The Third Coincidence by David Bishop

Bishop

    her glass. “So, anyway, that’s my story on America’s super spook. Now enough about me.” She raised her glass and drained it. “What about you? Who’s in your love life?”
    “I just ended a long thing with an assistant D.A.,” Nora told her. “So, I’m between lovers, for lack of a better phrase.”
    “No prospects?”
    “I did meet someone just the other night,” Nora said. “In the supermarket of all places, but who knows when we’ll hook up again. I’m going to be busy working with all of you, and I got the impres- sion his work would be keeping him busy for a while too.”.

    chapter 17

    The president’s press secretary confirms Schroeder gets regular briefings from McCall, but beyond that it’s, “No further comment at this time.”
    —Mel Carsten, D.C. Talk, June 9

    Sergeant Hector Mendoza from the Lincoln County, Oregon, Sher- iff’s office stood in the doorway of the Depoe Bay’s honeymoon cottage alongside one of his deputies. Mr. Pritcher, the general man- ager of the resort stood behind them.
    The sergeant instructed his deputy to tape off the cottage and the walkway leading to it from the parking lot, including the cot- tage’s small private patio and the grounds around the patio. Pritcher, a frail man in his late sixties, leaned against a post near the door. “Nothing like this has ever happened,” he said his voice quivering. “No one has ever been killed—murdered in our resort.”
    “Don’t touch anything, Mr. Pritcher,” the sergeant said after the manager stepped through the door. “Please wait outside.”
    The manager went out and put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and took a long puff. He spoke with smoke leaking around his words. “We have guests arriving to stay in this honeymoon cottage. They’ll be here in about two hours. We don’t have another cottage for new- lyweds.” He coughed, then lit another cigarette from the embers of the one he had lit only moments before.
    Mendoza turned to Pritcher. “Who were the guests?”
    “I checked before you arrived, Sergeant. A Ms. Ashcroft reserved
    74 David M. Bishop

    the cottage using her credit card. We imprinted it when they checked-in. They registered as Ms. Ashcroft and friend. No first names. That’s unusual for the honeymoon cottage, but it happens. Not everyone who reserves it is married. You should speak with Peggy Fallow in reservations. She and Ms. Conners, the concierge, handle the newlyweds.”
    Sergeant Mendoza left the resort three hours after arriving. He had spoken with the maids, Peggy Fallow, Ms. Conners, the bell- man who took the Breens to their rooms, and the restaurant staff. The Breens had arrived in a cab, eaten no meals in the restaurant or from room service, and had not been seen by anyone since the bell- man took them to the honeymoon cottage.
    The Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office would retain the lead on the investigation because the crime had first been reported to the sheriff’s office. Standard procedure for that area of Oregon called for such crimes to be handled by a cooperative task force made up of the sheriff’s office, the Lincoln County District Attorney, the Ore- gon State Police, and the police departments of several small area cities in what they called their coordinated Major Crime Team.
    By seven that evening, Sergeant Mendoza completed his police report:

    Ms. Ashcroft and her friend were killed some time be- tween the late afternoon of June 7, the day of their arrival, and 2:00 p.m., June 9, the time when the maids found their bodies. I estimate the approximate time of death, subject to the coroner’s findings, as between 5:00 p.m. and midnight, June 7 based on their not being seen by the resort staff, their ordering no meals, and on the conditions of their bodies: The deep-purple blood settled to the lowest parts of their bodies did not shift when I changed their positions. No blanching occurred when I pressed my finger against the discolored skin. Both