Chapter Eight
When Quinn arrived back at the station later that evening, Constable Pond brought him the witness statements from all the girls from Mercy House who had been interviewed that day, along with a large cup of black coffee. Quinn gave the young man an approving smile and saluted him with the coffee. “Thanks, Pond. I needed this.”
“Did you finally get some sleep, sir?” Pond asked.
“A little bit, maybe four hours,” Quinn answered. Surprisingly, it was true. He’d been so exhausted by the time he stretched out upon his bed, he’d fallen to sleep immediately, managing to stave off thoughts of what had happened at the warehouse until he was on his way back in this evening.
“That’s good, sir.” Pond cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels as though preparing to give a speech, and Quinn struggled to keep from smiling. Pond was such an earnest young man. So eager to please. “Dr. Lockwood has finished his autopsy, and his report is on your desk. Sergeant Ness managed to interview all the girls from Mercy House except one, along with some of the neighbors. You can read through them, but it doesn’t appear that we got any solid leads.”
“Thank you,” Quinn told the lad with a nod. “Can you tell the sergeant that I’d like him to go summon Carlton Delaney for questioning? I meant to talk to him this afternoon, but I decided I needed a little rest first.”
“Of course, sir. Anything else?”
“No, that will be all for now,” Quinn instructed. “Thanks again for the coffee.”
Once Pond had left Quinn’s office, Quinn sank back in his chair with a sigh. Though he’d slept soundly, the four hours he’d gotten had just whetted his appetite for a good night’s rest. His eyes felt gritty, and his head ached fiercely. He decided he’d work until about midnight, then go home and try and sleep until morning.
Taking another big swig of coffee, he skimmed over Dr. Lockwood’s report. As they’d suspected, it appeared most of the carnage to Polly’s body had happened after she was already dead. She’d died when the killer had slit her throat. It did not seem as though he’d made her suffer, but then what was the purpose of slicing her to pieces after she was already dead?
Grimacing, he spread the witness statements out before him, centering on the one from Belle Duffey. As he’d feared, she hadn’t been very forthcoming with the sergeant. He should have been here when she’d come in. The woman was hiding something. He was absolutely certain of it.
He pressed his fingers to his temple, internally noting that he’d have to bring Belle in again tomorrow. Ness was good at his job, but he went about things like a hammer, and he sensed Belle needed a little more finesse.
Daisy Upton was the only girl he couldn’t find a statement from, which he found interesting as well. He’d have to have his men search her out and see why she hadn’t wanted to be interviewed.
The next half hour was spent going over the rest of the reports, none of which told him anything of any value. One woman claimed to have seen a strange man lurking about, but her description left much to be desired. Medium height. Medium build. Dark clothing. It could have been anybody.
No one seemed to have known much about Polly’s romantic life. If she’d been seeing someone, she’d kept mum about it to her friends, probably because of Allison’s ridiculous policies regarding the girls having gentlemen callers.
Before he could get lost in thoughts of Allison, Ness poked his head in the doorway. “I have Delaney in the interview room if you’d like to come down and ask him some questions.”
That was exactly what he needed right now. Throwing himself into finding out who’d murdered Polly would take his mind off of Allison. At least for a while.
He followed Ness down to the room where Delaney was waiting, closing the door behind them. “Delaney,” he murmured as he took the chair across the rough wooden table from him.
Delaney nodded nervously, obviously none too pleased to find himself in Quinn’s interview room. “What’s this all about, Inspector? I haven’t done nothin’ to warrant you draggin’ me down here.”
Quinn shared an amused glance with Ness. “Did you drag this man here, Ness?”
Ness shook his head. “If I did, he’d be in a sight worse shape than he is, Inspector.”
Turning back to Delaney, Quinn pinned him with a searching look. “Why do you think you’re here?” Sometimes it was best to see what crimes someone thought they’d committed. Often, they confessed to things that had nothing to do with the reason they’d been brought in for questioning.
The man shifted in his chair, his bald head gleaming in the harsh light, his thick mustache twitching. “Can’t rightly say, sir. As I said, I ain’t done nothin’.”
“I went by your warehouse earlier today,” Quinn informed him. “I see you’ve gone from artful nude pictures of lovely young ladies to filming the act of coitus itself.”
“Coitus, sir?” The man seemed completely baffled by the word.
“Fucking,” Quinn said succinctly, earning a raised eyebrow from his sergeant. With a wince, he realized he hadn’t told Ness about what had happened this morning. Now he probably wondered why Quinn hadn’t interviewed Delaney then.
Delaney looked down at the floor. “Modern technology provides all sorts of opportunities. Can you blame me for takin’ advantage of ‘em?”
Quinn had a sudden flash of what he’d seen earlier, and now it was his turn to shift uncomfortably. He couldn’t condone what the man was doing, but he didn’t think the laws had caught up to the technology. Besides, he had bigger fish to fry at the moment. “Was Polly Keys involved in your ‘new opportunities?’”
“Polly?” Delaney looked up, having obviously not expected this line of questioning. “The poor girl what got murdered?”
Nodding, Quinn tossed the photograph of Polly on the table. “Did you take this photo?”