Free Dead Winter by William G. Tapply Page B

day?”
    “Can’t. I’ve got responsibilities.”
    I shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t suggest it.”
    I went back into my office, pulled out a phone book, and tapped out the number for the Newburyport police. The guy on the switchboard put me through to Detective Fourier. “Fourier,” he said, not unpleasantly. “Can I help you?”
    “It’s Brady Coyne. I was in this morning with Marc Winter.”
    “Yeah. How you doin’?”
    “Okay. Look. I need some information.”
    “Yeah?”
    “You’ve got the medical examiner’s report. What’s it say about the time of death?”
    He hesitated. “That’s police business, Mr. Coyne.”
    “Oh, come off it.”
    “I don’t talk about cases with citizens.”
    “I’m hardly a citizen. I’m a lawyer. We’re in the same business. Marc Winter’s in the middle of this thing.”
    “He’s a witness, that’s all. For now. You and he’ve got no rights.”
    “I’m not talking about rights. I’m talking about professional courtesy.”
    I heard him laugh quickly. “You want courtesy, Counselor, you came to the wrong place. You want courtesy, try this. Fuck off.”
    “Now listen—”
    He had hung up on me. I replaced the receiver on its cradle and said, “Up yours.”
    I swiveled around in my chair and stared out at the smoggy Boston skyline. I couldn’t fathom Fourier’s refusal to talk with me. He had been relatively forthcoming only a few hours earlier in his office. I just needed a simple piece of information. If Maggie had died after ten o’clock on Sunday night, and if Andy Pavelich had told me the truth—and I believed she had—then Marc’s innocence seemed certain. If Maggie had died earlier than that, given Des’s vagueness, then I had to question whether Marc was using Andy for an alibi.
    Fourier had called Marc a witness. “For now,” he had added. It was logical to suspect Marc. He had cited a witness who saw Marc pull up in his truck and go directly to the pay phone at the marina. Okay. None of that excused his refusal to cooperate with me.
    I rotated my chair back to my desk and pecked out the number to the state police headquarters on Commonwealth Avenue. The receptionist transferred me to Inspector Horowitz’s secretary, who remembered me and switched me to Horowitz himself.
    “Ah, Coyne,” he said cautiously. “I infer a request for a favor.”
    An explosion sounded in my ear. “You still hooked on Bazooka?” I said.
    “I’m chewing gum, yeah.”
    “You better cut back. You’ll contract a case of TMJ.”
    “I’m trying cigarettes. Whenever I get the urge to chew, I smoke a cigarette. It’s not working, though. I can’t shake the gum habit.”
    “It’s a bitch. Look. You’re right. I need a favor.” I outlined the Marc Winter case for him. “I figure the state cops are involved somehow. Fourier’s shutting me out.”
    “That’s his prerogative.”
    “All I need is the girl’s time of death to nail down Marc’s innocence. No reason he can’t help me out.”
    “You tell him you’ve got a witness for Winter?”
    “I’m trying to avoid involving the girl. For obvious reasons.”
    Horowitz popped a bubble. “So this is just to satisfy your own mind.”
    “Right.”
    “You want to buy me lunch some time?”
    “You got it.”
    “I’ll get back to you.”
    We disconnected. I leaned back and laced my hands behind my head. There came a scratching on my door. “Come on in,” I called.
    Julie opened the door. “The light went off your phone. Got a minute?”
    “For you? Always.”
    She took the chair beside my desk and placed a sheaf of papers in front of me. “Your masterpiece. Want to look it over before I send it out?”
    I waved my hand. “No. It’s boring.”
    “I made some changes.”
    “Thanks. I trust you.”
    She shrugged and reached for the papers. I put my hand on her wrist. “You’re looking especially beautiful today,” I said. “I like your hair that way.” It was true. Julie had clear, pale