Low Pressure

“He was a Lyston Electronics employee. Head of the trucking fleet. He was Allen Strickland’s boss.”

“You said ‘was.’”

“He’s deceased.”

Rupe shrugged. “The name doesn’t ring a bell, and remembering names is one of my strengths.”

“Search your memory.”

“Sorry, the name means nothing to me.”

“It meant something to Dale Moody.”

“Then you should be asking him.”

“I intend to.” She tilted her head to one side. “What was it that convinced Moody of Allen Strickland’s innocence?”

“If he was convinced of Strickland’s innocence, that’s news to me.”

“Is it?”

“If Moody was convinced otherwise, why did he give me everything I needed to win a conviction?”

“You didn’t apply any pressure?” Dent asked. “No arm-twisting involved?”

“Not everyone has your hoodlum mentality.”

“What about Ray Strickland’s auto accident?” Bellamy asked.

“What about it?”

“Moody says you staged it to keep him from testifying in his brother’s defense.”

Rupe sputtered a laugh. Then he leaned forward from the waist and said, “Moody has drunk a lot of whiskey. He’s delusional.” Then his eyes narrowed on them. “What is this, anyway? Why the third degree? Surely you’re not taking the word of that burned-out cop over mine. If you are, you’re making fools of yourselves. My slate is clean. I only did my duty and carried out the law of the land.”

“Try selling that to Ray Strickland before he guts you.”

Rupe shot Dent a fulminating look, then came back to Bellamy. “Turning the tables here, mind if I ask you something?”

She gave a small nod of consent.

“You took license with every character in your book, including your sister. No offense, but Moody and I learned things about her that’d make a sailor blush. She was a little more… worldly… than you made her out to be in the novel.” He looked at Dent and winked. “Am I right?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rupe only laughed. Going back to Bellamy, he said, “I just wondered, by painting her purer than she was, were you being respectful of the dead, or just naive?”

“I portrayed her the way I remember her.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, now, you can tell me. Just between us,” he said, winking again, “did you love her all that much? Or even like her? Weren’t you just an itsy-bitsy bit jealous of her?”

“Where are you going with this?” she asked coolly.

“Nowhere. Just thinking out loud.” He thoughtfully tapped his fingertips against his lips. “If you’d been a little older at the time, I’d have wanted to know exactly where you were when she was killed.”