Chapter Fifty-Six

There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health.

Proverbs 12:18

Friday 30th November: "So she's coming here?"

"Well I could hardly refuse. Personally I think it's rather flattering. Not to say exciting."

"Yeh." Rick Bryer shrugged. "If you say so. A half-million dollars bail. That's a lot of money."

Hanlin raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Not for her. She's pretty well healed. She's lucky to get bail at all actually, on a capital charge."

And so she came. She arrived straight from the Police HQ on Pearl Street, downtown, a huge bunker-like building more appropriate in Mussolini's Rome than in Springfield, the city of homes.
They sat her on a sofa and drew chairs up facing her, separated only by a low, glass topped table on which sat cups of coffee poured by Jane Hanlin.

Dressed in a broad flower-patterned suit over which her auburn hair cascaded, she was as always a picture. Initially she said nothing, just nursed her coffee. The two men were patient. They made no small talk. Instead they waited.

"I have come to you for help."

Hanlin nodded his encouragement. "Go on," he said.

She did, answering their unspoken question. "I have always respected you both. I can't ask the police for help. They have me down as a serial killer."

Hanlin smiled. "Perhaps not a serial killer Mrs Hartnett."

"As good as. I'm accused of the murder of Bob Young and the attempted murder of Father Seb. And they are questioning me about the death of both Mary Young and Maria Gonzalez."

Bryer whistled. "You need something stronger than coffee."

"Coffee is fine."

Hanlin got straight to the point. "So what have they got on you Mrs Hartnett?"

"Trish, call me Trish." And she explained.

"Just that someone used your credit card to hire a Hummer?"

"That and the anonymous letters."

"The letters are irrelevant. Poison pen letters are not evidence. What about motive?"

Trish hesitated then said, "What the heck." She paused a moment then continued. "They have all sorts of strange theories. One is that I was having an affair with Baxter Merill and that I felt his wife had betrayed him because she was having an affair with Father Seb which I in some way wished to avenge."

Hanlin chuckled quietly. "Sounds a bit convoluted. Is this Springfield or Desperate Housewives?"
"Oh it's Springfield."

Hanlin cut in. "And were you?"

Trish had the grace to smile. "Not at the time of the attack on Father Seb."

"But before that, you had such an affair?"

Trish shook her head, "No," she said.

Hanlin narrowed his dark eyes. "But since the time of the attack, you have had such an affair?"

Trish tossed her auburn hair. "And if I had? Why is it that men can play around but women can't?"

Briar's experience at the CIA had taught him the value of pushing the envelope. He'd already decided to treat this like an interrogation. If he pulled his punches it'd not help her. "So Sean's been playing around?" he asked.

Trish bit her lower lip. Her response was just a nod of the head.

"You know with whom?"

Again she nodded. "It's over now," she said.

"And the name of your husband's ex-paramour?"

"I'd rather not say. And really there is not much else that I can tell you."

Hanlin sighed. "Very well Trish. We'll do what we can. But you're not helping yourself if you withhold information from us."

Trish nodded. "Thank you," she said. "Really thank you."

Hanlin smiled. "Well I'm not sure how much we can help," he said. "But what can be done we will do."