“Hard to say.”
“You serious about her?”
“Serious? Yeah, I guess, whatever ‘serious’ means. I’ll tell you one thing. The sex is seriously good.”
“Is she the reason you finally bought some furniture?”
“Women like furniture. Turns them on. Feathered nests trigger good feelings. The biological imperatives start kicking in. Beds, couches, comfy chairs, cozy rugs—shit like that makes a difference.” He paused. “She’s on her way. Did you know that?”
“On her way here?”
“I passed your invitation along to her. I thought she might’ve called you.”
“No, but I’m glad she’s coming. The more heads on this subject the better.”
Hardwick made a skeptical face—his usual face—stood up from the table and stepped over to the French doors. He gazed out curiously for a while before asking, “Fuck are you up to out there?”
“What do you mean?”
“That pile of lumber.”
Gurney came to the door. There was indeed a pile of lumber that he’d missed on his way into the house. His view had been blocked by the asparagus ferns. For a moment he was at a loss. There were stacks of what appeared to be two-by-fours, four-by-fours, and two-by-sixes.
He took out his phone and entered Madeleine’s number.
Surprisingly, she picked up on the first ring. “Yes?”
“What’s this stuff out back?” Even as he was asking, he realized the answer was obvious and calling her had probably been a mistake.
“Lumber. For the chicken house. I had it delivered this morning. The things you said we’d be using first.”
He started raising his shields. “I didn’t say we’d be using them today.”
“Well, tomorrow, then? Don’t worry about it. If you’re too busy, just point me in the right direction and I’ll get started myself.”
He felt cornered, but he remembered a wise man once saying that feelings aren’t facts. He decided it would be prudent to keep his irritation out of his voice. “Right.”
“That’s it? That’s the reason you called?”
“Right.”
“Okay, see you tonight. I’m on my way into a session.”
He slipped the phone back in his pocket.
Hardwick was watching him with a sadistic grin. “Trouble in paradise?”
“No trouble.”
“Really? You looked like you were going to bite that phone.”
“Madeleine is better at switching focus than I am.”
“You mean she wants you to get involved in something you don’t give a shit about?”
It was a comment, not a question, and like many of Hardwick’s comments, it was rudely true.
“I hear a car,” said Gurney.
“Got to be Esti.”
“You recognize the sound of her Mini?”
“No. But who the hell else would be driving up that crappy little road of yours?”
A minute later, she was at the side door and Gurney was letting her in. She was dressed a lot more conservatively than at Hardwick’s house—in dark slacks, white blouse, and dark blazer, looking like she’d come directly from the job. Her hair had lost some of the sheen it’d had the previous night. She had a manila envelope in her hand.
“You just coming off a shift?” Gurney asked.
“Yep. Midnight to noon. Pretty tiring after all that craziness last night. But I had to fill in for someone who filled in for me two weeks ago. Then I had to get my car inspected. Anyway, here I am.” She followed Gurney into the kitchen, saw Hardwick standing at the table, and gave him a big smile. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey, peaches, how’s things?”
“Good—now that I see you in one piece.” She went to him, kissed him on the cheek, and ran her fingers down his arm, as if to confirm her observation. “You’re really okay, right? There’s nothing you’re not telling me?”
“Babe, I am one hundred percent okay.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She gave him a cute little wink. “So,” she continued, suddenly all business, “I got some answers. You boys interested?”
Gurney gestured toward the dining table. “We can sit there.”
Esti chose the end chair. The two men sat across from each other. She took her notepad out of the envelope. “Simple things first. Yes, according to the autopsy—pretty basic one—Mary Spalter’s injuries could have been intentionally inflicted, but that option was never seriously considered. Falls, even fatal falls, happen enough in geriatric situations that the simplest explanation is usually accepted.”
Hardwick grunted. “So there was no investigation at all?”
“Zero.”
“Time of death?” asked Gurney.
“Estimated between three and five in the afternoon. How does that square with the floral delivery guy on the security video?”
“I’ll double-check,” said Gurney, “but I think he walked into Carol Blissy’s office around three-fifteen. Any ViCAP hits on the MO elements?”
“Nothing yet.”
“No witness reports of floral delivery vans at homicide scenes?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any such reports. It just means they didn’t make it onto ViCAP forms.”
“Right,” said Gurney. “Anything on Fat Gus?”
“Time-of-death window between ten in the morning and one in the afternoon. And, yes, as you said it might, the word ‘larynx’ appears in the autopsy wound descriptions. Death, however, was not caused by the nails that were hammered into his head and neck. He was shot first—a .22 hollow point through the right eye into the brain.”
“Interesting,” said Gurney. “That would suggest that the nails weren’t a form of torture.”
“So what?” said Hardwick. “What’s your point?”
“It supports the idea that the nails were a warning to someone, rather than a way of punishing the victim. The time of death is interesting, too. In the original incident report on Carl’s shooting it gives the time of death as ten-twenty. The location of the Gurikos murder in his home near Utica would make it impossible for the shooter to have killed him at ten, gone through the nailing mess, cleaned himself up, driven to Long Falls, and gotten set up in time to hit Carl at ten-twenty. So it must have happened the other way around—Carl first, then Gus.”
“Assuming only one shooter,” said Hardwick.
“Right. But that’s an assumption we ought to make, at least until there’s evidence of more than one.” He turned to Esti. “Anything yet on Gurikos?”
“My contact at OCTF is looking into it. She wasn’t directly involved, so she has to tiptoe. She doesn’t want to set off alarms that could prompt follow-up queries to the original investigator. Kind of a tricky situation.”
“How about the Spalter MO?”
“That’s different. Klemper never initiated any ViCAP or NCIC searches, because he’d already made his decision about Kay. So I can pursue that more safely.”
“That’s great. And, Jack, you’re chasing after the prosecution witnesses—and whatever you can get from your Interpol friend?”
“Yeah. Nothing yet from Interpol. And none of the witnesses are still at the addresses listed in the case file—which may not be particularly significant, given their basic nature.”
Esti stared at him. “Their basic nature?”
Hardwick’s eyes lit up with the arch look that always got under Gurney’s skin. “Their basic nature is that they lack upstanding qualities. They’re fundamentally scumbags. It’s a known fact that scumbags who lack upstanding qualities often lack permanent addresses. All I’m saying is that having difficulty in locating them does not signify much. But I will persevere. Even scumbags have to be somewhere.” He turned to Gurney. “So how about telling us about your interview with the heiress.”