Meg scowled.
'Please, Meg. We'll get this all straightened out in the morning.'
'What do you think, Howie?'
The lawyer's steady gaze had never really left Dorset. 'I think,' he said easily, 'that Frank here ought to remember the number of friends I have on the State Supreme Court.'
'Sure thing, Counselor.'
'I want to see where she's going to be for the night.'
'Suit yourself.'
Dorset slouched through the metal door labeled LOCK UP. Meg put her arm around Quill's waist and, with Howie leading the way, they followed Dorset into the cell. The overhead light was harsh, the cell as bare as it had been that morning.
'She'll need another blanket,' said Meg. Dorset grunted and returned to the office.
Meg glared after him and turned to Quill. 'And a nightgown. You can't sleep in that skirt and sweater.'
'I'll be fine,' said Quill, who had no intention of taking off her clothes within thirty blocks of Frank Dorset. She gave Meg a warning pinch.
Meg stared back at her, reached over, hugged her, and whispered, 'Use it. If you have to. Even if you don't.' She slipped the paring knife she'd been sharpening in the kitchen into Quill's hand. Quill slid it into her skirt pocket, then sat on the cot.
Dorset returned and tossed a thin wool blanket through the open door, then gestured Meg and Howie out of the cell. He clanged the door shut and locked it. Despite herself, Quill shivered.
'I'll take the key,' said Howie. 'The hell you will.'
'The hell I won't. Is there a duplicate?'
'Deputy carries one.'
'I'm just down the street, Dorset. If you need to get her out before I'm back in the morning, call me.'
'Fuck you, Murchison.'
Howie's voice never rose above its mild tone of inquiry. 'I don't know what the hell you're planning, Dorset. You know as well as I do that, at the very least, I can have this arrest tossed out because you prevented me from seeing my client privately. I'll tell you this. No matter where you are in the next few days, I'll prosecute you to the fullest extent the law allows - and maybe a little more than that. This woman has friends. She and her sister have a national reputation. You step an inch over the line, and it'll be safer for you in jail than out.'
'You don't scare me, Murchison.'
'Then you're a fool. Give me that key.'
'Howie,' said Quill, 'don't. For one thing, what if there's a fire? For another, he'd be a real idiot to assault my, um - virtue - after you and John and Meg have witnessed all of this. You guys go and do what you have to do to get me out of here - okay?'
'You're sure, Quillie?' Meg, pale, rubbed her face with both hands. 'I really think I ought to stay with you.'
'I'm sure. I'll be all right. Just go away and do what you have to do to get me out of here.'
'We'll be back in the morning,' said Howie. 'I'll drive to Ithaca tonight, get Judge Anderson out of bed, and be back about six. Try and get some sleep.' He frowned. 'Dorset? Watch yourself.'
At first Quill was grateful for the overhead light. The cell block was very quiet. Outside it had started to snow again, and the whisper/slide of a heavy fall brushed against the barred window. She lay back on the thin mattress, pulling the blanket over her shoulders, wriggling her stockinged feet through the folds at the bottom, trying to warm them. Meg's paring knife made a lump in her pocket, and she ended up sticking it under the pillow.
She fell into a broken doze, jerked awake every now and then by the relentless overhead light when her eyelids blinked half open. Eventually, she slid into heavy sleep.
She woke to whispered voices.
Confused, she sat up, swung her feet to the floor, and encountered cold concrete.
'... in there right now,' came a murmur, 'trust me... '
A response, derisive.
'... show ya...'
The metal door swung open. Dorset's lanky figure shambled through the flood of light from the office. Quill blinked, blinded by the overhead light. Dorset whistled as you whistle for a dog. There was someone behind him. Shorter than Dorset, about Quill's own height. Shapeless in her down coat. Face concealed by her fur hat.
Suddenly, the overhead light went out.
She flung her hand up, shading her eyes against the glare from the office door. The man? woman? behind the sheriff stepped back, arm upraised. Light flashed against steel. The arm came down, once.
Dorset screamed. And again.
Dorset twisted, hands scrabbling for the unknown face. Quill willed her eyes open, strained against the dark.
The knife came down a third time, hard. Blood came from Dorset's mouth and nose. He cried, 'Uh! Uh!' and fell in a clatter of boots and keys, arms outstretched.
