was a start. Harding bristled and turned away. 'In that case, I'm going home to dinner. Lock this creep up.'
Jamie started forward, but my next words caught Harding just as his hand closed on the doorknob. 'Does the name Marilyn Sykes mean anything to you?'
Harding stopped and so did Jamie. The sheriff swung back around to face me. 'I know Marilyn,' he replied deliberately. 'She's vice president of our state association. She's good people. Why? What about her?'
'Call her,' I said. 'Ask her what she was doing last night between midnight and one o'clock.'
The sheriff's eyes narrowed. 'Is this some kind of joke?'
'Believe me, it's no joke. I'm only following my attorney's orders.'
'It's too late to call her,' he objected. 'She wouldn't still be at the office, and I doubt she'd have a listed number.'
'I have the number,' I said. 'It's in my wallet. You've got that, don't you?'
Harding stood for a moment, looking at me, pondering, then he nodded to Jamie. 'Go out and get me the envelope with his stuff in it. And don't open it.' Once Jamie was outside, Harding closed the door, walked slowly back to the desk, and eased his heavy frame down into the chair behind it. 'What's this all about, Beaumont? What are you up to?'
'Just call Marilyn and ask her what she was doing last night between midnight and one o'clock,' I said again.
Jamie returned and handed over the envelope. While Harding fumbled with the flap, I was aware of Jamie's cold eyes drilling into me. Talking to Ames had buoyed my confidence. Now, for the first time, I wondered what would happen if Marilyn Sykes weren't home, or if for some reason she couldn't or wouldn't corroborate my alibi. After this latest set-to with Jamie, if Harding left me alone again with that squirrelly little shit, I was in big, big trouble.
Marilyn, Marilyn, answer the phone.
Harding was still searching for the number. 'It's on the back of one of her cards,' I said helpfully. 'Behind the money.'
Harding located the card, turned it over, picked up the phone, and dialed. She must have answered on the first or second ring. I felt myself breathe a huge sigh of relief.
'Howdy there, Marilyn,' he drawled. 'This is Reed Harding, down in Chehalis. Oh sure, I'm fine. How's it going with you?'
I wondered if Reed Harding had always talked that way, or if he had affected the backwoods, good-old-boy style as a vote-getting technique. The accent wouldn't have played worth a damn in Tacoma or Seattle either one, but it sounded perfectly at home in Chehalis.
There was a short exchange of pleasantries, while Jamie and I stared at each other. I was gloating. There wasn't a goddamned thing he could do to me now, but suddenly I wanted him out of that room in the very worst way. Whatever Marilyn Sykes told Reed Harding was fine, but I'll be damned if I wanted Jamie to be privy to it.
'Well,' Harding was explaining to Marilyn, 'it's like this. We've got ourselves a sticky little situation down here. I hate to put you on the spot, Marilyn, but I need to know exactly what you were doing last night around midnight or so.'
Jamie was bright enough to know that the tables had somehow turned, but he still hadn't figured out what to do about it. I stood up and stretched. Harding was so deeply embroiled in his conversation with Marilyn that he didn't pay the least bit of attention to me. With an armed deputy in the room and another stationed just outside the door, he didn't really need to worry.
I ambled over to the door where Jamie was still standing. 'You'd better get out of here, you cocksucking little son of a bitch,' I whispered, 'before I crush your balls with a nutcracker and use 'em for chicken feed.'
Jamie stiffened, paled, and left without a word. No guts. I turned back to Harding. He was still on the phone and shaking his head.
'So there was no way he could have gotten away between say midnight and one o'clock this morning without your noticing.' There was a pause, and Harding chuckled. 'No, I suppose not.'
Chivalry be damned, Marilyn Sykes was coming through like a champ.
'And you say the security guard there keeps track of all vehicles after ten P.M.? Could you give me that number?' He jotted something on a sheet of paper. 'Well thanks, Marilyn. You've been a big help. You want to talk to him? Sure. Hang on.'
Shaking his head, he looked over at me and held out the phone. 'She wants to speak to you,' he said.
I can't say that I wanted to speak to her right then, but I took the phone anyway.
'I thought you told me you weren't the type to kiss and tell,' Marilyn Sykes said accusingly.
'Marilyn, I'm sorry. It's just that…'
She laughed. 'Don't apologize and don't give me any excuses, Beau. From what Reed tells me, it's a damn good thing we were at my place instead of yours. Your doorman goes off duty at midnight. You need to live in a class-act place, Detective Beaumont, one with twenty-four-hour security.'
Marilyn was sticking it to me and to Belltown Terrace as well, but I was in no position to object. I kept quiet.
'Anything else I can do to help?' she asked brightly.
'Not at the moment.' I didn't want to say more, not with Reed Harding sitting there in the room. Marilyn was perceptive enough to figure it out.
'Call me when you get back home and let me know what's going on. It must be serious.'
'It is that,' I said. 'I'll be in touch.' I handed the phone back to Harding. He took it from me and sat there unmoving for several seconds with the receiver cupped in his hands. Finally, he tapped the phone on the desk a time or two.
'You'll bear with me while I go by the book and check out one more thing, won't you?'
I shrugged. 'Be my guest.'
He looked down at the notes he had taken during his call with Marilyn and punched a number into the phone. 'Who am I speaking to?' he asked when somebody answered.
'My name's Harding, Sheriff W. Reed Harding down here in Chehalis. We've had a tip that one of our stolen vehicles was sighted in your complex last night. I understand that you keep track of license numbers of all vehicles entering and leaving the property, is that true?'
There was a pause. 'I see, but you don't have last night's list there with you? Do you know where we could locate it? Yes, it is important. Fine, I'll hold.'
Harding held his hand over the mouthpiece. 'He's transferring me to the security company's main office in Seattle,' he said. 'What's the license number on that Porsche of yours? I've got it in the file in my office, but I need it now.'
I gave it to him. Harding went back to the phone. 'Sure, just read me the whole list. That'll be fine.' It took several minutes. Finally the list was completed. 'Okay,' Harding said. 'Thanks for all your help. What's your name again?' He scribbled a name and number on the sheet of paper. 'Sounds to me like we must have been mistaken.'
He put down the phone and looked over at me. 'In more ways than one, Beaumont,' he added. 'Just like you said. The number's there. In at eleven and out again this morning. I owe you an apology.'
'It happens,' I said. 'We all make mistakes.' I could afford to be magnanimous with Harding. He wasn't the one who had knocked me on my ass.
'But what the hell were you doing out there in Pe Ell anyway? And what's Linda Decker so scared of? It's a miracle she didn't shoot you on sight. She said you claimed to be working on her boyfriend's case, on his homicide, but that when she called to check, Seattle P.D. said no.'
In less than a minute, Harding and I had gone from adversaries to allies. The shift was so sudden, it almost made me dizzy.
'There are two other detectives who are actually assigned to the case,' I told him. 'I've been working it anyway. I felt like it.'
'Oh,' Harding replied with a nod. 'I got that much from Watkins.'
'Watkins?' I asked.
