„It doesn’t apply here. Ask my daughter. She’s a lawyer. The yearly reparations installments – oh, let’s call it extortion – that makes it an ongoing crime.“
Lionel and Cleo turned to Bitty, silently asking if this was true. It was an interesting moment for a legal consultation. Bitty loosened her grip on the ax, then idly shifted it from hand to hand, giving this problem actual consideration. „Did either of you sign anything to get those yearly payments?“
„Damn right, they did,“ said Sheldon. „That money is trust fund restitution. It can’t be disguised as any other form of compensation. If the firm goes down, so do they.“
„Sorry.“ Bitty shrugged. „That’s how Daddy’s firm ensured your silence. They made you part of the crime.“ She looked down at the tiny skeleton at her feet. „Two crimes.“
„And no statute of limitations,“ said Sheldon, who was enjoying this just too much. „You see, the trust was never entirely drained. The theft of the restitution money is a crime in progress – conspiracy grand theft.“ He nudged Sally Winter’s trunk with the toe of his shoe. „And, may I point out, that you’re the ones in possession of a dead child. The fact that the body was hidden – well, that guarantees a homicide investigation. Reporters camped out on the doorstep, television people and their cameras following you everywhere you go. You find that appealing?“
No, they did not. Cleo was holding on to Lionel’s arm for support.
„So,“ said Sheldon, „it appears that we have a lot to talk about. And then we have to put Sally back in the wall.“ He turned to his daughter. „Bitty, my love, you’re also a part of this now.“ He gave her his most radiant smile, then turned back to his ex-wife. „Cleo, suppose you put on a pot of coffee. We’ll all sit down together and – “
„Bitty,“ said Cleo, „go up to your room. I’ll call you down when we’ve agreed on something.“ She reached out and plucked the ax from her daughter’s hand as if this deadly weapon were no more than a disallowed sweet that might ruin Bitty’s dinner. „Go on now.“
Defenseless, Bitty climbed the stairs. When she turned back, she saw her uncle picking up the bones of his little sister and gendy, reverendy placing them in the trunk.
Nedda was drinking Courvoisier in Charles’s front room when she began to beep. She pulled the pager from her pocket. „Bitty made me take this when we were at the hospital.“
„Horrible invention,“ said Charles. „I’d never own one. Pagers and cell phones. Those gadgets don’t make life easier for people. They simply make escape impossible.“
She looked at the glowing display of digits on the face of the pager. „And, of course, this number is Bitty’s cell phone.“
„Then I’ll give you some privacy,“ said Charles. „I have some work to do in my office across the hall. I might be awhile, so don’t wait up. Sleep well. See you in the morning.“
Nedda waited until he was gone, then rang Bitty’s number, charmed by the old-fashioned rotary dial on the antique telephone. She held the receiver to her ear and only counted one ring, before she heard Bitty’s voice. „Hello, dear. How are you feeling____________________What?… Calm down--Yes, dear, but why did you leave the hospital?… Why would they… Don’t upset yourself… No, of course I don’t mind--We’ll sort this out when I get there.“
Nedda found paper and a fountain pen in the drawer of a small writing desk. She left a note for Charles, explaining that Bitty needed her and that she might be gone for a few hours. Her next call was to the car service.
An unmarked police car stopped beside a recendy vacated stretch of curb outside of Charles Buder’s apartment building. The watchers were changing shifts, and all the attention of the man behind the wheel was devoted to the task of parallel parking. His partner stood on the sidewalk, directing the stop and starts of squeezing the car into a tight parking space. That done – a perfect job – they settled in for the last tour of duty on this plainclothes detail. When the custody order arrived, the old woman would be taken away by police from another division. It was going to be an early night, and they were both thinking ahead to cold beers and hot slices from Ray’s Pizza as the taillights of Nedda Winter’s limousine disappeared around the corner.
Harry Bell, the desk sergeant in the SoHo station house, looked up to see a rookie standing before him, though he should not have seen the youngster’s face for another five hours. The cop was supposed to be sitting in a chair outside of Bitty Smyth’s hospital room, an unauthorized posting that had drained the bank of favors owed to Detective Mallory.
„Peterson,“ said the sergeant, „you should be uptown. Guard duty at the hospital? Is it all coming back to you now?“
„I was relieved of duty,“ said Peterson, tacking on a belated „sir.“
„Now that’s funny, kid, ‘cause I don’t remember calling you back here. So whose idea was – “
„It was the family. They relieved me.“
„The Mafia? That family? Was gunplay involved?“
„No, sir.“ The boy made the mistake of smiling at his sergeant’s little joke instead of running for his life. „It was Sheldon Smyth. He’s the lady’s father – and he’s a lawyer.“
„Oh, well, that makes it okay.“ Sergeant Bell knew he could shoot this boy right now for just cause and get away with it. „I guess they changed the line of command. Now it’s lawyers giving orders to the uniforms – instead of their sergeants. Well, somebody should’ve told me.“
Harry Bell’s smile grew wide and wicked as the young cop’s face quickly reddened. The torture of raw recruits passed for sport on a slow night. That was what rookies were for. That was why God had made so many of them. „Tell you what, kid, why don’t you go upstairs and explain all of this to Detective Mallory? No, go ahead. She’ll understand. Ever met her?“
„No, sir.“
Perfect.
„Well, she looks like a babe, real pretty, but don’t let that fool you. Down deep, she’s a motherly type.“
Harry Bell watched the rookie drag his feet climbing the stairs to Special Crimes Unit. If the sergeant had been wearing a hat, he would have removed it and whistled a funeral hymn.
Winter House was dark when Nedda opened the front door. By the dim glow filtering in from the street, she could see the floor strewn with haberdashery and bits of plaster. Her niece’s frightened ramble on the telephone seemed more coherent to her now.
The wall switch would not work, but the security alarm still glowed. She tapped in the code to disable it, then crossed the threshold into the front room, moving toward the staircase in total darkness. Her only weapon was beneath the pillow in her bedroom. She looked up at the sound of her name whispered from the second-floor landing. By the light of a candle, Bitty drifted down the stairs, pausing halfway with a finger pressed to her lips to caution silence. She lifted the candle high to light Nedda’s way as they climbed slow and stealthy toward Bitty’s bedroom.
Once they were behind a closed door, her niece said, „I called the police. They’re not coming. Maybe I put it badly. I might have seemed hysterical. I told them I was afraid to leave my room. The lights wouldn’t work. They already think I’m crazy. They said I should call an electrician.“
Scores of candles were alight on every surface and wavering with the drafts of the house. Nedda picked up a candlestick and walked back to the door. „I’ll go down to the cellar. I know where the fuse box is.“ But first she would go to her bedroom to fetch the ice pick.
„No!“ Bitty grabbed her aunt’s arm, pulled her away from the door, then slid the thick bolt safe home. „They’re all downstairs in the kitchen. They’ll see you.“
„They?“