"Winter House" - читать интересную книгу автора (O’Connell Carol)

Chapter 7

WHEN RIKER FOLLOWED HIS PARTNER INTO LIEUTENANT Coffey’s office, the chief medical examiner was waiting for them. The pathologist was not a happy man, and neither was their lieutenant.

Dr. Slope fixed his eye on Mallory, reprimanding her with a cold stare, and Riker had to crack a smile. This was a reminder of her kiddy days when the doctor had suspected her of some new criminal act each time they met. Slope’s worst grievance against her was cheating at poker on those nights when Lou Markowitz had been on midget duty and taken his foster child along to the weekly penny-ante game. By Lou Markowitz’s account, his daughter had regularly cleaned out the doctor’s pockets, and this had set the tone for Slope’s relationship with Mallory down through the years.

„So, Kathy,“ said the doctor, absolutely fearless in this forbidden use of her first name, „what have you done to Charles Butler?“ Predicting her trademark line, I didn’t do it, he gave her no time to answer. „I saw Charles downstairs a few minutes ago. He all but slammed me up against a wall and demanded a prescription for Valium. And so, of course… I thought of you.“

Mallory’s only response was to fold her arms, shutting him out and making it clear that she was not going to play games with him today.

Slope’s expression was more suspicious than usual, and he was puzzled, too, as if he knew he had caught her at something; though, as yet, the doctor could have no idea what her most recent wrongdoing might be. „Nothing to say for yourself, Kathy?“

„Mallory,“ she said, correcting him as she always did, and her eyes were promising payback for breaking this rule.

Did the doctor care? Not at all.

Slope handed an envelope to Riker. „That’s the report on your corpse. Are we still calling him a John Doe burglar?“

„Yeah,“ said the senior detective. „We can’t afford any leaks to the media.“

„I can keep Willy Roy Boyd in paperwork limbo indefinitely,“ said Slope. „But it’s just a matter of time before somebody recognizes the corpse as Mallory’s lady-killer. I examined the wound to his heart. The sewing shears masked everything but the tip of another object, something sharper, narrower. It wouldn’t be inconsistent with an ice pick.“

„And what about the comparisons?“

„To Stick Man?“ The doctor took a bundle of yellowed papers from his medical bag. „Here – your grandfather’s notes. I must compliment him on that signature strike. Superb police work. I also read his summaries on the other autopsies. However, in this case, there was so much damage done by the scissors, there’s no way to find any sign of it on Boyd’s corpse. And nothing stood out in the old autopsy reports on the Winter House Massacre. Of course, with an exhumation, the absence of any chips to the bone would – “

„No way,“ said Jack Coffey. „I’m not spending money to dig up people who died back in the forties.“ He looked up at his senior detective. „I can’t believe you expected a Stick Man signature on Mallory’s perp.“

„I did,“ said Riker, „for about six minutes. But now I think Nedda was – “

„Nedda Winter?“ Slope stared at Riker. „That was the name Charles wanted on the Valium prescription.“ The doctor turned to Mallory with a fresh accusation on his face, though he could not name it – not yet.

Riker wished he could call his words back. So little got by Edward Slope. He could tell that the doctor was putting it all together now: the passage of time, a recent murder in Winter House, the old massacre investigation, an elderly woman he had met downstairs, someone with Mallory’s interrogation footprints all over her face and the doctor’s best guess at that woman’s age – Red Winter’s age.

„Oh, my God. You found her.“

Charles Butler’s mood had improved, perhaps due to drugs. After filling the Valium prescription at the pharmacy, Nedda Winter had insisted upon sharing it with him, rightly suspecting that his morning had been nearly as bad as hers.

He had already begun the work of undoing Mallory’s damage while collecting Nedda’s belongings at Winter House, and now he had provided a safe refuge for the woman so that she could do further mending. And, in part, he supposed that Mallory’s doomsday warning had spooked him. And Nedda, too? It had come as a surprise when she had accepted his offer of sanctuary so readily. He set her suitcase down inside the door of his guest room, and, upon turning around, noticed that his houseguest had been misplaced. He walked down the hallway calling out, „Nedda?“

„In here,“ she said.

He entered the library and found her seated in the circle of new club chairs. She seemed quite at home in this setting, but then, by her account, she had spent most of her life inside of books – a secondhand life she had called it.

„Is this where you do group therapy?“

„No,“ he said, „I’ve never had a patient practice. This is where I play poker.“ Charles sat down beside her and stretched out his long legs. „Now, in this big empty space, try to imagine a gaming table made in 1839.“

„Should I imagine the cards as well?“

„No, I’m not that far gone. I gave away my old card table so I’d have room for one I bought at an auction. The very next day, the antique table was destroyed in a warehouse fire.“

„An antique. You take your poker seriously.“

„And I always lose, but I love the game – and the company. When my friend Louis Markowitz died, I inherited his chair in a floating weekly poker game. Tonight will be the first time it’s ever been canceled.“

„Because of me?“

„Oh, no. I wasn’t the one who canceled the game.“

Nedda smiled. „Well, not to waste these wonderful chairs – if you can’t find the right table, you might open up a private practice. You’re a natural. I’m something of an expert in therapists, and I say you’ve got the gift.“ She looked around at the other chairs, which did indeed resemble a therapy group arrangement. „This was my life for decades, one hospital after another and more doctors than I care to remember.“

„Could’ve fooled me,“ he said. „You don’t strike me as someone who’s been institutionalized. But then, I suppose it makes a difference that you were never insane.“

„As I said, you have the gift.“

And now he picked up the threads of their earlier conversation. „So you believed that you could never go home again. But then you did.“

„Thanks to my niece. But now I think it would’ve been better if I’d never come back.“

„Well, a few criminal intrusions, a violent death – that’s quite a bit of trauma. But that’s not what you meant, is it?“

„No. You’re a good listener, Charles. You can hear things between the words. I meant that it would’ve been better if my brother and sister never had to set eyes on me again. I’m the intruder at Winter House.“

In this unguarded moment, there was more sadness in her eyes than he could bear.

Empathy was his strength and his weakness; it was what suited him to a therapist’s role and what prevented him from ever treating a patient. He would never be able to affect the professional detachment so key to the well-being of a therapist’s own mind. He was already dying by degrees, imagining every shock that Nedda Winter had born, the cost of every death – all the pain that she was feeling now and her terrible sense of isolation. And then he pulled back, emotionally and even physically. He rose from his chair and unconsciously rubbed his hands together, as if in the act of washing them clean of this woman. „Well, what you need now is rest.“

This was what he also told himself – this lie. In reality, he had just shut her down and shut her out. He knew it, and she knew it. Nedda was all alone again.

Mallory sat in the front room of Winter House, sipping coffee and becoming acquainted with Nedda’s siblings. Riker had begged off on this interview, and she had only thought about his possible reasons in every other minute. And now she made her final judgment on her partner: he was losing the stomach for this case – and for her company.

„I don’t understand,“ said Cleo Winter-Smyth. „Why should Nedda be staying at Charles Butler’s house?“

„Was that your doing?“ asked Lionel Winter.

„No.“ Mallory put down the teacup. The time for good manners was fast passing. „It was Dr. Butler’s idea. He didn’t say why. Do you think he might have some reason to believe that Nedda wouldn’t be safe in this house?“

Brother and sister looked to one another for answers.

And now that she had knocked them off balance, Mallory continued, addressing Cleo. „Maybe it was something your daughter said to him? Is she here?“

„She’s not at home,“ said Lionel Winter.

Mallory understood his meaning. His niece was not at home to the police.

The detective pulled out a small notebook. „A few questions came up in our investigation. You had a younger sister who survived the massacre.“ She looked down at the notebook page. There was nothing written there. „Sally? Was that her name? I understand that she ran away from home.“

Cleo wore a frozen smile. „Oh, the dinner party. That’s what set Charles Butler off – all those stories.“ She spoke to Mallory, but would not look at her anymore. „Lionel and I were away at school when Sally left.“

„Yes,“ said the detective, „you’re always away when things happen in this house.“ She studied more blank pages in her notebook, then faced Lionel. „You fired Sally’s nurse shortly before the girl ran away?“

He nodded.

Mallory waited for him to fill in the silence with nervous explanations, but soon realized that this was not going to happen. He was simply tolerating her presence in the house. She went for the soft spot, moving her chair closer to his sister. She leaned toward Cleo Winter-Smyth. „But, ma’am, you said you weren’t here. Are you sure that Sally ran away? Who was looking after her if the nurse – “

„Our guardian.“ Lionel raised his voice. „He was looking after Sally that day. And yes, we’re quite sure that she ran away.“

While sister and brother were silently communing with one another, Mallory caught sight of Bitty Smyth’s reflection in a mirror that angled toward the grand staircase. The tiny woman was gripping the banister and shaking her head. Mallory pressed on with Cleo and Lionel. „So there must’ve been a report filed with Missing Persons. What year was that?“

Brother and sister were having identical reactions, and Mallory knew they were doing the math in their heads. This was the response of teenagers forced by a bartender to recall the date of a fictional birth on a fake driver’s license.

So much pressure counting backward.

Cleo fielded this one. „It was maybe fifty years ago.“ She turned to her brother. „Lionel?“

„Give or take a few years,“ he said. „Our guardian would have filed the report with the police.“

The detective appreciated guile. Prescient Lionel Winter had looked ahead to the next problem. When the police came back to tell him that no missing-person report had been found, then that bit of negligence could be blamed on a dead man, Uncle James.

Mallory added Sally Winter to the body count for Winter House. „That clears up most of my loose ends.“ She produced a yellow pad, the format for a murderer’s confession on a typical day in Special Crimes Unit. „If you could just write out the details and the dates in your own words. Then sign it – both of you.“

She waited out the minutes it took for Lionel’s terse written account of Sally Winter’s disappearance. Glancing at the mirror again, she caught sight of Bitty crouched below the banister rail on the second-floor landing – odd behavior for a lawyer. That little woman should be rushing down the stairs to caution her mother and her uncle against signing anything for the police.

Too late.

Lionel was done committing this small crime, the falsification of a police statement, and both signatures were on the page. Mallory read the carefully printed words. The faint erasure of numbers was barely visible in the margin. He had finally worked out a year that would match up with the dinner party conversation. „There’s something odd about this date. If Sally Winter ran away forty-eight years ago, she would ‘ve been just under ten years old. Now that’s odd. Most runaways are teenagers. I’ve never – “

„Sally might’ve wandered off,“ said Cleo. And she continued on in this classic mistake of explaining too much. „Our uncle wasn’t very good with children.“ The woman looked down at her folded hands, and the tone of her voice was more wistful now. „I had always hoped that some good Samaritan had found Sally – lost, maybe hurt. And maybe – “

Lionel Winter silenced his sister with one look.

„Right,“ said Mallory, not bothering to disguise a tone of disbelief. However, Cleo’s last words had the ring of something true. „Well, I’ll check it out with Missing Persons.“

The detective stood up and walked to the foot of the stairs, pretending to admire a large painting hanging high above her on the second-floor landing. Below it, Bitty Smyth was crouching behind the rail. Startled, the little woman slowly rose to a stand. Though there was an ocean of air between them, with Mallory’s every step forward, Bitty stepped back. In this fashion, the smaller woman was driven to the wall. She edged slowly toward the door of an open room and disappeared. The door closed softly.

How much had the little eavesdropper learned over all the years of growing up in this house? Was this how Bitty knew where to look for Nedda, a woman who had disappeared long before she was born? What other conversations had she overheard this way?

Mallory turned her attention to another large oil painting, as if she had needed this closer inspection of the two young men posed there. Charles Butler had described this portrait of the Winter brothers as a cartoon. She turned to face the curious stares of Cleo and Lionel, and then walked back to them, killing their hopes of a quick end to this interview. „Let’s talk about the day of the massacre.“

Lionel was the first to recover from that little bomb. „There’s no possible relevance to – “

„I’ll decide that. I don’t have much to work with. I can put in a request for the file and the evidence boxes, but the more I dig, the more chance of a leak to the news media. You want the reporters to know that Red Winter came home?“

A suddenly alarmed Cleo reached out to her brother, stopping just short of physical contact. On some level, a silent conversation was going on between them, for now Lionel nodded in agreement with some unvoiced pact, and his sister lost that frightened look in her eyes.

„Of course,“ said Lionel, addressing the detective, „we’ll do whatever we can to avoid publicity. When we were children, we couldn’t go anywhere without reporters chasing us. Once, Cleo was nearly trampled in the street. After that, we were sent away to school, and all our summers were spent in the Hamptons. It was years before my sister could live in this house without nightmares.“

Good.

Mallory was satisfied that, under the threat of headlines, they would not be insulating themselves with a battery of lawyers. „You survived the massacre, so I’m guessing you two weren’t in the house that day.“ She sat down again, crossing her legs, leaning back and making it clear that she had all day long to hurt them. „As I said before, you’re never home – when things happen here.“

Cleo stood up and crossed the room, heading for the stairs and moving in the manner of one who has lost her sight, hands gripping the furniture until she found the banister. She climbed the stairs as slowly as an invalid.

Mallory gripped the arms of her chair, as if preparing to pursue the woman, but this was only a threat of body language.

„Please let her go,“ said Lionel. „My sister was only five years old. She can’t remember the details of that day.“ He looked down at his folded hands. „And I can’t forget them. It was a pure accident that Cleo and I survived. We didn’t plan to be gone that Sunday. I had a fight with my father and stormed out of the house. I’d only walked a few blocks before I realized that little Cleo was following me. She was crying. My father’s temper always had that effect on her. I took her to the park for a Punch and Judy show. You know – the puppets? Then I hired a rowboat, and we drifted around the lake for another hour or so. Neither of us wanted to go home.“

„Were there any outsiders in the house when you left? I don’t mean the nanny or the housekeeper.“

„I suppose it’s possible. Sometimes we’d wake up and find strangers asleep on the couches, people who’d passed out at some party the night before. But I don’t remember seeing anyone else in the house that day. Cleo and I were away for a few hours, two or three.“

„And Nedda? Where was she?“

„She left the house before we did. She went to a brunch with the Smyth family. Sheldon may remember that. He would’ve been twelve years old then. I saw Nedda leave in the Smyths’ car late that morning, and I never saw her again. By the time Cleo and I came back to the house, it was all over. The baby was crying in the upstairs nursery. I remember that.“

He fell silent for a few moments, and Mallory waited him out.

„Cleo ran through the house, shaking all the bodies,“ he said. „She doesn’t remember that – or she doesn’t want to. She came back downstairs crying. She had the baby in her arms. Everyone was asleep, she said, and maybe sick like Mommy and Daddy. Then she tried to wake up our parents. I yelled at her, this tiny little girl. They’re not asleep, I yelled. They’re dead! And then, I just stood there. I couldn’t move. It was Cleo who called the police that day. And then she rocked Sally in her arms until they arrived. The policemen couldn’t get the baby away from her. I remember the officers taking them out the door. I can still see them. Little Cleo, a baby with a baby in her arms.“

„You thought Nedda killed them all, didn’t you?“

This had no startling effect on him, but he did not answer her.

Mallory let herself out.

Though there were lots of chairs around the garden, Riker, a confirmed stoop-sitter, preferred his perch on the back steps of this mansion across the park from Winter House. The trees gave him shade from the sun of high noon. He reached into his deli bag and took out the last of his lunch, another cold bottle, and he handed it to Sheldon Smyth, who claimed to prize the detective’s cheap brand of beer above all the costly wines in his cellar. What bullshit.

Smyth was playing the quintessential gentleman and putting the common man, Riker, at ease. But the old fart did it so well. And now that the day had warmed a bit, the lawyer removed his jacket and tie, following his guest’s example.

So far, Riker had learned that, despite Sheldon Smyth’s profession and a pansy tolerance for beer, they had one thing in common. And now they played another round of I Hate Divorce Lawyers.

„I should’ve tried harder to get custody of Bitty.“ Smyth slurred his words. „Bet it cost you a bundle in child support and alimony.“

„The settlement was staggering.“ Smyth upended the last bottle. „Oh, dear,“ he said, unable to extract another drop. The old man banged on the back door until a woman appeared in a maid’s uniform. He stood up, none too steady on his feet, to pull a wallet from his pocket. Upon opening it, he stared at the money inside, as if currency were a mystery to him. Riker smiled. This man had no idea what beer would cost. Handing a wad of bills to his maid, Smyth sent her out for replacement bottles. The man was under the impression that he had drunk only half the beer in the exhausted carton, never suspecting the detective’s great talent for nursing one drink indefinitely. They were on a first name basis now – Sheldon and Detective.

„Sounds pretty cold,“ said Riker, „the way your ex-wife treated your kid.“

„Bitty’s adopted. I suppose that made a difference. But, at least my daughter didn’t inherit any of the Winter genes. My father disowned me, you know, when I married into that family. Cut me off. No job, no money. I had to live at Winter House for a while.“

„What was your old man’s problem with the Winters?“

„Oh, it dated back to Cleo’s father, Quentin, and his brother, James. Very disreputable, both of them. Neither one was worth anything, financially or otherwise. They broke their trust fund after their parents died. Spent all the money, and so fast. This is my father’s account, you understand. Winter House was in foreclosure when the younger brother, James, left town with a slew of debts. The older boy, Quentin, was a dilettante who fancied himself a great artist.“

The word dilettante had to be repeated twice: first because Riker could not understand the man’s beer soaked speech, and the second time because it amused the detective to hear a lawyer stumble this way.

„Quentin solved the money problem by marrying a wealthy woman. That was Nedda’s mother, Edwina.“

As the old man rambled on, Riker learned that Quentin Winter had been livid when he discovered the terms of his late wife’s will. According to Sheldon’s father, Edwina had changed her will once a month, following fights with her husband. In the last version, all the money had been tied up in trust for Nedda and her siblings. Edwina Winter had been pregnant with twins when she died – hence the sibling clause. Within a month of his first wife’s death, Quentin Winter had married his favorite model, Alice, who was already pregnant with Lionel.

„No money,“ said Smyth, „but Alice was a very fertile girl. She produced eight siblings for Nedda. All those children ever meant to Quentin was an increase in his guardian allotments.“

„Bastard,“ said Riker. „So Cleo and Lionel take after their dad?“

„Oh, no, nothing like him. The two of them are moneymaking machines. They’re worth millions, but you’d think they’d spent their childhood as starving orphans. Rather mean-spirited about money.“

„And that’s why you give your daughter an allowance?“

„Yes. Bitty’s not up to working just now, but Cleo and Lionel probably think she’s malingering. Might’ve been more human if they’d inherited something of their father’s spirit in spending. And they’re not exacdy warm people. Poor Bitty.“

„But you knew all the quirks when you married into that family, right?“

„And I didn’t care. If you’d only seen Cleo when she was young – what a beauty. What put me off was the way she treated Bitty from the moment I brought that baby into the house. Not a maternal bone in my ex-wife’s body. The only thing that stirs Cleo is a rise in the stock market.“

„What about Quentin’s brother, James Winter? What did he do for money?“

„No idea. I only know that he never did an honest day’s work in his life. That’s what my father said. He liked to gamble, but the man had no real profession.“

Riker had begun to wonder if Sheldon was truly as drunk as he seemed. Was the man sharing or feeding information? Even lawyers stoned on cocaine were not so generous with the dark side of client histories.

„Did the police ever suspect James in the massacre?“ The detective already knew the answer to this one, but he was hoping to catch this man in a lie.

„The police cleared James almost immediately. He had nothing to gain from the murders. Since the trust fund was entailed to a charity, he could never inherit. And James was doing quite well in those days. He lived in a suite at the Plaza Hotel.“

„But you said Lionel caught him stealing from the trust.“

„Yes. I assume, in later years, James had a reversal of fortune. The theft only amounted to housekeeping money, fudging the figures and so on. Nothing major.“

„When did James Winter leave town?“

„I think it was the year Lionel turned twenty-one. Yes, the boy was preparing to take over the trust allotments when he noticed a few irregularities. That’s when his uncle James ran off. Probably wanted to avoid prosecution.“

Riker smiled to hide his deep disappointment. So James Winter was still alive years after Humboldt had been stabbed to death in a little town in Maine. A pity. Uncle James had been such a great candidate for a hitman, lots of cash but no visible means of support.

Their fresh beer had arrived via the maid at the back door. And when Smyth had finished two more bottles, Riker decided to take his best shot – before the attorney passed out. „I hate to bring this up, sir, but my partner still wants to see the trust documents. You think – “

„I told you – or was it your partner? No matter. No documents without a warrant.“

„But you’re the executor. The city attorney says that you can – “

„Can, but won’t. Matter of principle.“

Riker well understood the problem. „So it wouldn’t look good for the firm.“

„Damn right it wouldn’t,“ said Smyth. „For over a hundred years, we’ve been known for absolute discretion.“

And yet, the detective had just completed a tutorial on the Winter family faults.

„Okay,“ said Riker. „You got my word on this. We won’t tell anybody that your dad mismanaged the Winter children’s trust fund.“

The expression on Sheldon Smyth’s face could only be read as guilty surprise, and, in the absence of hot denial, Riker knew he was on to something.

„Hey, I’m a homicide cop. What do I care who diddled what? And the statute of limitations is on your side. But you don’t want a gang of cops at the door. I understand. You want discretion? You got it. How’s this. You like Charles Butler, don’t you? You trust him, right? Instead of us getting a warrant to haul everything downtown, suppose we look over the documents at his place, neutral ground?“

However drunken the man might be, when he smiled, the lucid face of the lawyer made a brief appearance, just popping out long enough to say, „If you could talk a judge into giving you that warrant, you’d have it by now. No deal.“

Sheldon Smyth’s eyes were closing, and Riker left him sitting there amid the litter of empty bottles, one more thing for the maid to clean up.

The quick rap on his door was somewhat annoying, but hardly loud enough to wake his houseguest. Charles opened the New York Times. The rap went on.

Most irritating.

He crushed his newspaper. Even if he had not recognized the impatient knock, almost a signature, he would have known it was Mallory.

Rap, rap, rap.

He glanced at his watch to see that she had allowed him a generous two hours to ply intimate secrets from Nedda, perhaps believing – so insulting – that he would never see through the ruse. Given time for reflection, he had come to understand his true role at the polygraph examination. Riker had as good as confessed, admitting that Charles would have been Mallory’s guest if Bitty Smyth had not insisted on his presence.

Rap, rap. Bang!

Eventually, she would go away. She had keys to the offices across the hall, but none to his apartment. Though now he heard the sound of metal on metal.

Oh, fool I.

When had she ever been deterred by the lack of keys?

His intruder was so stealthy, he never heard the door open. Mallory simply appeared at the end of the foyer. Her own surprise was fleeting – there, then gone. He rose from the couch, startled and speechless. Her preemptive strikes could be dazzling. He was stunned that Mallory was the first one to strike a pose of outrage and indignation. Oh, the very idea that she should have to break into his apartment when he was just sitting there all the while. All of this was in her face, deliberately written there for him to read.

Chief Medical Examiner Edward Slope spent his lunch hour on a tree-lined street in suburban Brooklyn, conversing on the freak warmth of October, and lifting his face to the sun. Yes, he agreed with Rabbi David Kaplan that every day of Indian summer was a gift. They both turned their attention to the mystery crate at the center of Robin Duffy’s garage, while they waited for this charter member of the floating weekly poker game to join them.

„One more time, David.“ The doctor regarded the crate with grave suspicion. „It was dropped off the back of an unmarked truck in the dead of night… but you don’t think Kathy stole it?“

The rabbi shook his head. „No, and neither do you.“

In Edward Slope’s opinion, the rabbi was too gentle to see the worst in others. He also believed that this gentle man regularly beat him at cards by sheer luck and not by the cunning of a born poker player. And, in truth, neither did the doctor believe that Kathy Mallory had stolen the crate, but she might delight in this accusation.

Perverse brat.

And if the truth were fully told, Edward Slope, her principal detractor, loved her unconditionally.

A screen door slammed, and they turned to see a short bulldog of a man walking toward them and grinning widely. „It’s all settled,“ he said. „Charles thinks the game was canceled.“

Edward Slope was still grappling with the concept of a surprise poker game. He faced the open garage, his eyes passing over all the discarded hobbies of Robin Duffy’s experiment in retirement from his legal practice. What a failure. The walls were lined with tools for home improvements, a half-finished canoe from the boat-building class and the potted remains of a dead herb garden.

Kathy Mallory was another one who did not deal well with drastic life changes. She had grown up in this neighborhood and lived across the street with her foster parents. The old house had burned down, leaving a messy hole in her landscape until another house had been raised on the same footprint of land. Every fourth week of the poker-game rotation, Edward had remarked on the progress of the builders, and, now that it was done, he could not claim to be shocked.

In the early stages of construction, he had recognized something familiar in the raw timbers, the bones of the house. The completed structure was exactly the same in every maniacal detail. This week, the shrubbery had been added, evergreens shaped the way Helen Markowitz had always pruned them. The young tree recently planted in the yard was different, of course – or was it? No, that tree was the same size when Kathy was a little girl. He recalled the night when Louis had come home with a birthday present for Helen, a genuine baby felon caught in the act of robbing a car. What a surprise. And the following week Edward had helped Louis to dig a hole and put a sapling into that same ground. This had long been the custom of the Markowitz family, planting a tree when a child was born – or snatched off the street during the commission of a felony.

Robin stood beside him now, admiring Kathy’s handiwork, as if what she had done was a normal thing. „The mailbox is the original. She saved it from the ashes.“

„What about… inside the house?“

„Just a few things,“ said Robin, „but the kid’s still working on it. Took her months to find Helen’s wallpaper pattern. The company went out of business, but she tracked down some rolls to a hardware store in Montana. The furniture’s a problem, too – all family heirlooms. Some of it dated back to the twenties. What a perfectionist, huh? Every piece has to be exactly the same. So she goes to estate sales on her days off.“ He glanced back at the crate in his garage. „That’s how she knew where to find the table.“ Robin entered the garage and selected a crowbar from the tools on the wall. „She says we can uncrate it to fit it through Charles’s door, but we can’t unwrap it yet. I think she’s afraid we’ll ding up the wood.“

Edward Slope had lost all interest in the surprise poker game. He continued to stare at the house across the street. He tried to imagine Kathy in there, restoring the furnishings of the dead to make her ghosts feel more at home. Or was it an act of pure defiance – creating this illusion that death had never come to her house? Either way, it was quite mad, but also tender, and this argued well for a human heart.

„Confidential?“ Mallory was outraged – genuinely this time – as Charles dragged her by the arm, and they moved inexorably down the hall to the elevator. „You don’t have patients!“ she yelled. „No practice!

You can’t claim protected status!“

„Yes, I can.“ Unperturbed, he pushed the button to bring the elevator.

He was so calm, as if forcibly dragging women around were an everyday thing with him. He would not release her arm while he waited for the elevator doors to open. „Nedda’s my patient,“ he said. „Anything she tells me is in confidence.“

„You’re making this up,“ said Mallory. „You don’t treat people. That’s not your line of work.“

„It is today.“ His head lifted to watch the lights of the elevator. „I think it might be my true calling. Who knows?“

„No, it’s just a stunt. You’re holding out on me – obstructing justice.“

„Well, that’s too bad.“

Something had gone very wrong with her day. Charles was turning against her, and Nedda Winter was responsible for this. Yes, it was Nedda’s fault, and he would see that once she had time to explain, to make up some new lie that he could believe in.

Mallory’s anger shut down, as if a switch had been thrown, a circuit closed. Charles’s hand was lightly covering hers, enclosing it in warmth. His grip tightened as he pulled her into the elevator with him, and she did not mind this. Human contact, flesh to flesh, was so rare in her life. She did nothing to encourage it, but when it came her way, her eyes closed to the slits of a purring cat. The elevator hummed with mechanical clicks and whirrs – her own song of the machine.

And the doors opened too soon.

He pulled her along toward the street door, maybe heading for a quiet cafe down the block. They would talk, and he – „Next time you drop by the office,“ he said, „you might give me a call first. I can’t have you running into my patient in the hallway.“ He let go of her hand, opened the door and put her out in the street – like a cat.

The door slammed.

She looked upward at the sky, and her lips parted with nothing to say. A car pulled up behind her and Riker derailed her thoughts of abandonment.

„Hey, Mallory!“

She turned to see a police cruiser with a uniform behind the wheel and her partner at the rear window, grinning, saying, „It’s a raid, kid. You wanna come?“ He opened the door in invitation, then waved a folded sheet of paper. „I got a warrant for the Winter family trust – all the documents we can carry.“

Behind the cruiser were a police van and two more vehicles driven by uniforms. The cherry lights were all spinning, engines revving up to tell her that it was time to take this road show uptown; they had lawyers to menace, files to pillage, a mess to make, real carnage – what a party.

Nedda was standing at the stove, adjusting the gas flame, when Charles walked into the kitchen, lured there by the aroma of Colombian coffee.

„You know,“ he said, „you and I might be the only people in town who know how to brew coffee in a percolator.“

„I’ve never made it any other way.“

And with those words, this woman, thirty years his senior, had won his heart. He had not lied to Mallory. Nedda would be his patient, and every fear of subsequent damage to himself was put aside. She had inspired him to be a braver man – a better one. And so he picked up their cups and led her back to the library. Over the next hour, her eyes brimmed with tears, and he felt the anguish. He also took over her sense of isolation, and her great fear of being alone. And when she told him of her plan to find a place of her own, he could not bear the idea. He was drowning in Nedda’s loneliness.

„Tell me how you got that warrant,“ Mallory demanded. „I went to three judges, and they stopped short of spitting on me.“

„You didn’t pick the right one, kid.“ And, fortunately, Riker was not a graduate of the Kathy Mallory Charm School. He turned to watch the cityscape flying by his window, then looked back to see his own personal caravan cutting through traffic and ignoring red lights. „I’ve been saving this judge for a rainy day. He used to be a civil-rights attorney. Loves the poor, hates the rich. God bless his liberal, left-wing ass.“

No, I don’t think so, said the look on her face – smart kid – there had to be more to it than that.

„This judge,“ said Riker, „he’s a real old fart. Should’ve retired years ago. He remembers when this town was turned upside down looking for Red Winter, and he’s been waiting fifty-eight years for the end of that story.“

„You told him who Nedda was?“ Unspoken were the words You idiot.

Riker let this slide, still flush with the win of his warrant. He had pulled off the perfect marriage of Mallory’s love for money motives and his own bone-deep distrust of lawyers.

„Yeah, I told him everything – laid it all out, but don’t worry. This judge hates reporters more than cops. Now go back to the other day at the Harvard Club. You told Sheldon Smyth his daughter’s life was on the line, and he still wouldn’t give you a look at those trust documents. That was cold. Lawyers are almost human when it comes to their kids, but not old Sheldon. So today I got him smashed in his own backyard. Turns out he’s a flyweight drinker. I sort of accused his law firm of embezzlement. Now that should’ve pissed him off, right? But no. Drunk as he is, he says to me, ‘No warrant, no documents.’ And that’s when I know he’s got something to hide.“

Mallory’s eyes rolled up, searching the skies outside her window for winged pigs, flights of angels and other miracles. „And the judge thought that was enough for a warrant?“

„No. Can I finish my story now? So I’m in the judge’s chambers when he phones Sheldon Smyth. Figures it’s just a misunderstanding. Maybe we can settle this without a warrant. Well, the lawyer’s still drunk when he takes the judge’s call. His Honor never gets out a word about the trust fund. Something on Smyth’s end of the phone pissed him off. The judge says to him, ‘Suck your what?’ And that was enough for a warrant.“

„I recommend more rest,“ said Charles. „A nap in the middle of the day is the world’s most underrated pleasure.“

„You’re right. I haven’t had much sleep lately.“ Nedda lifted the pan so he could admire the golden brown texture of her omelet. „And tonight I plan to have it out with Cleo and Lionel.“

„Why the rush?“

„It’s time – long past time.“ She turned off the stove burner and carried her masterpiece to the kitchen table. „And I’ll have a better chance with them if we’re not sharing the same roof.“

Ah, back to her plan for apartment hunting – one of the most stressful activities in New York City. Nedda would fail to thrive in any solitary existence, for profound depression would surely follow such a move.

„Well, fortunately, I own this apartment building.“ He pulled down plates from the cupboard and laid them out on the kitchen table. „And I have a vacant apartment. I think you’d like it here. But take my guest room for a few days. If things work out well with Cleo and Lionel, you may not need a place of your own.“

When they were seated, Charles agreed that, yes, steak sauce was an interesting accent for the omelet. And Nedda asked if he had forgiven Bitty for that little shrine in her bedroom. „My favorite is the shot of your birthday party. You must’ve made quite an impression on her that day.“

„Yes and no,“ said Charles. „Bitty would’ve been ten when that picture was taken. She has obvious issues with self-esteem. So she picked the one person she might approach without fear of ridicule, someone so foolish in her eyes that she could be certain I wouldn’t reject her. Then, so as not to risk this certainty, she never even spoke to me that day. If she had, I would’ve remembered her.“

„Do you mind another theory? You were taller than all the other children in that picture. And even then you had the body of a young god. I think my niece latched onto the idea of you as a protector. And then, on the worst night of her life, you showed up. That must have been quite magical for Bitty. I saw you talking to her. It did her a world of good – your kindness. You were her hero that night. And this morning, you were mine.“

Before therapist and patient could complete this colossal blunder of trading places, Charles picked up his napkin and laid it on the table as his white flag.

Bitty Smyth had retired to her room. Hours had passed by since she had spoken to her aunt on the phone. The cockatiel entertained her by walking about in circles and reciting his entire vocabulary.

Rags only knew one word. „What?“

The bird had learned this from her. She rarely slept through the night, always rising at some point, sitting up in bed to say that word with each sound that roused her from sleep.

She knelt down beside the cage on the floor and filled the bird’s water cup. After pouring him some fresh seed, she realized that she was also hungry. Sensing no one at home anymore, Bitty ventured out to forage for food. She made her way down the stairs, creaking in all the places that made her believe the staircase was always only minutes from falling down.

The front door opened. Bitty grabbed the rail and held it white-knuckle tight.

Oh, it was only the housekeeper with her grocery bags. What was her name? There had been so many of them, none of them lasting for more than a week or so. The new hire tapped in the code to disable the security alarm, then proceeded across the wide front room.

Bitty called down her late lunch order. „And could you bring it upstairs?“

The woman scowled at this with good reason. It was a chore and a half just to climb to the second floor, and she had already made this trip too many times in one day.

Of late, Bitty had developed a backbone, and now she insisted that a meal be delivered to her room. She had no plans to be caught downstairs when her mother and uncle came home.

Retreating to her room, she passed the time with the old family albums retrieved from storage in the north attic. The bird clawed his way up the weave of the bedspread to join her in examining the photographs, tasting the pages and tearing off the corners. Bitty absently stroked the comb of yellow feathers, and Rags’s tiny eyes soon closed in sleep.

The photography had ended the year of the massacre. In the yearly portraits of the Winters and their brood, all the children were gathered on Nedda’s side of the photograph. Cleo clung to her eldest sister, and Lionel played with her hair. The others were seated at Nedda’s feet.

A loud knock on the door awakened the bird with a start. „What?“ Rags flapped his useless wings and dropped off the edge of the bed, hitting the floor with a dull thud. „What?“

Bitty rose to answer the heavy-handed knocking. This could only be the resentful housekeeper with her lunch. Upon opening the door, she was faced with her worst fear for the evening. Her mother pushed past her to enter the room.

„Why is Nedda staying with Dr. Butler? Tell me,“ Cleo demanded. „What happened at that police station?“

„Don’t be difficult,“ said Uncle Lionel, as he also entered into the bedroom uninvited.

„Aunt Nedda thought you didn’t want her here.“

Uncle Lionel was not surprised by this. „Did Neddy say why?“

„No, but she’ll be back around dinnertime.“

„I know that,“ said Lionel, holding up a folded piece of paper. „The housekeeper took a message from her. She asked if we could both stay at home this evening. She wants to talk to us. Do you know what this is about?“

Behind her uncle’s back, the bird was climbing up the lace curtain, his claws leaving holes and tatters in his wake. He gained a perch on the curtain rod, then spread his wings, stepped off into thin air – and dropped like a stone. Bitty watched the stunned creature stumble about in a circle. Lame for decades, old Rags persisted in the idea that he could fly.

Well, this was fun.

Riker counted eight men and women, the partners of this venerable law firm, and they were almost gasping for breath. The air was not so rarified on the lower floor of their holdings. In this nether region, accountants and clerks were caged alongside a storage area for files that dated back a hundred and twenty years. Riker doubted that the attorneys had ever visited this land of the underpaid, though it was only three flights below their penthouse offices.

The firm was obviously a family business, for he could see traces of Sheldon Smyth among the assembled faces, a replicated nose or chin, a pair of snake eyes here and there. Their ages ranged from the twenties to the sixties, and yet they had lined up like children in a fire drill, all eyes on the drill instructor.

His partner had quickly adjusted all of their attitudes, and Mallory had done this without the necessity of shooting one of them as an example to the rest. They listened to her very attentively as she recited the parameters of the warrant. Two of the lawyers seemed on the verge of projectile vomit. Paul Smyth, son of Sheldon, went pale when Mallory said, „The seizure of documents covers every file even remotely connected to the Winter family trust. That includes the firm’s Financials.“ She tossed this last phrase off as an afterthought, leaving them all with the impression that it was true, and she was not expecting any arguments.

Riker held his breath for a moment, then realized that she was going to get away with this. Amazing. These people all held their own copies of exactly the same warrant.

The two detectives watched in silence while the storage room was gutted by uniformed officers carrying cartons, stacking them in the waiting freight elevator and returning for more. Not satisfied with this staggering plunder of hard copy, Mallory slipped her own disc into the firm’s computer, startling the partners anew, saying, „This is federal software. It’s coded to pick up only transactions for the Winter family. Everything else is disregarded as inviolate material.“

Riker knew she was lying, but the eldest lawyer, no doubt left behind by the age of computers, was actually nodding, as if he had heard of this magical, mythical software of hers. The others, perhaps a little more savvy, were hemorrhaging as she copied their entire database. This was a major gamble. Riker knew one elderly judge who would have a heart attack if Mallory’s fairy tale on the financials ever got back to him.

And now Sheldon Smyth had arrived. His white head poked out of an elevator, uncertain of his bearings in this strange new world of badly dressed underlings. The knot of his tie was crooked, and he weaved a bit as he sauntered out, puffing up his chest in a prelude to voicing something lawyerly.

Riker put up one hand to ward off Mallory, then picked up the warrant and flashed it. Faster than he could fire off a bullet, this had the effect of deflating the old man, who bent at the waist and plopped down in the nearest chair.

„It’s all going to come out.“ Mallory’s eyes were cast down to the computer keyboard as she spoke to the old man. „If you want to cut a deal, now’s the time.“ She raised her face and graced Sheldon Smyth with a smile designed to make him wet his pants. „I know what you did.“

It was not the petulant housekeeper, but Bitty’s mother who fetched the tray of food upstairs. „Here, eat something. We’ll discuss your aunt later on.“

Bitty had lost all interest in food, but her mother prodded her and stood over her until the plate was cleaned and the teacup emptied.

„I’m going to call your father. Sheldon will know what to do.“

Before the food could march back up Bitty’s throat, her mother lifted the tray and opened the door. „Lionel? Coming?“

Of course he was. Brother and sister went everywhere together. They were like twins joined by a shared brain. Uncle Lionel walked toward the door, then paused a moment to turn and stare at his niece. It was that look he usually gave to her mother while they were silently communing. He shook his head, unable to read Bitty’s thoughts. No, his niece was from some other planet.

Bitty called it Earth.

Outside the raised window sash, a siren was growing in volume. Rags rushed out of his cage, running across the floor and screaming in concert with the fire engine, believing it to be a giant bird coming to mate with him and bear him away, to change his life and set him free.

Her bird was in love with a big red truck.

The siren faded off down the street. Rags fell silent. He walked back into his cage, tail dragging behind him. He tucked his head under one wing and squatted in a huddle of fluffed feathers. This was a sign of deep depression in Birdworld and Bitty’s world as well. She curled into a ball.