Chapter Fifteen: Interview

The interior walls of the River Heights police station were painted an orange-y beige color which was unpleasant under the best circumstances. At seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, with a tension headache already pressing at the back of Nancy's eyes, the hue was positively nauseating. The young detective closed her eyes briefly against the fluorescent light and took a gulp of coffee from her travel mug, hoping the caffeine would soothe her headache. When she opened them, she saw a familiar figure rounding the corner in her direction.

"Chief McGinnis!" Nancy said, her mood lifting.

Police Chief McGinnis pretended to hide behind the file folder he was carrying and ducked nimbly into his office.

"Nice try, Chief!" Nancy called, smiling.

The chief poked his head back out into the hallway. "I should've known I couldn't move fast enough to escape the eagle eye of Miss Nancy Drew. What brings you down here on a Saturday morning?"

"I could ask the same of you," Nancy said, stepping into his office.

"Oh, I'm not here. Not officially, anyway. I just stopped by to put my John Hancock on a few documents, and then I'm free to do whatever my wife tells me to do for the rest of the weekend," he joked. Having pulled out a chair for his visitor, the chief settled himself at his desk and reached for his coffee mug.

"Can I get you a coffee or anything, Nancy?"

Nancy lifted her travel mug. "No, thanks. I came prepared."

"That's a nice change of pace," the chief said. His eyes were on his visitor but his thick fingers worked busily, shuffling the papers on his desk and tapping them into a neat stack.

"That's a little unfair!" Nancy protested.

The chief sighed. "I suppose it was a little harsh. I apologize. What can I help you with, Nancy?"

She leaned in. "Are you familiar with the Connolly case?"

Chief McGinnis groaned. "We have a suspect in custody right now. I suppose you're going to tell me we've got the wrong guy, and ruin my nice weekend. My wife is not going to be happy with you."

"I don't know if you have the wrong guy," Nancy said quickly. "You kept Keith Tallis overnight?"

The chief nodded. "Possession of a murder weapon. That was enough to hold him."

"What's his story?"

"He didn't do it, he was framed, the usual spiel. And before you ask, his fingerprints were on the weapon."

"Only his?"

"No," the chief conceded. "There were half a dozen different prints on the thing. I believe they all matched Brendan's immediate family, and Tallis."

"They were roommates. It isn't surprising that his prints were on the bayonet," Nancy said, playing devil's advocate.

"Listen. He's looking pretty good for it. No alibi for the night of the murder, he owed a pretty substantial chunk of change to the vic, and we find the blood-stained murder weapon stashed under his bed? That covers it all pretty well."

"Where was he Thursday afternoon?" Nancy asked.

"Thursday?"

"Somebody attacked me. Somebody who wanted me off the case," Nancy said.

"Yes, I recall that now." McGinnis looked at her sharply. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

Nancy brushed his concern aside. "Would Hannah let me out of the house if I weren't okay?" She paused, waiting for his nod, before going on.

"There's another thing. I strongly suspect that there are two people involved in this case: a mastermind, possibly female, and the man who attacked me on her orders."

"I will take that into consideration," the chief said, jotting it down. He looked up at her. "Anything more?"

Nancy could tell he was impatient to get on with his work. She stood, but hesitated. "May I speak with Keith?"

"He's in the cell. I'll have Webber take you down there."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."

"Always a pleasure, Nancy. Say hello to your dad for me."

Nancy had crossed paths with Nick Webber a few times before. He never seemed pleased to see her. Today was no exception. Webber escorted Nancy to the holding cells without complaint, but his face made it plain that he did not appreciate this interruption to his day. He grunted in reply to her thanks and stationed himself wordlessly outside the door.

Keith looked terrible. He needed a shave, and his eyes were dark-rimmed. He jumped up when Nancy entered the room.

"I didn't do it!"

Nancy was not in the mood for dramatics. "Sit down, Keith."

He sat.

"I didn't do it. You have to believe me. I didn't kill Brendan." His voice cracked.

"Lift up your shirt," Nancy said calmly.

Keith's misery and exhaustion sharpened suddenly into suspicion. "Why?"

"Because if you're the guy who attacked me the other day, you'll have some bruises."

Keith's gaze dragged over her, taking in her scraped knuckles and bruised face as though he were properly looking at her for the first time. His hands went to the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it up past his chest. "Happy?"

"Hey. No funny stuff," Webber yelled in, banging on the door frame.

"It's okay," Nancy called back. She nodded to Keith. "Drop it. You're clear."

"So you believe me?"

Nancy shrugged. "You're not the guy who attacked me. I can't say for sure that you're not involved at all."

"Dammit, I didn't do it!"

"How did the bayonet get under your bed, Keith?"

He blew out a frustrated breath. "How the hell should I know? It's not like my place is so hard to break into. I've popped the lock a few times, myself, when I forgot my key. Anybody could have stuck it there."

"Who would want to frame you?"

"You're the detective." His gaze turned stony. "All I know is, I'm missing class, and I just spent the night in a cell, and my parents are going to kill-" He broke off, realizing the lack of tact in that expression. "They're going to stop paying for college," he said instead. "And I can't afford this by myself."

"I understand you owed Brendan some money," Nancy said.

Keith swallowed hard. "I had to borrow from him to pay for my textbooks at the beginning of the semester. I was going to pay him back."

"Those paintings must have looked pretty tempting," Nancy said, keeping her tone neutral.

"I wasn't even on campus when he found them. I was at home." He clenched his fists on his knees. "This is a nightmare. I'm innocent."

"Keith, I'm going to tell you what I told Faith: if you really are innocent, you're going to be fine. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Keith just scowled. "This is all Faith's fault. She could've trusted me."

"She saw a murder weapon under your bed, Keith. She did the right thing."

"Yeah. Whatever." Keith crossed his arms and stared at the wall. Clearly he had had enough of this conversation. But Nancy was not quite ready to leave yet.

"Post office box 947," she said suddenly, and was rewarded with a very visible flinch. She'd struck a nerve.

"Is that your address, Keith?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not stupid."

"Okay, okay. Calm down." Nancy paused, decided to try one last angle. "Too bad those paintings have gone missing, right? If you could still get your hands on them, they could solve a lot of problems for you."

"They're long gone," Keith said without stopping to think.

"What makes you think that?"

He was trying too hard to sound natural. "I mean, they must be, right? Who would hold onto them when the case is so hot? They must've got rid of them by now."

"Probably so," Nancy agreed.

Webber walked her back upstairs. He grunted again when Nancy politely wished him a nice weekend. She left him to his paperwork and walked out into a light rain, dialing Faith's number.

"Nancy?"

"Hi, Faith. Just checking in with you."

"I'm all right."

"I just had a talk with Keith."

Faith sort of moaned. "Is he okay? Is he angry?"

"I'll be honest with you. He's not exactly overjoyed that you called the police. But he's going to be fine," Nancy said. "He's not the man who attacked me the other day."

"So are they releasing him?"

"Not just yet. But I'll get working on that. Have you remembered any other details I should know about?"

"N-no."

"All right." Nancy had reached her car. She sank carefully into the drivers' seat, wincing slightly. The muscle soreness had mostly abated, but her stitches were still tender. "I'm going to let you go, Faith. I'll check in again soon."

She didn't start her car yet, but she did lock the doors. There was no sense making herself a sitting duck. Then she pulled up Bess's number and dialed.

Bess answered with a groan. "Are you dying again?"

"What? No, I'm fine."

"In that case, I'm going to kill you. Baby and Bess need their sleep."

Nancy glanced at her watch and did some mental arithmetic. "Oh, Bess, I'm so sorry. I forgot about the time difference."

"I figured as much," Bess said wearily. "What do you need?"

"I'll call you later. Better yet, you call me when you have time."

"Okay."

The phone went dead in Nancy's hand. She sighed and set it down...and then picked it right back up again, as her text alert sounded. It was Callie.

Hey, is it ok if I borrow your blue sweater dress? Can't button the damn blouse I was going to wear.

You know you don't have to ask, Nancy typed back, slightly amused at Callie's unusual profanity. Things on the wardrobe front must be dire indeed.

Thanks so much. I had nothing else clean that matched these shoes.

This time, when Nancy set her phone down, it stayed silent. She glanced at her watch again, calculating the time remaining until she and Joe had agreed to meet up and compare notes. She had just over an hour left. Nancy started the car and drove the few blocks to the drugstore. Maybe among their shelves of antihistamines and cheap chocolate she would find a miracle in the form of Hannah's Cherry Bakewells.

(Author's Note: I'm sorry this one is short. It's been a rough week but I wanted to get at least a little bit posted. More to come soon, I hope.)