Presumed Guilty. Tess Gerritsen
through town,” he said. “Hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Neither has the town,” said Phillip.
“Just as thrilling as ever,” his sister deadpanned.
“What’s the plan for the Herald?” asked Chase.
“Phillip will be taking over,” said Evelyn. “It’s about time, anyway. I need him home, now that Richard…” She swallowed, looked down. “He’s ready for the job.”
“I’m not sure I am, Mom,” said Phillip. “I’m only in my second year at college. And there are other things I’d like to—”
“Your father was twenty when Grandpa Tremain made him an editor. Isn’t that right, Chase?”
Chase nodded.
“So there’s no reason you couldn’t slip right onto the masthead.”
Phillip shrugged. “Jill Vickery’s managing things just fine.”
“She’s just a hired hand, Phillip. The Herald needs a real captain.”
Cassie leaned forward, her eyes suddenly sharp. “There are others who could do it,” she said. “Why does it have to be Phil?”
“Your father wanted Phillip. And Richard always knew what was best for the Herald.”
There was a silence, punctuated by the steady ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.
Evelyn let out a shaky breath and dropped her head in her hands. “Oh, God, it all seems so cold-blooded. I can’t believe we’re talking about this. About who’s going to take his place….”
“Sooner or later,” said Cassie, “we have to talk about it. About a lot of things.”
Evelyn nodded and looked away.
In another room, the phone was ringing.
“I’ll get it,” said Phillip, and left to answer it.
“I just can’t think,” said Evelyn, pressing her hands to her head. “If I could just get my mind working again….”
“It was only last night,” said Chase gently. “It takes time to get over the shock.”
“And there’s the funeral to think of. They won’t even tell me when they’ll release the—” She winced. “I don’t see why it takes so long. Why the state examiner has to go over and over it. I mean, can’t they see what happened? Isn’t it obvious?”
“The obvious isn’t always the truth,” said Cassie.
Evelyn looked at her daughter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Phillip came back into the room. “Mom? That was Lorne Tibbetts on the phone.”
“Oh, Lord.” Evelyn rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’m coming.”
“He wants to see you in person.”
She frowned. “Right this minute? Can’t it wait?”
“You might as well get it over with, Mom. He’ll have to talk to you sooner or later.”
Evelyn turned and looked at Chase. “I can’t do this alone. Come with me, won’t you?”
Chase didn’t have the faintest idea where they were going or who Lorne Tibbetts was. At that moment what he really wanted was a hot shower and a bed to collapse onto. But that would have to wait.
“Of course, Evelyn,” he said. Reluctantly he stood, shaking the stiffness from his legs, which felt permanently flexed by the long drive from Greenwich.
Evelyn was already reaching for her purse. She pulled out the car keys and handed them to Chase. “I—I’m too upset to drive. Could you?”
He took the keys. “Where are we going?”
With shaking hands Evelyn slipped on her sunglasses. The swollen eyes vanished behind twin dark lenses. “The police,” she said.
CHAPTER TWO
THE Shepherd’s Island police station was housed in a converted general store that had, over the years, been chopped up into a series of hobbit-size rooms and offices. In Chase’s memory, it had been a much more imposing structure, but it had been years since he’d been inside. He’d been only a boy then, and a rambunctious one at that, the sort of rascal to whom a police station represented a distinct threat. The day he’d been dragged in here for trampling Mrs. Gordimer’s rose bed—entirely unintentional on his part—these ceilings had seemed taller, the rooms vaster, every door a gateway to some unknown terror.
Now he saw it for what it was—a tired old building in need of paint.
Lorne Tibbetts, the new chief of police, was built just right to inhabit this claustrophobic warren. If there was a height minimum for police work, Tibbetts had somehow slipped right under the requirement. He was just a chunk of a man, neatly decked out in official summer khaki, complete with height-enhancing cap to hide what Chase suspected was a bald spot. He reminded Chase of a little Napoleon in full dress uniform.
Though short on height, Chief Tibbetts was long on the social graces. He maneuvered through the clutter of desks and filing cabinets and greeted Evelyn with the overweening solicitousness due a woman of her local status.
“Evelyn! I’m so sorry to have to ask you down here like this.” He reached for her arm and gave it a squeeze, an intended gesture of comfort that made Evelyn shrink away. “And it’s been a terrible night for you, hasn’t it? Just a terrible night.”
Evelyn shrugged, partly in answer to his question, partly to free herself from his grasp.
“I know it’s hard, dealing with this. And I didn’t want to bother you, not today. But you know how it is. All those reports to be filed.” He looked at Chase, a deceptively casual glance. The little Napoleon, Chase noted, had sharp eyes that saw everything.
“This is Chase,” said Evelyn, brushing the sleeve of her blouse, as though to wipe away Chief Tibbetts’s paw print. “Richard’s brother. He drove in this morning from Connecticut.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Tibbetts, his eyes registering instant recognition of the name. “I’ve seen a picture of you hanging in the high school gym.” He offered his hand. His grasp was crushing, the handshake of a man trying to compensate for his size. “You know, the one of you in the basketball uniform.”
Chase blinked in surprise. “They still have that thing hanging up?”
“It’s the local hall of fame. Let’s see, you were class of ‘71. Star center, varsity basketball. Right?”
“I’m surprised you know all that.”
“I was a basketball player myself. Madison High School, Wisconsin. Record holder in free throws. And points scored.”
Yes, Chase saw it clearly. Lorne Tibbetts, rampaging midget of the basketball court. It would fit right in with that bone-crushing handshake.
The station door suddenly swung open. A woman called out, “Hey, Lorne?”
Tibbetts turned and wearily confronted the visitor, who looked as if she’d just blown in from the street. “You back again, Annie?”
“Like the proverbial bad penny.” The woman shifted her battered shoulder bag to her other side. “So when am I gonna get a statement, huh?”
“When I have one to make. Now scram.”
The woman, undaunted, turned to Evelyn. The pair of them could have posed for a magazine feature on fashion make-overs. Annie, blowsy haired and dressed in a lumpy sweatshirt and jeans, would have earned the label Before. “Mrs. Tremain?” she said politely. “I know this is a bad time, but I’m under deadline and I just need a short quote—”
“Oh,