Of course Mallory would not ask why. So obvious. His bulging eyes did call to mind a bullfrog.
„Froggy – only nickname I ever had. So that was memorable. It caught on with all the other children that day, and that’s what he wanted. He was setting me up. I figured that out when it came time to open my presents.“
„He gave you a frog?“
„A big one.“ The huge frog had leapt from the open gift box, initiating a scream from one of the mothers. For six seconds, that amphibian had been the only pet that Charles had ever owned. But then, of course, the other children had converged upon the creature and slaughtered it – slowly – smashing it out of existence under sandals and sneakers and patent-leather shoes. The frog-stomping had been the highlight of his birthday party, for normally the children were not encouraged to kill living things. Later in the day, they had turned their sights on him – froggy number two.
„All right – back to Bitty.“ Mallory picked up the stack of diaries. „She’s a religious fanatic. I think I guessed that. What else can you tell me?“
Charles absendy stared at the stuffed toys on the bed. The teddy bears were quite old. A child – Bitty, no doubt – had loved the small leather noses off their faces, rubbed them all away with kisses. And then there was the little bird hiding beneath the bed, a metaphor for its mistress who shared the trait of extreme timidity. „I can’t believe this woman could kill anyone.“
„Bitty? Of course not,“ said Mallory, oh so casually. „It was the old woman who did the stabbing. Nedda Winter confessed to the first cop on the scene.“
Charles turned his eyes heavenward. He was not praying. „Then why – “ He paused a moment to dial back the frustration. „Why did you put me through this? Invading this woman’s – “
„Because she’s a stalker.“
„No, Mallory, that’s not quite it. Try again.“
„I want you to talk to Bitty Smyth. You said you didn’t know her.“ Mallory stacked the journals on a closet shelf. „Well, now you do.“
He shook his head, but denial was futile. „You set me up!“
She raised one eyebrow in a silent acknowledgment of Yeah? So?
„You seriously expect me to make use of this woman’s personal diaries to interrogate her?“
„She won’t talk to cops. She just throws out quotations from the Bible.“
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death? Given Mallory’s effect on the woman, that might be -
„It’s like biblical Tourette’s,“ said Mallory. „So just go down there and talk to her. Get her to open up.“
„I have no intention of – “
„You do it, or I do it.“
Her tone implied a threat. No – cancel that – it was a solid promise to do some damage to that fragile little woman downstairs. Bitty Smyth was most likely in shock, and Mallory would be best described as sociopathic on a good day – not that he adored her less for that. And, even understanding that emotional blackmail was Mallory’s idea of sport, he said, „All right.“
When the door had closed on the detective, a small voice from the darkness beneath the bed said, „What?“
Charles looked down to see the bird emerge from its hiding place. It limped badly on one leg and could not travel in a straight line, but veered in curving paths and circles. One of its wings was missing a full complement of flight feathers, and the raggedy tail feathers dragging along behind the creature were more proof of a walking bird, hence the cage on the floor to accommodate the handicap of being earthbound.
He picked up a bottle of pills, the vitamin prescription of a veterinarian. He had nearly guessed the bird’s name – Rags. A second bottle of tablets carried the prescription of a doctor who catered to humans, and this one was filled with sleeping pills. He read the pharmacist’s date, then shook the bottle out in his hand and counted the tablets.
All there.
For the past month, Bitty Smyth had not required a sleep aid. Or had she been afraid to sleep?
The bolt on the bedroom door was a great sturdy thing, thick as a steel cigar, and it had the shiny look of a recent installation. The woman was certainly afraid of something or someone.
Detective Riker wondered if Miss Winter knew how many mistakes she had made tonight. He decided that a few of those errors must have occurred to her, for their suspicion was mutual as they stared at one another across the kitchen table.
He smiled. And she smiled.
„Well, ma’am – “
„Call me Nedda.“
„Unusual name.“ And unforgettable to Riker. His younger brother was called Ned. But Nedda was not the name that most people would know this woman by, not even those old enough to remember the lurid tabloid stories. Though given names were often passed down through generations of a family, he was certain of her identity now, and he planned to bludgeon her with it later on.
„Maybe we can straighten out some of these loose ends,“ said Riker. „Then we’ll just pack up and get out of your life.“
Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.
He flipped through the pages of a small notebook, as if he might need this reminder. „You had a break-in last week. And, tonight, we find a body in your house – after another break-in. Now the ice pick next to the body – looks like he brought it with him.“
„But I shouldn’t jump to that conclusion?“
More pages flipped by. „Lucky guess.“ He looked up at her smiling face. „Did I mention that the guy on your rug was charged with three counts of murder? Now what are the odds that we wrap up three homicides and a break-in with minimal paperwork? You see, we almost never get this kind of happy ending. But we ‘d be willing to buy it if the guy brought that ice pick into your house. Now here’s the problem. It looks expensive. The trim is real silver.“
„Doesn’t really go with his ensemble, does it? The torn, sweaty T-shirt and all.“
„Where’s your ice pick, Nedda? We checked the wet bar in the front room. No luck. Maybe you keep it in the kitchen?“
„No idea, Detective. I rarely drink hard liquor.“
„So you wouldn’t know if that was his ice pick or yours?“
„It’s a mystery.“ She placed an ashtray on the table as an invitation for Riker to pull out the pack of cigarettes that he had been longing for all night.
Remembering his manners, he first offered the pack to the lady. „You smoke?“
She surprised him by accepting one, then bending down to his match flame. In answer to his question, she inhaled deeply and blew a perfect smoke ring. Riker found her entirely too cool for a woman with a houseful of police and a dead body on her living-room floor. He finished his iced tea, then casually perused the written statement that Nedda Winter had signed for the West Side detectives. „Ma’am? Does anybody else live in this house? I don’t see anything here about – “
„Yes. There’s my sister. Her name is Cleo Winter-Smyth.“
Riker’s pen hovered over his open notebook. „Is she one of those hyphenated people?“
„I’m afraid so. My brother, Lionel, lives here, too. But tonight they’re both at the summer house in the Hamptons.“
„Why don’t we give ‘em a call and ask where the ice pick is?“
„You could leave a message on their machine. They never pick up the phone out there. They have privacy issues.“
Riker turned toward the sound of heavy footsteps from the hallway. He was surprised to see the head of Forensics making a personal appearance. Heller, a great bear of a man, hovered in the doorway. A baby-faced technician stood by his side, and this was a new face. A trainee? The chief crime-scene investigator had always taken great pride in the hands-on training of his crews. This might explain his presence here tonight. The man owed none of the detectives any favors that would warrant turning out for a penny-ante burglary gone wrong.