"Collier said he stood in the tub and looked out the open window," said Flack.
"I wasn't in there with him," said Taxx, looking puzzled.
"Danny, show him the photographs," said Flack.
Danny opened the briefcase and took out the stack of crime-scene photographs he and Stella had taken. He selected four of them and handed them to Taxx. All four photographs were of the bathtub and the open window. Taxx looked at the photographs and then handed them back to Danny.
"What am I supposed to be seeing in those pictures?" Taxx asked, putting down his coffee mug.
"There's no snow, no sign of snow or ice in the tub," said Flack. "It was too cold in that room for the snow to melt."
"So?" asked Taxx.
"If someone came through the window to kill Alberta Spanio, he'd have to push in the snow that had piled up against the window."
Taxx nodded.
"Maybe he swept the snow out with his arm or leg instead of pushing it in," said Taxx.
"Why?" asked Danny. "Why let go with one hand or reach in with a foot and pull the snow back outside. It wouldn't help cover the crime. The window was open. It makes no sense to do anything except swing through the window, pushing or kicking the snow in, climb in and out of the tub, murder Spanio and go out the way he came in."
"Someone inside the bathroom pushed the snow out," said Flack.
"Why? And who? Collier? Alberta?" asked Taxx.
"Alberta Spanio was knocked out from an overdose of sleeping pills," said Danny, "and even if she weren't, why open a window to let in zero-degree air and snow?"
"Collier?" asked Taxx.
"We think whoever killed Alberta Spanio pushed that snow out, wanting us to think someone had come through the window," said Flack. "Because if the murder wasn't committed by someone coming through the window, that leaves only two possible suspects."
Taxx said nothing. His tongue pressed against the inside of his right cheek.
"Collier?" he repeated.
"When and how?" asked Danny. "The door to the bedroom was locked all night."
"And the bathroom window was closed," Taxx reminded them. "Both Collier and I confirmed that. We left the bedroom together."
"But in the morning you broke down the door and one of you went to Spanio's bedside while the other went to the bathroom," said Danny. "That was the only time Spanio could have been murdered. You were the one who went to the bed, pulled the knife out of your pocket, and stabbed the unconscious Spanio in the neck. You could have done it in five seconds. A CSI investigator timed it."
"The woman," said Taxx, looking out the window.
"Stella figured it out," confirmed Don.
"Dario Marco hired Guista and Jake Laudano to get that room at the Brevard Hotel," said Flack. "They were supposed to be seen, a big strong man and a tiny one. We were supposed to think they had murdered Spanio so the real killer, you, wouldn't be suspected."
"Guista was there to pull the window to the washroom up by dangling a chain down and hooking it onto the hoop you had screwed into the bathroom window."
"Far-fetched," said Taxx.
"Maybe," Flack agreed, "but we're pulling Jake Laudano in and when we have both him and Guista, the DA starts dealing and they start talking."
"Am I under arrest?" Taxx asked softly.
"You are about to be," said Flack.
"I think I should call a lawyer," said Taxx.
"Sounds like the thing to do," said Flack.
The detective rose with a sudden sharp sting from the broken ribs in his chest. He took the four steps to Taxx and handcuffed the man's hands behind his back.
Don adjusted his glasses and put the photographs away while Flack began the Miranda. Don said the words slowly, and for some reason it sounded like a well-memorized prayer.
Aiden examined the bolt cutter and the broken lock. She had done a magnified close-up photograph of both the edges of the bolt cutter and the ridges and scars where the lock had been cut.
She sat in the lab now comparing the two.
The small ridges of the blade were almost invisible to the naked eye, but close up they were as good as fingerprints. There was no doubt in her mind. There would be no doubt in the minds of jurors. The lock Aiden had found at the firing range had been cut by the bolt cutter Mac had found in the basement of Louisa Cormier's apartment building.
She picked up the phone, called Mac and told him what she had found.
"It's enough," said Mac.
"Enough for…?" she said, letting the question hang.
"An arrest," said Mac. "I'll meet you at Louisa Cormier's with someone from homicide."
Aiden hung up. All the evidence against Louisa Cormier was circumstantial. There were no eyewitnesses and they had not found the smoking gun. But most cases were won in court with a preponderance of compelling circumstantial evidence. Smart defense lawyers could attack it all, create alternative scenarios, explain mistakes, confuse the issue, but Aiden, who was on her feet and heading for her coat, didn't think any obfuscation would override the evidence.
The bolt cutter used to open the lock to a box in which a.22 caliber handgun was kept, a handgun Louisa Cormier used to practice with; the manuscript with two bullet holes Louisa had taken from the dead hands of Charles Lutnikov and which she had frantically been copying; the evidence that Lutnikov was writing Louisa Cormier's novels.
Aiden put on her coat and headed for the elevator, thinking, We still don't have the murder weapon and we still don't have a motive and Louisa Cormier has Noah Pease.
Maybe they should wait, keep gathering evidence, find the gun and a motive. But Mac had said they had enough, and Aiden trusted his judgment.
"This is harassment," said Louisa Cormier when she opened the door.
Aiden noticed that Louisa was holding her hands together to try to keep them from shaking. Louisa's eyes fell on the man in a blue suit with the two CSI investigators.
"I'm not inviting you in," she said. "And I'm calling my attorney. I'll get an injunction against you and the entire- "
"We don't want to come in," said Mac.
Louisa Cormier looked puzzled.
"You don't? Well I'm not, under advisement from my attorney, answering any of your questions."
"You don't have to," said Mac. "But you do have to come with us. You're under arrest."
"I…" Louisa began.
"And if you would, we'd like you to bring your Walther with you. This detective will go with you to get it. We do have the papers for that."
Mac reached into his jacket pocket and removed a tri-folded sheet of paper.
"You can't," Louisa Cormier said. "I showed you that gun. You know it hasn't been fired."
"We think it has," said Aiden.
Louisa Cormier began to collapse. Aiden stepped forward to catch her and caught a whiff of the author's perfume, a gardenia scent exactly like the one Aiden's mother used.
Stevie worked his way slowly up the dark stairwell, dragging his reluctant leg behind him. When he hit the main-floor landing, the bakery smells came through the doors to his left.
Stevie liked the bakery, the smell of fresh bread, driving the truck, talking to the customers on his route. He knew it would all be gone in a few minutes, that he would, one way or another, be gone. It was unfair, but his mistake had been in forgetting that life was unfair and putting his trust and loyalty in the pocket of Dario Marco.
Before he reached the last two steps and stepped into the corridor, he stood in the shadows and looked both ways. No one stirred.
Dario Marco's office was only three doors down on the right. Stevie did his best to hurry and to be quiet. He had to settle for being quiet.
If Helen Grandfield was there when he opened the door, he would probably kill her. He could do it quickly, not give her time to react. She had been part of the set-up. Daughter of Dario Marco, niece of Anthony Marco, she had been part of what he knew now was a plan to make Stevie, Stupid Stevie, Loyal Stevie, the fall guy.