The Woman Who Stopped Traffic by Daniel Pembrey

‘em,” the detective said.
    Silverman said: “Anything from the ident technician yet?”
    Pulver looked at him like he’d well over-stepped the mark.
    “OK,” Silverman tried to backtrack. “Well, tell us how we can be of assistance. We both had contact with the vic in the days leading up.”
    “Who said we’ve classified him a victim?” Pulver looked over to the street. A couple more cars had arrived, likely journalists. The blogosphere would be lit up over this one. “Who said we’ve pronounced it a homicide?”
    She got it: how detectives needed to manage the information flow. You’d only got one chance to watch an interviewee react as he or she heard about it for the first time. They would want “homicide” kept out of the press for as long as possible.
    Pulver drew matters to a close. “Where can I reach you both?”
    “I’m probably flying back to my home in the Bahamas by mid-week,” Natalie said, “but can always be reached at either this number or email address,” and she handed him her card.
    Silverman looked at her, but it was Pulver who said: “Miss Chevalier. It would be real helpful if you stuck around for the time being. We may need to talk to anyone who knew the deceased.”
    The insistence in his eyes suggested he may become real un helpful if she didn’t. 
    “Now if you’ll excuse me once more, I need to do something about these vulture scribblers descending on our asses.”
     
    “What the –!” she said to Silverman as soon as Pulver was out of earshot.
    His hands flew up, palms open. “Take it easy, Natalie.”
    “Mind coming clean about just why you’ve got me roped into this?” she asked with arms crossed.
    “I’d love to,” he replied. “I’ve got an appointment in forty five minutes with chief puppeteer Jon Vogel at his home on the peninsular. Why don’t you ride down with me, and we can talk it all through?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “There are things you and I should discuss. It’ld be worth your while.”
    They walked back to their cars. Finally: “What things?”
    “Like how we get through this situation and return to our normal lives,” he replied.
    She thought about returning to the Clamor office, and trying to re-engage Nguyen – no. What else?
    The interior of his car was angular and masculine. It smelled new and clean. The scooped out seat offered welcome lumbar support.
    “So,” she said. “Talk.”

CHAPTER 9
     
    “Where’s that accent from?” Ben asked. “I keep trying to place it.”
    “The South.”
    “But whereabouts?”
    She eyed him sideways, then stared back at the highway his sports car was devouring. “South Carolina.”
    “I see. Columbia? Myrtle Beach –?”
    “ Charleston .”
    “Of course,” he said. “Heard great things about it. The food… what was it that Rhett Butler said again, about Charleston? You know: something about going back there to see whether there wasn’t something left in life of grace and charm?”
    She said nothing. 
    “Yup,” Ben continued. “I even remember my mom talking about it, quoting some etiquette expert as saying Charleston was ‘the most mannerly city in all of America’.”
    She was conscious of having her arms crossed, of looking straight ahead, her hair shielding her face.
    Ben: “OK, my concern is in protecting the IPO, which right now is looking like a pretty tall order.”
    The road started to descend from the Valley into a section of two-lane highway, carrying them towards Salinas. The Porsche sucked down into the highway’s sweeping curves. Natalie pushed her boots deeper into the foot well, clasping a charm bracelet round her right wrist. “Hold on Ben. Just indulge me a little, would you? By telling me some more about yourself. This is all rather sudden. And try not to get us both killed while you’re about it.”
    He eased up and started talking about his time at the University of California, Davis, due east of San Francisco. About beginning on the trading