Q – Quiet

Q – Quiet

Quincy sat on the hard chair. There was a single light over his head, a table in front of him, with his interrogator glaring at him from the other side.

“Where were you, exactly, this morning when Queenie disappeared!” Detective Quade shouted. 

Quincy remained silent. It was not that he didn’t know the answer; he was pretty sure where the culprit was, but pleading the fifth was the equivalent of admitting guilt, and besides, this was much more fun. He liked the deal he had. Queenie was his best bud. 

“OH, the silent type, are you?” exclaimed Quade. “Being quiet won’t help your cause, you know.” 

Again, Quincy remained silent.

“We could book you right now for trespassing. You know you were seen entering Queenie’s flat.”

Why shouldn’t he have been seen? Everyone knew that he often delivered food to the Quillers. They even gave him the key to the apartment in case they weren’t home. Still, he remained quiet. 

You could see the redness beginning to flush Detective Quade’s face. Quade got up and began nervously pacing the room in front of Quincy. 

Trying to calm his voice, Quade said, “Listen, pal. If you give me some answers, I can keep anything you say to me here out of your file.” 

“May I have a drink of water?” Quincy asked rather glibly. 

Quade was quick to jump on that. “Oh, so you can talk. Sure, you can have some water when you give me the answers to the questions I ask.”

Quincy just sat back, closed his eyes, and made no sound or indication that he planned to say anything, which frustrated the detective even more. 

Violence was out of the question. Even the threat of violence would bring lawsuits down on the department, which could cost the detective his job. Quade was on shaky ground but he needed to know what happened. The Quillers were very rich and influential people. If Queenie wasn’t found or something happened to her, there would be hell to pay. Queenie was just a child. 

Police were stationed at the Quiller’s house, hoping the criminals would call and ask for money for Queenie’s release. But as of yet, no call had come in. 

“This is your last chance,” Quade said, “If I don’t get some answers about your whereabouts and anything you know about this Queenie kidnapping, I’m going to book you for obstruction of justice.”

Quincy was getting tired of all of this foolishness. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a solitary metal device, and handed it to the detective. 

“What is this?” the detective shouted, “Some sort of vaping pipe?”

Deciding not to remain quiet anymore but unwilling to give away too much of what he suspected, Quincy said, “Why don’t you just take it to the Quiller’s house and use it? Just don’t tell them I gave it to you.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?”

Quincy returned to quiet mode, shut his eyes again, leaned back on his chair, placed his hands behind his head, and smiled. 

Quade just threw his hands up, went to the door, told the assistant guarding it to keep an eye on the prisoner and then left. 

About an hour later, Quade returned looking none too pleased. He told the guard to release the prison…Quincy.

The detective threw the device back to Quincy, who caught it deftly. “Here’s your stupid dog whistle back. Why on God’s earth didn’t you tell me that the bloody dog was hiding in the laundry room?”

Quincy finally felt safe spilling the beans. “One, I didn’t know exactly where she would be; she’s only a puppy; I only suspected she was sleeping somewhere in the house. Secondly, if I ended up being the one that embarrassed the Quillers, they would probably stop letting me feed and play with the dog. I really get along well with Queenie, not to mention what good tippers the Quillers are. A guy’s got to live, you know.”

“You’re just lucky I didn’t fink you out,” Quade said, “When I showed this whistle to one of the cops stationed by their phone, he knew exactly what it was and blew into it. The dog came out running in seconds. I took the whistle back quickly before the Quillers could see it. When they asked how we found Queenie, it was my turn to be quiet. You’re not the only one that can play these games. I mean, detectives don’t like to be embarrassed either.”

And that was it. I got released, the Quillers got their dog back, and I even got Queenie a special treat from our store. Other than me, the detective, and the policeman who blew the whistle on this caper, no one was the wiser.