Silent Witness Read Online Free PDF Page B

fisherman’s sweater, her breasts were small. Beneath loosely cut slacks, her legs were slim, her buttocks firm. If she was six years older than her sister, then Janice was now thirty-six. Worn short, her brown hair showed streaks of gray she’d disdained to have retouched. Her features, too, were unretouched: the face of an intellectual, unmistakably a member of the privileged class.
    “Does Dennis know you’re here?”
    “No. Do you think I should tell him?”
    “Probably not, at least for now. You’d better give me a chance to ask a few questions.”
    “We’ll be in touch, won’t we?”
    “Certainly. I’ll call you every day. Here—” He slid a business card across the table. “I’ve got a machine, so you can leave a message. I’ll need a letter from you, identifying yourself as Constance Price’s sister, and authorizing me to investigate the circumstances surrounding her death.” He gestured to a nearby writing desk. “You can write it now. Mention that, aside from Dennis and John, you’re Constance Price’s only blood relative. When it comes to the legalities—things like authorizing funeral arrangements, swearing out complaints—a blood relationship is what it’s all about.” He let a beat pass. Then, conscious of his own awkward discomfort, he said, “I charge—”
    Quickly, she raised a hand. “Please. I’ve known Paula all my life. Let’s not talk about money. Just send me a bill. Will you?”
    Gravely, he nodded. “Of course.”
    “Good.” With an air of someone releasing energy, she rose to her feet and strode across the large, ornately furnished hotel sitting room. When she returned to sit across from him, Bernhardt watched her cross her legs, lean forward, prop an elbow on her knee and cup her chin in her hand. It was a classic finishing school posture.
    “What’ll you do first?” she asked. Her eyes were brighter now, more sharply focused. “Is there anything I can do?”
    “I don’t think so,” Bernhardt answered. “Not now. Of course, I’ll be calling you, for instructions. For instance, when I talk to Price, should I say that you’ve retained me?”
    Considering the question, she frowned. “Yes, I see.” She uncrossed her legs, thoughtfully tapped a fingernail on the arm of her Regency chair. “I see what you mean. Strategy.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Will you talk to Dennis first?”
    “To be honest,” Bernhardt answered, “I haven’t figured it out. But I think I’ll talk to the police first, find out who handled the murder investigation, and talk to him. Do you have any idea whether the authorities have a suspect?”
    “As I said, I only know what Dennis told me. But somehow I don’t think there was a suspect. I think Dennis would’ve mentioned that.”
    “What about John? Was he questioned by the police?”
    “I don’t know.”
    As Bernhardt nodded, he capped his pen, put it in his pocket, and slipped the yellow legal pad into the briefcase that rested beside him on the floor. Now he glanced at his watch, and moved forward in his chair. “I’d better run. I think I can start on this tomorrow.”
    She nodded. “Good.”
    “But first—” He gestured to the writing desk, a reminder of the letter she must write. Obediently, she rose, went to the desk, began writing.

FRIDAY
August 18

2 P.M.
    B ERNHARDT ROSE TO HIS feet, stretched, walked to the water cooler for his second drink of water in the last forty-five minutes. Pantomiming a basketball star, he balled up the paper cup and lobbed it into the wastebasket. Coming out of his pirouette, he stole a glance at the uniformed woman behind the desk. The lady was not amused. She was almost certainly a spinster, he’d decided. Her soured, down-curved mouth, her worst feature, was sharply drawn in bright red lipstick. Like her mouth her eyes were soured, a chronic condition, Bernhardt suspected.
    Bernhardt strode to the large window that offered a view of the Saint Stephen village square. The vista evoked