„But his weapon,“ said Mallory, „the ice pick – that’s jours. Don’t waste my time making me prove it.“
Click, click, click, click.
„I never said it wasn’t mine.“ She shook a cigarette loose from the pack. „I only said I couldn’t identify it.“ And now she searched her pockets for a light. „Maybe he found it here in the house.“
„In the dark? According to your statement, the lights were off. You didn’t turn the lights on until it was all over. How could he find that ice pick in a strange house in the dark?“
Click, click, click, click, click.
„I believe I saw a small flashlight on the floor by the – “
„Yeah, a penlight.“ Riker stepped forward with a lit match for her cigarette. „That was his. We found his fingerprints on the case and the batteries – the dead batteries.“
Mallory leaned forward. „While you’re changing your statement, some advice – don’t fool with the lights, okay? If the lights had been on, he would’ve pulled his knife, and you’d be the dead body on the floor tonight.“ She leaned down to raise one pants leg of the corpse and exposed the long hunting knife in a leather holster strapped to his leg. Now the old woman was taken by surprise, but it passed quickly.
„You see the problem, Miss Winter? Too many weapons. If he had a knife, why would he waste time hunting for a – “
„All right, I lied. After I realized that he was dead – and he had no weapon – well, none that I could see – I put the ice pick in his hand. I thought it might make the police more sympathetic. But it was dark. I was afraid for my life.“
„That’s the only thing you’ve said that I believe.“
„I’m sorry I misled you.“
Mallory looked down at her notes again, as if the next question mattered not at all to her. „Are you sorry enough to take a polygraph exam?“
„Yes, of course, if you wish.“
„That’s good,“ said Riker. „Now explain this.“ He held up a small plastic bag to the light of the chandelier so that she could clearly see the key inside. „We found dirt in the front door lock, and we found this key in the potted plant on the stairs outside. Our boy put it back after he opened the door. Didn’t you wonder why the alarm went off for last week’s burglary, but not tonight’s?“ He nodded toward the corpse. „This guy knew the code to turn off the alarm. You know what that means?“
„We have an endless parade of temporary help. I suppose one of them set us up for a robbery.“
„No, that doesn’t work for me.“ Mallory nudged the corpse with the toe of her running shoe. „Someone wants you dead, Miss Winter. This man was a murderer, not a burglar. He grabbed his victims off the street. Never broke into a house before, and he didn’t break into this one, either. So tell me – who benefits from your death?“
„My death would make no difference to anyone.“
Riker stared at the little woman on the couch. Bitty Smyth had begun to snore. „So maybe your niece is the target. Now that should make you real eager to help us out with this investigation.“
„And if you don’t,“ said Mallory, „we ‘ve got you for tampering with evidence, obstruction of a homicide investigation and making false statements to the police. Does that worry you?“
„My medication causes confusion,“ said Nedda Winter, throwing the young detective’s own words back at her. „And there go your charges.“
„Nice try,“ said Mallory. „But that only tells me you’ve got secrets that’ll get you killed – you or your niece. What about your brother and sister? They were out of town for both break-ins.“
„Nothing odd about that. Lionel and Cleo spend most of their time out of town.“
Mallory left her chair to stand over the unconscious Bitty Smyth. Her long red nails grazed the sleeping woman’s hair. „Does Bitty know secrets, too? Let me put it another way. Would you trust your niece with a secret?“
Nedda Winter rose to stand beside the detective. The cigarette, tightly clutched in her hand, had gone dark and smokeless, and now she broke it in half.
Mallory never took her eyes off Bitty Smyth, her hostage in this interview. „All the doors in this house have old-fashioned locks and keyholes, except for your niece’s bedroom. She’s got a dead bolt and a slide bolt. Your brother and sister are always out of town. Why?“ She looked up at Nedda Winter. „Is your whole family afraid of you?“
Riker stepped forward to deliver the blow that he had been waiting for all night long. „Mind if I call you Red?“
Nedda Winter smiled, perhaps in relief, now that it was finally out. „Red Winter was the title of a painting,“ she said, „my portrait. Once my hair was red, but Red was never my name.“
Bitty Smyth woke in the night, but not in her bed. The windows of the front room were looming rectangles of dull light. There was no other detail to be seen. By touch, she recognized the knitted afghan that always draped the sofa. Her aunt must have covered her with it as she lay sleeping. Bitty pulled it up to her chin, taking a little comfort from this thin protection of wool. And now she played the childhood game of ferreting out the monsters in the shadows.
A dark silhouette passed by one window, the shadow of someone inside the house. She held her breath and heard whispers of a silk robe and slippered feet. It was Aunt Nedda, straight and tall, marching back and forth, an aged sentry pausing at each window to part the drapes and look outside. But the aunt’s form and face were lost in the dark, and so the shadow prevailed on Bitty’s imaginings. Old monsters never died.
Chapter 2
CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER EDWARD SLOPE MIGHT HAVE BEEN taken for a military man as he walked down the hall to his office. He had a stride that bordered on a march, and his face had all the animation of a granite war monument.
The doctor was an early riser. Though he had minions, a small army of them, he was always the first to report for work. He cherished the quiet hours of daybreak, when the dead were content to wait until he had finished the newspaper, and the living would not intrude upon him while his coffee was still hot. If there was a God, then one of the assistant medical examiners could crack open the first corpse of the morning, and he might get caught up on a backlog of files. But first – a little solitude. He unlocked the door to his office with a plan to work on the Times crossword puzzle.
Or not.
Kathy Mallory was asleep in his chair.
Well, this put a lie to Detective Riker’s theory that she slept hanging by her heels like a bat. While her uncivilized eyes were closed, she looked rather like a child napping after a busy tour of duty on a homicide squad – and a bit of illegal trespass. A velvet pouch, holding bright bits of metal, lay open upon his desk blotter.
Poor baby.
Apparently, sleep had overtaken her before she could put her lock picks away.
Oh, surprise number two.
Her eyes snapped open in the mechanical fashion of a doll – or a robot. There was no middle gear of rousing from sleep and dreams. She was simply awake, and this lent credence to his own theory that she had an on-off switch.
„Good morning, Kathy.“
„Mallory,“ she said, reminding him of the rules. She liked the chilly distance of formality.
Well, isn ‘t that just too bad.
He had known her as Kathy since she was ten years old, though she had insisted at the time that she was twelve. His oldest friend, Louis Markowitz, had bargained her down to the more realistic age of eleven so that he could complete the paperwork for her foster care.
Eleven, in a pig’s eye.
But who could discern the true age of a homeless child who was also a gifted liar – and worse. She was the fault in the doctor’s personal myth of himself as an intractable man. Upon the death of her foster father, killed in the line of duty, Edward Slope had tried to fill that void, loving her enough for two, but he was no pushover. And this business of breaking into his office – well, he was not about to let that slide. He reached across the desk to grab her lock picks, planning to use them as a show-and-tell exhibit while he lectured her on -