13 Name Withheld by J A Jance

Author:J A Jance [Jance, J A]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Once I was in the car and headed back into Seattle, I remembered the previous day’s hassle with Sergeant Watkins about my not using the beeper. Just to be on the safe side, I checked the display. As soon as I saw the number on the readout—Watty’s, of course—I felt like one of those fork-bending psychics.

I called him on my cellular phone. “Detective Beaumont,” he grumbled. “Where the devil have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere. I even checked with motor pool, but they told me you hadn’t signed out a car.”

“I’ve been busy,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you what’s up. The Media Relations folks have been climbing all over me for the last hour and a half. Phil Grimes is fit to be tied.”

“Media Relations? How come?”

“The jail commander is calling every other minute, complaining because the street outside their sally port is blocked almost solid with wall-to-wall television trucks, cameras, and reporters.”

“What’s going on at the jail?” I asked. “Have I missed something important?”

“Don’t try running that phony innocence crap past me, Detective Beaumont,” Watty growled into the phone. “This time, I’m not falling for it.”

Phony innocence? For once, it wasn’t a matter of feigning innocence, because I didn’t have the foggiest idea of why Watty was so steamed. One thing was painfully clear, however. It had something to do with me.

“What’s going on?” Watty continued. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. Right around eleven-thirty, somebody supposedly in the know faxed every damn newspaper and television and radio station in town and told them that early this afternoon, Seattle Homicide Detective J. P. Beaumont would be arresting Grace Highsmith and charging her with the murder of Don Wolf. The accompanying confession to Don Wolf’s murder appears to be handwritten on Grace Highsmith’s personal stationery and over her signature.”

“But I didn’t even meet up with her until…Suddenly feeling half sick, I remembered how long it had taken Grace Highsmith to come back out of the back room. She hadn’t tried to skip out on me. She had simply outfoxed me at every turn.

“She sent out a signed confession? And an advance announcement of her impending arrest?”

“That’s right,” Watty returned glumly.

I tried making light of it. “Come on, Watty. You know how this stuff goes. There isn’t a major case on the books where we don’t end up with at least one or two phony confessions. This one’s no different.”

“Believe me, Detective Beaumont, it is different. Now where is she, Beau? Did you arrest her or not?”

“No, I didn’t arrest her. Her confession was so full of holes it was a joke—a put-up deal. The last time I saw Grace Highsmith, she was walking in the door of her gift shop in downtown Bellevue. I don’t understand why everybody’s so upset. There was never any question of my arresting her.”

“Why the confession, then?” Watty asked.

“Grace Highsmith is a nice little old lady who was trying to protect her niece.”

“Nice little old lady!” Watty scoffed. “Here she is, confessing to

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