slipped his arm from under her hand and moved toward the podium himself.
Our sheriff edged his mouth near the mic. 'I'd be happy to handle that question.'
The relief on the county exec's face was palpable. Sarah had pegged him perfectly. Though he was handsome enough – tall and a good physique for suits, square jaw and a cleft chin – Brewster Hampton seemed incapable of stringing words together without a teleprompter. Or maybe he was just nervous. Take it from me, having Anita breathing down your neck could have that effect.
Pavlik was now centered at the microphone and looking mighty handsome himself. I'd never trade my sheriff's dark hair and dangerous blue-gray eyes for Brewster's faded, Ivy-League quarterback vibe. It would be like dating Dudley Do-Right, when I aspired to do oh-so-wrong.
'As our county executive told you, we'll have no way of knowing the cause of death until after a full autopsy and possibly some resulting lab tests.'
'Sheriff?'
'Yes?' Pavlik shaded his eyes. 'Where are you?'
'Up here.' It was Jerome, on the gallows. Kate was nowhere in sight, but the videographer didn't seem to need her.
He pushed hair out of his eyes. 'My question is actually for Mr Hampton, if I could.'
'Certainly, but can you speak up? We have quite a bit of background noise.' Pavlik stepped away from the microphone, Brewster moved – reluctantly – back to it.
Somebody must have left the depot door open because I could hear the compressor – Pavlik's 'background noise' – chugging away.
'Mr Hampton.' Jerome ratcheted up his volume. 'You said you're looking for Kevin Williams.'
'That's not a question,' I heard Anita Hampton snap.
Brewster threw a sideways glance at Pavlik, like he was hoping for a lifeline. I didn't quite understand why, and I wasn't sure Brewster did either. He just sensed that his mate was displeased enough to bite her mate's head off like he was a copulating praying mantis. And poor Brewster probably hadn't even gotten any.
The sheriff's expression didn't change, meaning no help from that quarter. I knew from experience that Pavlik was of the 'you-got yourself-into-this' persuasion.
'Yesss,' Brewster said slowly.
'Why? Is he a person of interest?' Jerome spoke the last phrase as though the words were bracketed by quotation marks.
Brewster was in a bind. Calling on Pavlik to answer the question would mean that the sheriff's department was the entity wanting to talk with Kevin. Pavlik, looking straight ahead, continued to stay out of it.
You could almost see a bulb come on over Brewster's head as an idea struck him. Or maybe it was just the glare from Jerome's strong camera light on high. 'That air-pump's making so much noise,' Brewster said, raising his voice to make the point. 'I was hoping Mr Williams could turn it off, spare all your microphones.'
OK. You had to hand it to Brewster: He did have his moments, though rivulets of perspiration were running down his face during this one.
And, as he lifted a hand to swipe at a drop, the offending compressor went silent.
Chapter Four
Silence, squared.
Finally, an over-hearty, 'Thanks, Kevin.'
A weak grin pasted on Brewster Hampton's face, he gave a wave toward the off-stage props man. Then, maybe remembering that, as county exec, he was supposed to be presiding over an event that had gone from dedication to debacle, he said, 'Sheriff, if you would like the micro . . .'
Brewster looked around as a cloud seemed to pass over, but his potential savior had disappeared. I turned to check the gallows.
Sure enough, Jerome was clattering down its steps, light and camera no longer fixed on the stage.
In the meantime, Pavlik had signaled the officer at the steps with a head-jerk that presumably meant 'cover the front of the building', and was making for the depot's open door.
I followed, arriving there the same time as Jerome.
'Oops,' I said, holding my hands up to stave off getting smacked by the gear bag swinging from Jerome's left
Our sheriff edged his mouth near the mic. 'I'd be happy to handle that question.'
The relief on the county exec's face was palpable. Sarah had pegged him perfectly. Though he was handsome enough – tall and a good physique for suits, square jaw and a cleft chin – Brewster Hampton seemed incapable of stringing words together without a teleprompter. Or maybe he was just nervous. Take it from me, having Anita breathing down your neck could have that effect.
Pavlik was now centered at the microphone and looking mighty handsome himself. I'd never trade my sheriff's dark hair and dangerous blue-gray eyes for Brewster's faded, Ivy-League quarterback vibe. It would be like dating Dudley Do-Right, when I aspired to do oh-so-wrong.
'As our county executive told you, we'll have no way of knowing the cause of death until after a full autopsy and possibly some resulting lab tests.'
'Sheriff?'
'Yes?' Pavlik shaded his eyes. 'Where are you?'
'Up here.' It was Jerome, on the gallows. Kate was nowhere in sight, but the videographer didn't seem to need her.
He pushed hair out of his eyes. 'My question is actually for Mr Hampton, if I could.'
'Certainly, but can you speak up? We have quite a bit of background noise.' Pavlik stepped away from the microphone, Brewster moved – reluctantly – back to it.
Somebody must have left the depot door open because I could hear the compressor – Pavlik's 'background noise' – chugging away.
'Mr Hampton.' Jerome ratcheted up his volume. 'You said you're looking for Kevin Williams.'
'That's not a question,' I heard Anita Hampton snap.
Brewster threw a sideways glance at Pavlik, like he was hoping for a lifeline. I didn't quite understand why, and I wasn't sure Brewster did either. He just sensed that his mate was displeased enough to bite her mate's head off like he was a copulating praying mantis. And poor Brewster probably hadn't even gotten any.
The sheriff's expression didn't change, meaning no help from that quarter. I knew from experience that Pavlik was of the 'you-got yourself-into-this' persuasion.
'Yesss,' Brewster said slowly.
'Why? Is he a person of interest?' Jerome spoke the last phrase as though the words were bracketed by quotation marks.
Brewster was in a bind. Calling on Pavlik to answer the question would mean that the sheriff's department was the entity wanting to talk with Kevin. Pavlik, looking straight ahead, continued to stay out of it.
You could almost see a bulb come on over Brewster's head as an idea struck him. Or maybe it was just the glare from Jerome's strong camera light on high. 'That air-pump's making so much noise,' Brewster said, raising his voice to make the point. 'I was hoping Mr Williams could turn it off, spare all your microphones.'
OK. You had to hand it to Brewster: He did have his moments, though rivulets of perspiration were running down his face during this one.
And, as he lifted a hand to swipe at a drop, the offending compressor went silent.
Chapter Four
Silence, squared.
Finally, an over-hearty, 'Thanks, Kevin.'
A weak grin pasted on Brewster Hampton's face, he gave a wave toward the off-stage props man. Then, maybe remembering that, as county exec, he was supposed to be presiding over an event that had gone from dedication to debacle, he said, 'Sheriff, if you would like the micro . . .'
Brewster looked around as a cloud seemed to pass over, but his potential savior had disappeared. I turned to check the gallows.
Sure enough, Jerome was clattering down its steps, light and camera no longer fixed on the stage.
In the meantime, Pavlik had signaled the officer at the steps with a head-jerk that presumably meant 'cover the front of the building', and was making for the depot's open door.
I followed, arriving there the same time as Jerome.
'Oops,' I said, holding my hands up to stave off getting smacked by the gear bag swinging from Jerome's left
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