Two policemen ran past Quill, their guns drawn, Ange in the lead. "You civilians stay back," he ordered.
"That's my sister," Quill said, and then immediately felt silly. She dropped back behind the cops and followed them into the kitchen. Verger Taylor's baroque tastes hadn't stopped with his pink-marble living room. This area was almost exclusively black granite and cherrywood, At first glance, there appeared to be no appliances at all, just a huge granite-topped island in the center of the floor. Meg was standing at it, her arm around a cowering, terrified maid.
"Maria was locked in the pantry," she said.
"You let her out?" Ange demanded.
"Of course I let her out. She was kicking her heels against the door, poor thing."
"She was tied up?"
"With clothes line and duct tape," Meg said. She pointed to the detritus on the floor. "It's all right there."
"You," said Ange sternly. "Don't leave. I'm giving myself a good hard think about arresting you for interfering with evidence." He scowled. "Step away from the witness, ma'am."
Meg saluted smartly. "Yes, sir, officer, sir."
Quill gave an exasperated tcha! and pulled Meg aside. She looked for an appropriately secure place to yell at her sister and found one in the maid's room. It was just off the kitchen, next to what Quill realized was a set of triple ovens concealed by cherry paneling. She shoved Meg into the room. It was small, with a neatly made twin bed, wicker chest, a print of the Scared Heart on the wall, and a small television set. Quill closed the door firmly and sat down on the bed. Meg prowled restlessly around the room. "Good idea, Meg, pissing off the police."
A look familiar to Quill - mulish in the extreme - spread over Meg's face.
"You know why it's not a good idea to piss off the police? Because if you get arrested, you can't present your potted rabbit at the banquet on Friday. And good-bye third star."
Meg's face cleared. "You've got a point."
"Of course I've got a point. Now what did that poor maid tell you before you called us in?"
"I called you in right away," Meg said indignantly. "I know you, Meg. You grabbed the chance to question her, didn't you? What'd she say?"
"That she didn't know anything was happening until she heard the glass door smash."
"Did she know what time that was?"
"About six-thirty."
"Good Lord. That's just after we met him. This must have happened just after we left."
"I know. It's horrible."
"Is she sure about the time?"
"How should I know? Anyhow, she ran to the living room, thinking maybe a seagull had hit the door or something."
"A seagull?"
"She said it's happened before. And she said the security alarm hadn't gone off. The whole place is wired, Quill. The robbers must have disconnected it somehow."
"You're making a highly speculative assumption that they were robbers, Meg."
"No, I'm not. I'll tell you why in a minute. Anyhow, Maria said she thought a seagull came through the glass."
"Meg, there's no way a seagull could smash those thermal pane doors. Not even a three-hundred-pound seagull."
"I'm just telling you what she said. Will you shut up and listen? She ran to the archway leading onto that womb with a view..."
"Pretty funny, Quilliam."
"All that pink marble, Quilliam. Ugh! Anyhow, she saw two men struggling with Verger Taylor. Burglars, she said."
"Did she recognize them?"
"Of course she didn't! What self-respecting burglar would burgle with his bare face hanging out? Both of them had those arctic masks on their faces. You know, the woolly thing you wear to keep the cold out when you ski."
"How were they dressed?"
"I couldn't get that out of her. She screamed, ran back to the kitchen, and hid in the closet."
"She didn't call 91l?"
"She was too scared."
"Oh, dear."
"Anyhow, she hid in the closet and said the burglars came looking for her."
"How did she know that?"
"Because they were calling, 'come out, senorita, come out. We will not harm you if you come out.' Devils, she said."
"Were they hollering in Spanish?"
"They must have been. Her English isn't very good. Anyway, they flung open the door of the closet, found her, blindfolded her, tied her up, and left her for dead. She says. But as far as I can tell, they didn't mean to harm her at all. She was tied up pretty tightly, but she could breathe. And she wasn't beaten or anything. Then one burglar came back."
"Came back?"
"That's what she said. She was lying there, scared out of her wits, crying, and praying when she heard this devil come back. 'This devil, snapping like the flames of hell.' That's her words."
"This was all in Spanish, Meg?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Your Spanish sucks, that's what of it."
The door to the bedroom flew open. Ange the policeman stood there. His face was red. He called over his shoulder, "Here they are!" and stepped back. "Out."
He motioned with one hand. The other was on his pistol. "Out now. The sergeant wants a word with you two."
He shepherded them back to the living room. As huge as it was, it had become crowded. An ambulance team waited with a stretcher. Five or six forensic technicians were crawling around the floor, vacuuming, taking pictures, and otherwise gathering evidence. Two men in dark three-piece suits conferred by the fireplace with Evan and Corrigan. A policewoman sat with Shirl and Beth. The intact door next to the shattered one where the robbers had entered was open, and a man and a woman in plain clothes were headed towards it.
"Sarge!" Ange called out. "Here they are."
The woman looked over her shoulder and snapped, "Hold 'em."
Ange gestured sternly at a pair of Louis Quinze chairs on either side of an occasional table. An ormolu clock ticked away in the center of the table, and Quill noted the time: eleven-fifteen.
She and Meg both sat down. Ange took up what Quill thought of as the guard-dog stance: feet braced apart, hands on his position belt, a stem and unforgiving look on his face.
"Ange?" she said chattily. "Are you from around here?"
"New Jersey, ma'am."
"Is crime more interesting here or in New Jersey?"
Meg rolled her eyes. Ange didn't respond at all. Quill tried again. "Been on the force long?"
"Two years, ma'am."
"So you've had some experience," Meg cracked. "Mostly traffic though, right? Don't even bother asking him stuff, Quill. He doesn't know a thing."
A tinge of red crept over Ange' s cheeks. Quill looked at Meg, bemused at her rudeness. Meg dropped the merest wink and Quill murmured, "Oh, of course." Then, with indignation, she said, "What a mean thing to say, Meg. Officer..." She darted a glance at his uniform. His last name had more consonants than syllables. "That is, Ange knows what's been going on here. Don't you, Ange?"