Vendetta

“I’ll want to talk to Mr. Overton.”

“We’re getting a statement. You can just read what he tells us. I’ll have the report right out to you.”

Marion met the man’s eyes. “Will you be putting Mr. Overton on the stand and questioning him about what he saw tonight during the murder trial, Sheriff Keller?”

Keller took a hit off his cigarette. “No, ma’am.”

“Well, I will be.” If this turns out right, Marion told herself. “I’ll need to speak to Mr. Overton tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Keller frowned in distaste and rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I think it would have been better if Turnbull had sent someone else down here.”

“If D.A. Turnbull had felt that way,” Marion said evenly, “I expect he would have done just that. Don’t you?”

Keller grimaced. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Walk me through the murder.”

Marion took notes as Keller talked. She was attentive and spoke only when she needed clarification. Evidently that impressed him because some of his surliness went away. But maybe that was because he was a total professional when it came to his job. His pride and thoroughness were evident.

According to Overton’s story, the woman had walked into the motel parking lot wearing a thigh-length jacket. Overton had noticed her because she was “a good-lookin’ woman” and he didn’t see many of those at the motel. Except for the ones who were trying to drum up a little business.

Keller said that before he thought about it. He paused, colored briefly and apologized. Marion quietly accepted the apology, not because she’d been embarrassed—because she wasn’t—but because she knew that the discomfort Keller felt gave her a slight edge over the man.

The woman had gone to the unit and—

“She came directly to this unit?” Marion interrupted. She glanced at the door. The unit was neatly marked with brass numbers on the door. It was room number 37.

“Yes, ma’am. Overton says there was no hesitation.”

Marion thought about that. “Marker could have called her here.”

Keller shrugged and nodded. “I thought of that. Don’t know how we’d prove it.”

“We could subpoena phone records,” Marion supplied. That course of action was relatively new.

“I suppose so,” Keller replied, looking a little impressed. Then he continued with his account.

The woman had paused at the door for a moment, then took her pistol out and walked into the room.

“Marker let her in?” Marion asked.

“We don’t believe so, ma’am,” Keller said. “There are fresh scratches on the lock. We found lockpicks on the woman. And Overton says there weren’t any lights on in the room. We believe Colonel Marker was asleep when she entered.”

Once inside the room, the woman had switched on a small flashlight and opened fire almost immediately.

“Overton says the muzzleflashes lit up the room just seconds after she entered,” Keller told Marion. “Says it was like a lightning storm started up in there.”

“Are flashes like that normal?” Marion hadn’t seen gunfire at night.

“Yes, ma’am. Muzzleflashes can be awfully bright in the dark.”

The sound of the shots had rolled out over the motel parking area. At that point Overton had dived behind the counter and dragged the phone down with him.

“The woman was still here when you arrived?” Marion asked when the sheriff finished his summation.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why?”

“You’d have to ask her that.”

“Are you ready to do this?” Keller asked.

Marion stood at the door’s threshold. So far she hadn’t ventured inside the room. But the thought of the corpse lying in wait hadn’t been far from her mind.

Until this moment, the only dead bodies she’d seen had been in funeral homes. She’d still felt uncomfortable around them. There was something about the emptiness of the body and knowing that the eyes would never open that scratched at her nerves.

“Yes,” Marion whispered.

Keller looked at her. “You don’t have to do this,” he said gently.

“Are you trying to protect me, Sheriff Keller?” Marion appreciated that from him at the same time that she resented it. She’d fought hard to earn the respect of the men she’d worked with and she wasn’t going to lose the foundation of that respect by allowing them to be nice to her.

Needing protection wouldn’t further the recognition that a woman could do the same job as a man.

“Yes, ma’am,” Keller answered without hesitation.

“Don’t do me any favors,” Marion told him.

“No, ma’am. If you don’t mind me asking, Counselor, have you seen a murder victim before?”

Marion hesitated. “Only in photographs.”

Keller nodded grimly. “Well this here’s a lot worse than any photographs would be. You can’t smell the blood and stuff through a picture. You might want to rethink going into that room.”

I can’t, Marion thought. If I back down now, if I don’t face this, it’s going to haunt me.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“The reason I’m telling you this,” Keller said, “is that we’ve got news reporters on the scene now.”

Looking over the sheriff’s shoulder, Marion saw a loose semi-circle of people standing out beyond the striped sawhorses the deputies had put up. As she looked, a man lifted a large camera and took her picture. The bright light from the flashbulb temporarily caused black spots to whirl in her vision.

She hadn’t noticed the presence of the reporters.

“They’re always circling,” Keller said. “Like vultures. Somebody else’s bad news is their good news.” He frowned like he’d bitten into something sour.

Marion knew from her studies and her exposure in the D.A.’s office that she would have, at best, an adversarial relationship with the press. Anything less would amount to all-out war.