Page 186 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Jury-rigged

“Make it ten.”
I only needed five. I certainly knew her pattern.

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Damn! The fax hadn’t come in yet. I grabbed a cup of coffee as I
raced back to the office. Labelle hadn’t moved. God knows what
wizardry she was performing on her computer. But she couldn’t
manufacture evidence—at least I’d never caught her at it. And I was
holding the ace in the deck, ready to trump anything she could
conjure.
“Now, about those jurors, Duncan. Number two, Una Lloyd, told
you on Monday that she had again been with her friend over the
weekend. Were signs of her absence obvious to anyone passing by on
the street?”
“I suppose so, if you knew what to look for: car not in the
driveway, usual lights not on or off, advertising circulars piling up on
the front porch. Basic stuff for a Simulian.”
“And she had no reason to make any trips back home, say, to pick
up something she might have forgotten?”
“Not unless she and her friend are both lying.”
“Okay. On to Mr. Fonik, the accountant: was he in Shadow Valley,
as appears to be his habit on weekends?”
“As far as can be determined.”
“What does that mean, Duncan?” She raised her eyes from the
screen to give me a twin blast of green laser light, but I was staring at
my coffee cup. In my haste I had taken decaf. No kick; not worth the
heartburn.
“Look, Lieutenant: the elder Foniks are just about gaga. They
couldn’t tell you the day of the week with any assurance, much less
the precise comings and goings of their son.”
“Interesting. Now, what about Hedy Bokay? All you have here is
the word ‘ditto.’”
“Meaning,” I said patiently, as if teaching English as a second
language to an immigrant whose first language was devoid of logic,
“the same as the previous. She told us she was asleep in bed next to
her pistol, the great equalizer of the Wild West and a girl’s best friend
in the big, bad city. Perhaps I didn’t mention it, but she does have a

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