Page 48 of The Writer

They turn to find an older man standing behind them. He’s balding with white hair and a neatly cropped beard, and he’s wearing a dark blue button-down and black pants. He extends his hand. “I’m Otto Penzler.”

“This is Detective Declan Shaw, and I’m Jarod Cordova.”

“I recognize you from television. You’re here to check on Denise’s alibi, right?”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve been publishing and selling mysteries for nearly five decades. Whodunnits tend to have a pattern, a rhythm to them. You’ve got yourselves a whodunnit, and I’d be disappointed if you didn’t look at Denise. Although I’m sure she had nothing to do with it. I’ve known her for years. She might be able to write about some nasty murders, but she’s good people, she doesn’t have it in her.” Otto grins and gestures at the cameras. “Come down to my office, I saved the video for you.”

He disappears through the brown door with the crime scene tape. Declan and Cordova exchange a glance and follow him. The door opens onto a staircase and they descend two flights into a basement office. Every wall is covered in books. There are stacks of books on tables. On the floor. Towers of titles and boxes everywhere. Crammed in the back corner is a large wooden desk, most of its surface also buried. There’s barely enough room for a computer monitor and keyboard. The mouse is perched on a stack of Agatha Christie novels. Otto motions for them to come around so they can see the screen. “You already have the sign-in sheet, right? I sent that over last week.”

Cordova nods. “Sixty people in attendance?”

“Sixty-three if you count me and my staff.” Otto clicks Play. “Here’s Denise when she got here, seven forty-three p.m.”

Declan asks, “How accurate is your time stamp?”

Otto raises an eyebrow. “You mean can I change it if I want to?”

Declan shrugs.

“We replaced the entire system last year when we went to HD. This one pulls in the time from the internet automatically. I imagine there are ways to alter it, but I’ve never tried.”

On-screen, Denise Morrow enters the store wearing her missing black coat. She talks to a couple of people near the entrance before the cashier comes around the counter and leads her through the same door Declan and Cordova just followed Otto through.

“That’s Tom,” Otto explains. “He works for me. Denise waited down here until it was time to start.”

“Any cameras down here?” Cordova asks.

“Just upstairs.” Otto fast-forwards until Denise Morrowappears again. The crowd is settled in folding chairs and Otto goes to a podium at the front of the room and speaks for several moments. The crowd applauds, and Denise steps up beside him, takes her coat off. She drapes it over a chair, shakes Otto’s hand, and addresses the crowd.

Otto taps the rolling time stamp. “Seven fifty-nine.”

Denise Morrow is wearing the same white blouse and black slacks Declan found her in at her apartment. Pristine, recently pressed. No blood.

“There’s Susan Reynolds.” Cordova points. “Second row, third from the left.”

“Susan’s here a lot,” Otto says. “She runs Denise’s fan club. She got here early to set up.”

They watch for about three minutes before Declan asks if there’s a way to speed up the tape. Otto clicks a button a few times until they’re watching at thirty-two times normal speed. He slows it back down as she finishes her talk about forty minutes in. Denise moves from the podium to a table and takes a seat as a line forms in front of her. “She signed books for about twenty minutes or so. Answered questions. Took selfies, but she never left. She—”

“Stop,” Declan orders.

Otto freezes the image.

“Rewind a little bit.”

He does.

Then Cordova sees it too. “Is that Geller Hoffman?”

Declan nods. “It sure as shit is. Play it again, normal speed.”

On-screen, the attorney enters the bookstore behind the crowd. He stands there for a moment, then bypasses the line and hands Denise Morrow a brown shopping bag. Theyexchange a look, and she sets the bag under the table. Hoffman leans in and whispers something to her, a long something, takes him nearly a minute. From the look on Morrow’s face, it’s not anything she wants to hear. Then he steps to the side and watches as Denise goes back to addressing the line. The scowl on her face is replaced with a smile as she takes a picture with an older lady holding three of Morrow’s titles.

Cordova reaches for the computer mouse. “May I?”

Otto steps back, holding both hands up.

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