Riker wrecked her perfect symmetry by dragging a carton out of formation.
An hour later, he was sitting on the floor, almost done, gently laying out the last of the brittle pieces of paper from the middle years of the previous century. These canceled checks bore the signature of the guardian, James Winter, and they were arranged in the order of their dates. „If Sally Winter didn’t die of natural causes, we can rule out Uncle James for the killer.“ He looked up at his partner. She was engrossed in Pinwitty’s book and paying no attention to him. „Aren’t you going to ask me why?“
„Hmm.“ Mallory turned another page.
Riker had finished working backward in time to lay out the last check. „It looks like James skipped town before Sally died. All the signatures in this group were traced. Every one of them exactly the same. I guess the Smyth firm didn’t want to break in a new guardian so they kept him around on paper. But these forged checks are still making payouts for doctor’s visits and home nursing for the kid.“
„I never thought James Winter killed Sally.“ Mallory held her place, marking the page with one finger as she closed the book. „This text is unreadable, but the pictures are interesting. Were there any prints on Stick Man’s ice pick? There’s nothing about it in this book or your grandfather’s notes.“
„Who knows? I told you, all the evidence boxes were robbed, gutted for souvenirs. That ice pick disappeared fifty years ago.“
One long red fingernail tapped the book cover. „So how did Pinwitty get a photograph of the pick?“
„What? There aren’t any photographs in that book.“
„Then Charles’s copy must be a revised edition.“ Mallory opened the volume and showed him the clear picture of an ice pick in an evidence bag. „You can even read the detective’s signature on the label.“
Upon their second visit to Martin Pinwitty’s one-room apartment, the first thing the detectives noticed was an elaborate profusion of flowers, exotic blooms well beyond the author’s purse.
„It’s a sympathy bouquet. My mother died yesterday.“ Pinwitty rushed to the stove and began a lame attempt at hospitality, lighting a flame under his teakettle.
This time, the detectives did not feel obliged to eat stale pastries and drink cheap swill. Riker turned off the gas burner. „Just give us the ice pick, and we’ll go.“
Pinwitty’s lips parted as if to scream.
Riker was holding up the book, and it was opened to the picture of the murder weapon in an evidence bag. „This pick.“
„I bought that photograph. I never actually had the – “
„No,“ said Riker, „you don’t wanna lie to a cop.“ He flipped through the pages of the picture section. „You took all these shots yourself. Cheaper that way, right? Your publishers even gave you a photographer’s credit.“
„I don’t have the pick anymore.“
„Yeah, you do,“ said Riker. „The Winter House Massacre is your whole life. Once you had that pick, you’d never let it go.“
„My mother’s illness was very costly. I had to sell off a lot of things.“
Riker shook his head to let the man know that he was not buying this excuse. „You would’ve sold your mother for medical experiments before you sold that pick.“
Pinwitty was backing away, when he made eye contact with Mallory. He turned back to face Riker, finding him less threatening – a mistake – and now the author made a little stand of sorts. He straightened what passed for a spine and thrust out his chin, what there was of it. „The pick is mine. I bought and paid for it.“
„Well,“ said Riker, „that makes my job a lot easier. You just admitted to buying stolen goods. Give me the pick or we tack on a few more charges.“
„Statute of limitations,“ said the author. „I bought it more than seven years ago.“
„You got me there, pal. I can see that I just don’t watch enough cop shows on television. So I guess all we’ve got on you is concealing evidence in an ongoing case. No, wait a minute. If you broke the seal on the bag, we can add tampering with evidence. And then there’s my personal favorite, obstruction of a homicide investigation.“ He stepped toward Pinwitty, and the man fell back into a chair, startled to be suddenly sitting down and looking up at the detective’s angry face. Riker put his hands on the padded arms of the chair and leaned into the author’s face as he explained the worst of this man’s crimes. „And you’re pissing off my partner.“
Riker pointed to Mallory, who was seated in a chair next to the sympathy bouquet, idly ripping the heads off of flowers.
The chief of Forensics personally returned the ice pick to Mallory and Riker. More accurately, he dropped the pick on his desk blotter and threw the paperwork in Riker’s direction. The big man leaned forward, voice icy, saying, „You told my people this was a rush… for a fifty-eight-year-old homicide. You bastards. I’m up to my eyeballs in work, and you come in here with this crap.“
Riker was mentally digging himself a foxhole underneath his chair.
„So,“ said Mallory, so casually, as if she were not in deep trouble for lying to Heller’s staff, „you got a match on the fingerprints?“
And now it was her turn to receive a flying object – the small white card with Nedda Winter’s elimination prints from a more recent crime scene. It sailed across the desk and landed in her lap.
Riker regarded Finnegan’s Bar as the front room for his upstairs apartment. It saved him the trouble of picking up his dirty socks when company came calling. And now he greeted his first guest of the evening and waved the man to an empty bar stool reserved in his honor. „Hey, thanks for coming.“
Charles Butler had been to Finnegan’s before, but he still turned heads with the regulars, men and women with guns. He stood a head above the rest, broader in the shoulders and entirely too well dressed for this dive and this company of wall-to-wall police. „When will they release Nedda?“
„She’s not a prisoner.“ Riker held up one hand to flag down the bartender. Two fingers in the air netted him a nod and a promise of two beers. „She can walk out any time she likes. This wasn’t Mallory’s idea. Nedda wanted to do it. I’ll get a call when it’s over. You’re sure the lady doesn’t want police protection tonight?“
„No, she was adamant about that. She’s positive that her niece attempted suicide. And I agree with her. Maybe it was a cry for help, but not attempted murder.“
„So Nedda’s moving in with you?“
„For a few days.“ Charles accepted a beer from the bartender. „Maybe longer.“
„You didn’t discuss any of the evidence with her, did you? I mean the will, the trust fund.“
„No, it never came up in the conversation. And I don’t think she gives a damn about money. That’s Mallory’s fixation, not Nedda’s.“ Charles sipped his beer, not inclined to volunteer any more.
„So I’m guessing you and Mallory are at odds right now. I’m guessing ‘cause the kid never tells me anything.“
„I suppose I question her methods.“
„Yeah, she does things that you’d never do.“ Riker drained his glass. „And a few things I wouldn’t do, either. That’s what makes her a great cop. Now, if she was working for the opposition, I’d lose sleep at night. Did you have any time to look at my file?“
Charles laid the ancient folder on the bar. It contained more of Pinwitty’s collection, pictures recently acquired for the next revision of his book. The old crime-scene photographs showed all the dead bodies of the massacre, some large and some painfully small. „I agree with you. It fits better with a murder for hire. Not the work of a lunatic or someone with anger issues.“ He lowered his head and spoke to his glass. „You know what’s most disturbing about the massacre at Winter House? Oddly enough, it’s the lack of rage. Assembly-line carnage. How do you profile a killer like that? Someone sane who kills for the money?“