Boxmeister said, “Uh-oh-”
Milo jerked away just in time to avoid the missile of spit.
A wet gob landed on the floor.
Her hands were balled. Flush-faced, she panted.
Milo shook his head, ever the patient schoolmaster. “Looks like I touched a nerve, Helga.”
“You have touched stupidity,” she said. “I have never killed anyone. Never.”
“What’s the big deal? You claim to hate humanity-”
“Humanity is shit. I don’t put shit on my hands.”
“Except when it suits your purposes.” She shook her head. “Idiot.”
Reaching for his papers, he pulled out another sheet. The picture of the man in the hoodie. Adroitly, no more fumbling. “You killed Desi and Doreen with this guy’s help.”
Helga Gemein’s jaw turned smooth. A smile spread slowly. That serene smile tightened my gut.
“I have never seen this person.”
Maria Thomas said, “Uh-oh.”
“What?” said Boxmeister.
Thomas said, “That look like a tell to you? That picture mellowed her. Damn.” She turned to me: “Either she is nuts or she really doesn’t know what he’s talking about, right, Doc? Either way, it’s mucho problemo.”
Milo continued to display the photo.
Helga said, “You can wave that around forever, your little policeman flag.”
“This guy’s your partner, Helga. The person who helped you murder Des and Doreen. Did you drive up to Port Angeles with him?”
Helga shook her head. “You are an utter fool.”
“This photo was taken in Port Angeles a couple of days ago. This man was there to retrieve the money. Talk about good planning. You never had any intention of letting Des keep a penny. Because you never had any intention of letting him live. The real reason you rented him a car was so you could follow him and find out where he stashed the money. After you returned to L.A., you got hold of his storage key-plucked it out of a pocket or found it in his desk drawer, made a mold. Maybe you did it when he was off having fun with the ladies and you were in the office all by your bald-headed, self-abasing, not-so-lapsed Catholic fundamentalist self.”
Helga Gemein giggled. “You truly believe this scheiss.”
“The evidence makes me believe, Helga.”
“Then the evidence is scheiss.” Clucking her tongue. “I have burned twigs, that is all. Now I wish to leave and pay my fine and not hear any more of this crazy nonsense.”
“Twigs,” said Milo. “We call it arson and it’s a felony.”
Helga shrugged. “I will hire a lawyer. He will make it into a prank that got too big and I will be free and you will remain stupid.”
“Damn,” said Boxmeister.
Thomas said, “She hasn’t actually asked, she’s only threatened.” Shifting close to the mirror. “Change the subject, dude.”
Milo said, “More water?”
“Yes!” said Thomas.
Helga said, “No, thank you.” Sweet smile. Unsettling. Wrong.
“Desi and Doreen were murdered in that turret. You went back to the house anyway.”
“I had business to do.”
“The murder didn’t bother you?”
“Not my concern, Policeman.”
Milo slid another piece of paper toward her.
“What is this, Policeman?”
“This is what’s left of a gentleman named Charles Ellston Rutger. He grew up in a house that once sat on the Borodi property. Had one of those stupid sentimental attachments to the land, which is why he liked to sneak up there, sit in that same turret, reminisce about the good old days. See that shiny thing?” Pointing. “That’s what was left of his wineglass. And that, over there? That used to be a tin of foie gras. Mr. Rutger was enjoying a snack, washing it down with a nice Bordeaux the night you reduced him to dust.”
Helga Gemein grabbed the paper.
“That’s a crime scene photo, Helga. Check the date. He doesn’t look like much, does he? You killed him.”
Helga gaped. Whispered, “No.”
“On the contrary, Helga. Yes. A big fat yes. Mr. Rutger had the misfortune to be enjoying a quiet moment in the turret of that monstrosity when you came in and set your fuses and your timers and your plugs of Jell-O. He didn’t hear you because you were careful and quiet and he was an old man and being all the way up there on the third floor muted the sound. He was sipping wine as you stood on the sidewalk and enjoyed your act of cleansing, but maybe you already know that.”
“No!”
“He didn’t hear you, Helga, but you’re young, your ears work just fine, so my bet is you heard him. But you didn’t care, what’s another piece of human scheiss?”
Helga let go of the photo as if it were toxic. It slid to the floor. She stared at it, eyes wide with horror.
First time she’d shown anything close to appropriate emotion. I liked her better for it. But not much.
“Oh, God,” she said.
No atheists on the hot seat.
“Your twigs became a pyre for a human being, Helga. That we call felony homicide. Loss of a life during the commission of any major crime, even without prior intention. That’s not a fine, Helga.”
“I never knew,” she said, in a small, thin voice. “You must believe me.”
“I must?”
“It is true! I did not know!”
“You haven’t been listening, Helga. Whether or not you knew, it’s still felony homicide.”
“But that… makes no sense.”
“I don’t write the rules, Helga.”
She studied him. “You are lying. That is special effects. Anyone can stamp a date. You try to confuse me so I will confess to Des and Doreen but I will not because I did not.”
“You did a whole lot, Helga. Trust me, Mr. Rutger’s real. Was. Want me to show you his autopsy report? You fried him to a crisp.”
“I do not kill.”
Milo shook his head. “Unfortunately, you do. You’ve already admitted the arson, admitted planning it. A man died in the process, you’re facing a long prison sentence. The only way I can see you extricating yourself from this mess is by explaining yourself. Tell me why you decided to eliminate Des and Doreen. I can see a motive right off the bat: They were trying to blackmail you. If they were, that’s a good explanation, people can understand that, it’s kind of self-defense.”
She shook her head.
He said, “And if this guy in the hood did the actual killing and you didn’t really know what was going to happen and you tell me who he is, that will also help you.”
“That,” said Helga Gemein, wringing her hands, “would be all idiocy. I killed nobody.”
“Truth is, Helga, I’m leaning toward your partner as the major bad guy for Des and Doreen because there was a certain masculine stupidity to the murders and I don’t see stupid as part of your makeup. So let’s start with who he is.”
“The Dalai Lama.”
“Pardon?”
“Today he is the Dalai Lama. Tomorrow? Emperor Franz Josef, Nikola Tesla, Walter Gropius. Take your pick.”
“You’re not helping yourself, Helga.”
“You think I care to help you?” she said.
“I understand, maybe you didn’t actually pull the trigger so you think-”
“You understand nothing!” she shrieked. “I did not kill anyone!”
“Charles Rutger would debate that if he could.”
“An accident,” she said. “Had I known, I would have waited.”
“Even though you don’t care about people.”
“I avoid complications.”
“Well,” said Milo, “you’ve ended up with a whole bunch of complications.”
“You are stubborn beyond rationality.”