Chapter 26

There was nothing about reopening the investigation into Tiffany Scott’s death in the next morning’s newspaper, but all that day my mind kept returning to the case. Much as I disliked Ronnie, I disliked even more the idea that an innocent person could be suspected of murder.

By three o’clock that afternoon, I’d given up trying to accomplish anything to do with editing. The thumb drive weighed heavily on my conscience. That the police had questioned Ronnie suggested that they had changed their minds about Tiffany’s death being an accident. If that was so, any potential evidence belonged in their hands.

If they were focused on Ronnie as a suspect, they’d be disappointed. There was nothing in the files I’d looked at to indicate that she had any reason to harm her granddaughter. There weren’t even any mature female characters, evil or good, in Tiffany’s novel.

I had a brief, unworthy moment when I considered delaying just to make Ronnie sweat, but petty vindictiveness is an unattractive trait. I had to do what was right, no matter how she’d behaved toward me. Since I had it in my power to help clear her of suspicion and point the finger in a more likely direction at the same time, I could no longer shirk my civic duty.

I tried to keep my promise to notify Mike first. I phoned him before I left the house, but my call went straight to voice mail. I didn’t leave a message. Despite his warning, I felt certain I didn’t need a lawyer.

Detective Hazlett kept me waiting for forty-five minutes and looked harassed and out-of-sorts when I was finally admitted to his inner sanctum. He did not get up. “What can I do for you today, Ms. Lincoln?”

“It’s what I can do for you, Detective Hazlett.” I placed the thumb drive on the only relatively uncluttered spot on his blotter.

“What’s this? No.” He held up a hand. “I can see it’s a flash drive. Why are you giving it to me?”

“It belonged to Tiffany Scott.”

I lowered myself into the visitor’s chair so that we were at eye level. His eyes narrowed and the rest of his face turned to stone, giving me an uh-oh moment and making me wonder if I should have waited until Mike could come with me after all. Since it was too late to contact my lawyer friend, I sat with my hands primly folded in my lap and waited to hear what Detective Hazlett had to say.

“Did you have this when I interviewed you after her death?”

“I did, but I didn’t know it. I discovered it much later, inside the mailer that contained her manuscript. It was buried way down at the bottom, easy to overlook. If I didn’t recycle packing materials, I’d never have found it at all.”

There, I thought. That didn’t stretch the truth by much. If he asked me directly when I’d found the thumb drive, I’d tell him, but I saw no point in making trouble for myself. Let him assume that I’d just now come across it and had brought it straight to the police station.

Hazlett picked up my offering and turned it over and over in his fingers. Obviously, he wasn’t planning to dust for prints. I had the uneasy feeling that he didn’t quite believe my story. I wanted to jump in to defend myself, but common sense warned me to keep quiet. I’d do better to wait and see what developed.

“You were reusing the mailer?” he asked.

“Not exactly. I had tossed it into a bin with other padded envelopes good enough to reuse. It was because people kept asking me if Tiffany had left anything with me besides her manuscript that I went looking for it.”

“People?” Only by the slightest shift in position did he indicate that my words had piqued his interest. “What people?”

“Well, Ronnie North, for one.” It wouldn’t do to let her off the hook entirely. “And Alan Van Heusen, on behalf of Gregory Onslow.” I briefly described the visit from Van Heusen, emphasizing his threatening manner and my discomfort in his presence. “I didn’t think to check the mailer right away, but when I did, I found the thumb drive.”

Hazlett’s steady stare was starting to make me nervous. “What’s on it?”

“You’re assuming I looked at it?”

He very nearly cracked a smile. “I can’t imagine that you didn’t, Ms. Lincoln, and you wouldn’t be here handing it over if you didn’t have some reason to think I’d be interested in the contents.”

“I don’t know if you will be or not. All the files appear to be related to research for Tiffany’s novel, and the novel itself in on there, of course. I just . . . I thought you should have it.”

Belatedly, I remembered that I’d already given Ronnie a copy of Tiffany’s thumb drive. I wondered why she hadn’t mentioned it to Hazlett. From his reaction to the original, it was clear that this was the first he’d heard of its existence. Of course, considering the way Ronnie felt about me, it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that she’d tossed her copy in the trash without even looking at it.

“I see,” said the detective. “Very well, Ms. Lincoln. Thank you. I’ll take charge of it.”

“You really should read the files. And the novel.”

He shot me one of those “give me patience” looks. “Why is that?”

“There are characters in the book that, uh, seem to be based on real people.”

He waited.

“On her husband and his flunky, Alan Van Heusen. They’re both portrayed as crooked businessmen. Mobsters. Onslow may be in there twice, as the prototype for two different characters, both of them villains.”

“Murderers, I suppose?”

“Well, the novel is set in the heyday of Murder Incorporated.” I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“I’ll take that into consideration.” When I made no move to leave, he added in a resigned tone of voice, “Is there something else?”

I tried to think how to ask him if he’d reopened the case. Finally I just blurted it out. I knew before he opened his mouth that he wasn’t going to give me a straight answer. He was too polite to order me to get the hell out of his office, but what he did say amounted to the same thing.

“I’m afraid that’s a police matter, Ms. Lincoln.” He stood to encourage me to do the same.

Accepting that he wasn’t going to tell me anything, I reluctantly eased out of the uncomfortable visitor’s chair and left. I walked through the police station with all the dignity I could muster. Clearly my help was neither wanted nor appreciated. Why, I wondered, did that sting my pride? I should be relieved to be free of the obligation to set the record straight about Tiffany’s death. Hazlett was perfectly correct when he said that some things were better left to the police.