happened, so I can help." If that's possible, I added to myself.
"We went to dinner," she began, obediently composing herself with an obvious effort, "at this place called Nevada Bill's."
It was a combination restaurant, dance hall, and casino, it seemed, small, and relatively elegant. It was also a multiroom sort of an affair---card rooms here, barroom there, slot machines over there-with a balcony overlooking Lake Tahoe. Sometime in the latter part of the evening, after they had finished dinner and were gambling, Joanna had lost track of Jack.
"I just wandered around looking for him for a while; I wasn't particularly worried. Then it got later, and I started hunting for him. I couldn't find him anywhere and it was late and I was tired. I thought he'd found some other woman and ditched me." Joanna choked back another short sob. The imagined rejection still rankled, apparently.
"I finally decided I'd better call a taxi and go back to the hotel. Then I realized I'd lost my purse. I hunted through the whole place again, this time for the purse, though I kept an eye out for Jack, too. I didn't see either one. I had some money stuffed in my pocket to gamble with, so I had enough for the cab. I asked the man at the front desk to call me if anyone turned in my purse and gave him my name and room number here. Then I left.
"The next thing I know is the phone is ringing at six this morning and it's the cops. They told me Jack had been shot; they found his body in the lake, they said. And my purse was out there on the deck they think he fell from."
"Have they been here?" I asked her.
"Not yet. They told me on the phone to stay in my room and a detective would be here to talk to me. After I hung up" Joanna looked at me appealingly-"I just couldn't stand it. My whole life is falling apart."
It made sense in a way. Todd Texiera had probably been Joanna's first lover. Who knew what irrational impulse had led her to choose a lethal charmer, but it was clear the result had been devastating. Balanced as she was on the fragile edge of control and desperation, the notion that she might be a murder suspect really was too much.
"Washoe County Sheriff's Department." The voice on the other side of the door was quiet and unaggressive, as was the knock, but we both jumped as guiltily as co-conspirators and stared at each other. Joanna's eyes were wide with fright, and her disheveled appearance was exactly what I might have imagined the perpetrator of a violent crime would look like the morning after. She had, I supposed, a motive of sorts. Distraught over Todd Texiera, she propositioned Jack on the rebound and was rejected. Hell hath no fury, etc.
All these thoughts flashed through my mind as I looked from Joanna to the door. Too late to have her change into some clothes, too late to warn her to say nothing about her disastrous love affair. With a whispered "Just answer the questions," I got up and opened the door.
The man who stood in the hallway met my eyes and said, "Ms. Lund?"
"No, I'm her friend."
He looked less than pleased for the merest fraction of a second, then said, "Detective Claude Holmquist."
"Dr. McCarthy," I answered firmly. "Dr. Lund is waiting for you." I laid a little extra emphasis on the "doctor" as I held the door open for him, thinking that this was going to be easier than I'd expected.
Detective Claude Holmquist was not an intimidating man. Small and narrow framed, he looked to be about forty-five, with a receding hair line and a Nordic face. In Joanna those Scandinavian genes had produced a snow-queenesque beauty; in this man they'd created a rabbitish look-his long nose, almost lashless pale eyes, and thinning, faded hair were innocuous at best.
Joanna faced him with more composure than I'd expected; she still looked red-eyed and distressed, but her demeanor was calm. I crossed my fingers it would stay that way.
In response to quiet questions from the detective, Joanna retold the story I'd just heard. The man
"We went to dinner," she began, obediently composing herself with an obvious effort, "at this place called Nevada Bill's."
It was a combination restaurant, dance hall, and casino, it seemed, small, and relatively elegant. It was also a multiroom sort of an affair---card rooms here, barroom there, slot machines over there-with a balcony overlooking Lake Tahoe. Sometime in the latter part of the evening, after they had finished dinner and were gambling, Joanna had lost track of Jack.
"I just wandered around looking for him for a while; I wasn't particularly worried. Then it got later, and I started hunting for him. I couldn't find him anywhere and it was late and I was tired. I thought he'd found some other woman and ditched me." Joanna choked back another short sob. The imagined rejection still rankled, apparently.
"I finally decided I'd better call a taxi and go back to the hotel. Then I realized I'd lost my purse. I hunted through the whole place again, this time for the purse, though I kept an eye out for Jack, too. I didn't see either one. I had some money stuffed in my pocket to gamble with, so I had enough for the cab. I asked the man at the front desk to call me if anyone turned in my purse and gave him my name and room number here. Then I left.
"The next thing I know is the phone is ringing at six this morning and it's the cops. They told me Jack had been shot; they found his body in the lake, they said. And my purse was out there on the deck they think he fell from."
"Have they been here?" I asked her.
"Not yet. They told me on the phone to stay in my room and a detective would be here to talk to me. After I hung up" Joanna looked at me appealingly-"I just couldn't stand it. My whole life is falling apart."
It made sense in a way. Todd Texiera had probably been Joanna's first lover. Who knew what irrational impulse had led her to choose a lethal charmer, but it was clear the result had been devastating. Balanced as she was on the fragile edge of control and desperation, the notion that she might be a murder suspect really was too much.
"Washoe County Sheriff's Department." The voice on the other side of the door was quiet and unaggressive, as was the knock, but we both jumped as guiltily as co-conspirators and stared at each other. Joanna's eyes were wide with fright, and her disheveled appearance was exactly what I might have imagined the perpetrator of a violent crime would look like the morning after. She had, I supposed, a motive of sorts. Distraught over Todd Texiera, she propositioned Jack on the rebound and was rejected. Hell hath no fury, etc.
All these thoughts flashed through my mind as I looked from Joanna to the door. Too late to have her change into some clothes, too late to warn her to say nothing about her disastrous love affair. With a whispered "Just answer the questions," I got up and opened the door.
The man who stood in the hallway met my eyes and said, "Ms. Lund?"
"No, I'm her friend."
He looked less than pleased for the merest fraction of a second, then said, "Detective Claude Holmquist."
"Dr. McCarthy," I answered firmly. "Dr. Lund is waiting for you." I laid a little extra emphasis on the "doctor" as I held the door open for him, thinking that this was going to be easier than I'd expected.
Detective Claude Holmquist was not an intimidating man. Small and narrow framed, he looked to be about forty-five, with a receding hair line and a Nordic face. In Joanna those Scandinavian genes had produced a snow-queenesque beauty; in this man they'd created a rabbitish look-his long nose, almost lashless pale eyes, and thinning, faded hair were innocuous at best.
Joanna faced him with more composure than I'd expected; she still looked red-eyed and distressed, but her demeanor was calm. I crossed my fingers it would stay that way.
In response to quiet questions from the detective, Joanna retold the story I'd just heard. The man
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