“Let me guess,” Alex said. “Two stab wounds to the chest?”
Callahan looked surprised and then a mask of disgust covered his face. “Does everybody read that rag?” he muttered. “Don’t tell me you believe it was a ghost?”
Alex laughed at that.
“Of course not, Lieutenant,” he said. “Everyone knows that ghosts strangle their victims.”
Callahan blinked as if he didn’t know whether or not to believe Alex, then Alex smiled.
“Funny,” he said without any trace of humor in his voice. “The guys who caught this case think it’s a copycat,” he went on. “They think the wife killed her husband and tried to pass it off as the ghost.”
“Any servants?” Alex asked, his mind shifting into gear.
“Just a maid,” Callahan said, “but she had the night off.” He puffed on his cigarette.
“Can I have one of those?” Alex asked.
The lieutenant rolled his eyes and held out his pack so Alex could extract one.
“You need a real job, Lockerby,” he said, flipping open his lighter. “I know you could pass the detective exam in your sleep; why don’t you come work for me?”
Alex lit his cigarette and sat back. He was about to say something sarcastic, but he stopped himself. Callahan hated private dicks and he didn’t much care for Alex personally, but the fact that he’d offered Alex a job was a sign of his respect for Alex’s skills.
It was flattering, and Alex resisted the urge to make a smart remark. He owed Callahan that.
“You wouldn’t want me working for you, Callahan,” he said at last. “I break too many rules. Besides, the official policy of the department is that magic doesn’t have any practical application in law enforcement.”
“We both know that’s crap,” Callahan said.
Alex nodded at that and took another drag on his cigarette. He’d been economizing so long that two in one day felt like luxury.
“So the wife was alone in the house,” Alex said, getting back to the murder. “Why do you think she killed her husband?”
“Not me,” Callahan said with a sour look. “It’s not my case. Third division caught it.”
Alex had never been too clear about how the police department allocated their resources. He knew that all the detectives for Manhattan worked out of the Central Office of Police near the park, but there were six different divisions. Callahan was the lieutenant over division five.
“It’s not your case,” Alex said, a light finally going off in his head. “That’s why we’re sitting here in your car instead of going inside.”
Callahan grimaced and nodded.
“But you think the wife is innocent and that’s why I’m here,” Ales went on. “So is she an old girlfriend or something?”
The lieutenant’s gaze narrowed.
“Current girlfriend?” Alex pressed with a raised eyebrow.
“You’re right,” Callahan said. “I wouldn’t like you working for me. I don’t know Mrs. Watson at all.”
“Then why do you care?”
“Listen, Lockerby,” Callahan said, jabbing his finger at Alex and sending ash flying from his cigarette. “Someone is killing people. This makes four and we’ve got nothing to go on. Nothing. That’s why you’re here. Maybe you can find something we missed. Maybe whoever is doing this is using magic to kill these people. Either way, that’s why we need you.”
Alex nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. He tended to have the same opinion of cops that they had of him and he regularly forgot that some of them were just as driven and dedicated as he was.
“So the wife is my in,” Alex said. “Has she been arrested yet?”
“I don’t think so,” Callahan said, tossing the stub of his cigarette out the window. “They were still questioning her when I left to get you.”
As if on cue, someone stepped up to Alex’s side of the car.
“One of my boys said they saw you parked out here, Callahan,” the newcomer said. He was short and stocky with thinning hair and a crooked nose. “What are you doing back?”
“You still think the wife did this?” Callahan said, without answering the question.
“You bet,” the man said. “She obviously read that article in the Sun and used it as cover to kill her husband.”
“Why do you say that?” Alex asked.
The man turned his gaze to Alex. He had a round face and a crooked smile to match his nose. He wasn’t large, but he had an imposing sort of air about him.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said.
“Lieutenant Detweiler,” Callahan said. “This is Alex Lockerby. Alex, Lieutenant James Detweiler, Third Division.”
“I’ve seen you around the Central Office,” Detweiler said. “You’re a friend of Callahan’s boy, Danny.”
Alex nodded.
“You’ve got a good eye, Lieutenant. So, what makes you think the wife did it?”
Detweiler clearly wasn’t used to being put on the spot. He held Alex’s gaze for a long moment as if considering whether or not he could safely reveal his thought processes.
“Simple,” he said. “There’s a copy of today’s Midnight Sun in the kitchen trash,” he ticked that off on his finger. “Second, the wife is almost fifteen years younger than her husband.”
“So?” Alex asked.
“She obviously married him for his money.”
“But why kill him?”
“He was only sixty,” Detweiler said. “He might have lived another twenty years. She obviously got tired of waiting.”
“Does she have a man on the side?” Alex asked.
“Who cares?” Detweiler said.
“Well, Lieutenant,” Alex said with a smile. “If there’s no boyfriend then why bump off the husband? Was he blowing through their money? Did he have a girlfriend? Did he threaten to cut her out of the will?”
Detweiler glared at Alex.
“Let me clarify,” he said. “When I said, who cares, what I meant was, why do you care?”
Alex pulled one of his business cards out of his shirt pocket hand handed it over. Detweiler’s face soured when he read it.
“Mrs. Watson asked the Lieutenant here to find her someone to investigate her husband’s death,” Alex said with the biggest smile he could manage. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see my client now.”
Detweiler threw the card back in Alex’s lap and stormed away. Callahan chuckled as he and Alex both got out of the car.
“You’re right, Lockerby,” he said. “Right now I’m really glad you don’t work for me.”
Anne Watson sat at her kitchen table rubbing her hands together absently. She was in her mid-thirties but looked even younger with high cheekbones, a perky nose, and full lips. Chestnut brown hair flowed down over her shoulders and framed her face perfectly. Alex thought she would have looked quite pretty had her makeup not run down her face from crying — and if her shirt weren’t stained with blood.
In addition to the blood, her clothes were grimy and dirty. Alex remembered Callahan saying she’d crawled through a vent to get into the locked room where her husband’s body had been found.
“Mrs. Watson?” Alex said, sitting down at the table opposite her. “My name is Alex Lockerby.”
“I’ve answered your questions,” she said, her voice ragged and weary. “I want to call my lawyer now.”
“I’m not a policeman,” Alex said, handing her his card. “You asked a Lieutenant Callahan to find someone to help you find out who killed your husband. He sent me.”
Her hands stated trembling as Alex spoke. She was holding in so much and Alex represented a lifeline. Tears filled her eyes and ran down her face.