Fortune Favors the Dead by Stephen Spotswood

Author:Stephen Spotswood [Spotswood, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2020-10-27T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

I left the factory along with the shift change. It was a good sixty degrees colder outside than in, and I was drenched in sweat. I was shivering by the time I made it to the car. I cranked the heater to full, pulled out of the factory parking lot, and immediately ran into rush-hour high tide.

I used the delay to think about Meredith. Sure, he was big and ugly and an obvious brawler, but that didn’t make him a murderer. Still, he was the first player in this game I’d run into so far who looked like he’d be comfortable beating someone to death.

I felt like I hadn’t gotten my money’s worth with that interview. The tight space and his attempt to run his eyes up my skirt had thrown me more than I’d thought. There were follow-up questions I’d missed.

I began to wonder if Meredith had deliberately been trying to throw me and not just catch a glimpse of thigh.

On the other hand, his motive for the murder was iffy. Resentment against Abigail for leaping up the social ladder? A thing for Becca, but her mother got in the way? Neither quite held together—not yet anyway.

On the other other hand, he’d poked the first hole in Belestrade’s story, putting her in the house when the murder occurred. Decisions, decisions. Luckily, I didn’t get paid to make them. My employer did.

When I got home, I found Ms. P still in bed but on the mend. It had been a bad day, but not a really bad one. She was propped on a mountain of pillows and working her way through the evening editions. Her hair was brushed out and hung loose to her shoulders, its streak of iron gray lost in the waves of brown.

“I am home from the wars,” I declared, falling into the armchair in the corner. “You want the full report now or the highlights?”

“Highlights,” she said, putting down the paper. “Then type up the interview notes so I can read them in full tomorrow evening.”

“Brace yourself,” I warned. “It’s a short and not-very-thrilling ride.”

I gave her the headlines, spending half the time on Meredith. As far as I could tell, Ms. P kept a resting heart rate throughout, even when I told her Belestrade had been seen after the murder room was cracked open.

“It opens up possibilities,” I said. “She knocks. Mrs. Collins lets her in. She does the deed, locks the door, lights the fire, and waits. Door is busted down, but the room’s full of smoke. She slips out into the hall and skedaddles before the police arrive.”

The only response I got was a “hrrrrmm” from the bedridden detective.

“You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary,” she said, “it’s an excellent theory. It deftly explains the door being locked from the inside.”

I was so unused to compliments on my deductive skills that I didn’t trust it. Still, I let it stand.

“I’m sorry you had to endure such a grueling day, but it was necessary,” Ms.

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