"Kate Thornton - Too Stupid To Live" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thornton Kate)

"Please accept my condolences," he added as I left.

For a second, I thought he was still talking about Corbett Stuyvesant.

Sometime after lunch I got a phone call from someone I didn't know, and a bunch of spring flowers in a fancy vase were delivered to my desk. The card wasn't filled in. As I was trying to figure it out, the unknown caller called back.

"I'm Delwin Streeter," he announced. No bells rang. "I am representing your brother."

"Representing him for what?" I asked. Sometimes people tried to take advantage of the guy.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming over to the Police Station. Your brother has been picked up in a murder investigation. I am a public defender."

"You, uh, didn't send me flowers today, uh, did you?"

There was a short silence on the line. "No."

I hung up, got my purse and went to the police station. My brother was sitting in a holding cell, rocking back and forth in a world of his own. Delwin Streeter looked about fourteen years old and stuck out a sweaty hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

I have to admit, I don't like young public defenders as a rule. Most of them are too young to remember the war that had left my brother a shell of a person, and they don't have the experience that would get him any kind of a good--or even acceptable--deal from the bench.

"So, what's he doing here?" I asked.

"His niece was found murdered and he's a suspect." Delwin was lying to me, the poor kid. Billy wasn't a suspect, he was THE suspect if they had bothered to drag him in. That's how it works, I muttered to myself--the most likely suspect, regardless of hard evidence, gets dragged in and the investigation stops. They must have released Corbett, I thought. I wondered about that.

This was going to make things difficult. I knew Billy couldn't have done it, but he was the sort juries like to convict.

At least Billy was doing okay for now. He had withdrawn into his shell where nothing much could get to him. But he would die in prison.

I sighed. If I wanted anything done, I would have to do it myself. I wanted Billy off the hook, so I was going to have to find an even more likely suspect for the cops. I had so counted on him being in a shelter, or being observed all night by his homeless crony friends. But as there wasn't an alibi, I would have to dig up someone who wanted Dawn dead and also had no alibi.

Corbett Stuyvesant was my first choice, of course. The peevish little man had been indiscreet--no, downright stupid--with Dawn. And he was hot-headed enough to do something that crazy on the spur of the moment. A crime of passion, perhaps. After all, he had tried to kill me.

I phoned him. "Hey, Corbett," I said before he could hang up, "meet me for lunch if you wanna know something interesting. Or meet me in court for assault--your choice." There was a silence broken only by sputtering, which might have just been a bad connection.

Corbett showed up at a seedy lunch counter over on Seventh. He walked in and cased the place like a health inspector looking for flies. Coulda found them there, too, I reflected as he gingerly sat down at a dirty table across from me. My feet were stuck to the filthy floor and the greasy menus promised food poisoning. I grinned. I had chosen the place myself.

"I hate you," he said without preamble. His hands shook with the poorly controlled impulse to grab and choke me.

"I know. Now what's so hot about your alibi that the cops let you go for killing that girl?" I smiled sweetly. Corbett really did hate me. And he was a violent man. It was just a matter of time before he tried to assault me again.

"I didn't kill her! I was home then, my wife can vouch for me!"

"I thought the cops didn't put much stock in that sort of thing," I said calmly. "You know, husbands and wives lie for each other all the time. Although I can't see why your wife would want to protect you when you were messing around with such a sterling rival..."

Corbett looked as if he might explode. "Leave her out of this!" he shouted.

The other diners in the place--both of them homeless and hollow-eyed--ignored Corbett and would probably never remember me. I got up and left Corbett still fuming. I knew what I needed to know.