The detective slung a coat over one arm, then picked up the suitcase of diaries. „We have to go now.“ She consulted a pocket watch. „You’ll be arraigned tonight. What’s your plea?“
This was the showdown or at least a countdown of sorts, for Bitty was tensing her body as Mallory tapped off the passing seconds with the toe of one shoe.
„Time’s up.“
The electric lights went out, leaving only the illumination from the skylight dome. Bright motes of dust swirled around Mallory, catching light and endowing her with a cylindrical aura. As the detective moved forward, Bitty backed out of the room, slowly retreating to the foyer, where the body of the dead bird was staked to the wall, but all she could see was the detective crossing the front room, coming closer and growing in height and mass with each footfall.
Oddly enough, a stone weight was rising from Bitty’s breast. Her nerves had calmed, and she could breathe more easily. She called out to Mallory, almost defiant, „You lied to me! This case was personal, wasn’t it?“
Mallory had been all too right about one thing: Bitty had no intention of pleading guilty to any charge. Done with hysterics, she was coolly plotting the destruction of the case against her, all circumstantial evidence. And, if she could not win at trial, she would win on appeal. If she confessed, all was lost. Her last thought was that the detective could read her mind and sense the rebirth of hope.
The suitcase dropped from Mallory’s hand to the floor.
Bitty knew this moment would be burned into memory until the day she died. Years from now, she might recall the angry young avenger standing there with a great sword in her right hand. And perhaps that peculiar fantasy would arise from a glint of gunmetal in the shoulder holster – that coupled with this stunning sight of Mallory with eyes burning bright and hair disheveled, as if she had just stepped from the whirlwind.
Only now, as the last few steps between them were closing, did Bitty understand that this case was indeed a personal matter to Mallory, that some great harm had been done to this young woman, deep damage beyond the evidence of her broken left hand. Oh, her eyes – that fixed stare, a cat’s dare for the mouse to move, even to twitch. And the gun in her right hand was on the rise.
BANG!
Chapter 13
LIEUTENANT COFFEY SAT IN A COP BAR ON GREENE STREET, downing straight shots of bourbon with his senior detective. The mood was not celebratory, though Riker believed that Mallory would never be punished for what she had done.
The lieutenant lifted his head to pose a question, one that could only be asked at that point of inebriation where he had hopes of forgetting the answer by the time his hangover kicked in. „What the hell happened? The real story?“
„What’d Buchanan tell you?“
„I never asked for his version. I want yours“
„Okay.“ Since the lieutenant was buying, Riker ordered another round. „That morning, we laid it all out for the district attorney, more evidence than he’s ever seen for one case – a ton of documentation. Buchanan didn’t care. He refused to prosecute Bitty Smyth. Little coward. He was actually afraid to risk losing the biggest case of his career – in an election year. Can you beat that? After all this work, what does he say to us? He says it’s all circumstantial.“
„He was right,“ said Coffey.
Riker ignored this because it was true. „So Mallory says the whole package is enough to bury Bitty Smyth. Buchanan says no. He says juries are too stupid to follow her evidence. It would be a fight just to keep ‘em awake long enough to present the case.“
„The man’s right again,“ said Coffey.
„So Mallory asks him, point blank, ‘What’s it gonna take?’ Then Buchanan says, ‘Bring me a full confession.’“ Riker slammed the flat of his hand on the bar. „And that’s exactly what she did. That afternoon, we went to Winter House to wire the place for sound.“
„I don’t remember listening to any tapes, Riker.“
„Never got a chance to plant the mikes. Bitty showed up as soon as the last cop car pulled away from the house.“ In other words, no tape was better than an edited tape. He did not hold with the idea of tampering with evidence.
After a go-around with Bitty Smyth, the detectives had returned to the DA’s office and handed the woman’s confession to Buchanan along with the terms of a plea bargain.
„And then,“ said Riker, „Buchanan really pushed his luck. He told us he wouldn’t accept the confession. Said it was probably obtained under duress. That pompous little weasel never even talked to Bitty Smyth. He didn’t know squat.“
„Was he right?“
Riker was selective in his deafness. Timing was so important tonight. „Well, the DA went back on a solid deal.“ The detective leaned toward his commanding officer. „This is just between us, right?“
Jack Coffey nodded his understanding, and this was his promise, his seal of silence.
Half of the battle for Mallory’s job security was won.
„Good,“ said Riker. „So Mallory staked the confession to the DA’s desk with an ice pick.“ He averted his eyes from the lieutenant’s startled face as he added, on a point of historical interest, „It was the same pick that was used in the Winter House Massacre.“ Now he turned back to Coffey and smiled. „It was a gift.“
In a sudden change of heart – inspiration of cowardice – District Attorney Buchanan had accepted the confession, electing to follow that time-honored credo: never make an enemy of a psycho cop. And, bonus, the little man had wet his pants, further guaranteeing that what had happened in that room would never leave that room. Riker had not enjoyed any of this. Mallory had scared the hell out of him, too, and he had almost felt sorry for a lawyer. Sometimes, in unguarded moments, he forgot that she was always dangerous – and more so now that she was wounded. The cast on her hand broke his heart.
How much more should he disclose to Jack Coffey before he requested a long leave of absence for his partner? And which one of them would take Mallory’s gun away from her?
„Wait, Riker. Back up. How did Mallory get that confession? You skipped over that part.“
Stalling for time and just the right words, Riker checked his watch. A police transport would be en route to the women’s prison by now. The case had ended without a trial, only Bitty’s anticlimactic confession in open court. She had pleaded guilty to a charge of murder for hire and four counts of manslaughter, all sentences to run concurrently. The only proviso of the plea bargain had been that Mallory not be present during the proceedings. „Bitty Smyth got a better deal than she deserved.“
„That may be,“ said Coffey, „but why did she waive her right to a trial? No, wait – I got a better question. What did Mallory do to that woman?“
„Nothing.“ Riker was feigning indignation, and he must be doing it badly; the boss was still waiting on his answer. How should he put this? As if he had just recalled some minor detail, he said, „Well, she shot the head off a dead bird.“ Riker was quick to raise his right arm in the gesture of an oath. „My hand to God, that’s all she did. The kid never even yelled at Bitty Smyth.“
„So Mallory spent a bullet. Where’d it go?“