She went to the bookshelves, searching.
Last year’s Florida Statutes.
He had brought them home from the office when the new ones arrived.
They would have to do.
She pulled the index volume from the shelf, began leafing through it, found the page she wanted, ran her finger down it:
GUARDIANS AND WARDS…
GUARDS…
GUEST GAMES…
GUIDE MERIDIAN…
GULF COUNTY…
GUNPOWDER…
GUNS…
See: WEAPONS AND FIREARMS
She kept flipping through pages:
MUNICIPALITIES…
PROBATE CODE…
RACING…
SCHOOLS…
SWAMPLANDS…
WILDLIFE…
Oops, too far.
She began leafing backward.
WEIGHTS AND MEASURES…
WEATHER MODIFICATION…
WEAPONS AND FIREARMS
Good.
The index directed her to Chapter 790. She took down the volume marked chapters 561–960. She sat behind Frank’s desk again and turned on the lamp with the green globe. Light spilled onto the tooled-leather top. She opened the book.
At first she thought she might have difficulty.
Subsection 790.05 read: “Whoever shall carry around with him, or have in his manual possession, in any county of this state, any pistol, electric weapon or device, or Winchester rifle or other repeating rifle without having a license…”
Damn it, she would need a license!
“… from the county commissioners of the respective counties of this state shall be guilty of a misdemeanor of the second degree.”
Damn it!
How was that possible?
In the state of Florida?
She continued reading.
And under subsection 790.25 — Lawful ownership, possession, and use of firearms and other weapons — she found:
“EXCEPTIONS — The provisions of ss. 790.05 and 790.06 shall not apply in the following instances and, despite said sections, it shall be lawful for the following persons to own, possess, and lawfully use firearms and other weapons, ammunition, and supplies for lawful purposes…”
Leona held her breath.
Under the long list of persons excepted from the licensing sections, she found at last:
“A person possessing arms at his home or place of business.”
Which she guessed made it legal for just about anybody in the state of Florida to own a gun.
And in case the section had not made its point, it finally concluded with the words:
“CONSTRUCTION — This act shall be liberally construed to carry out the declaration of policy herein and in favor of the constitutional right to keep and bear arms for lawful purposes. This act shall be supplemental and additional to the existing rights to bear arms now guaranteed by law and decision of the courts of Florida, and nothing herein shall impair or diminish any of such rights. This act shall supersede any law, ordinance, or regulation in conflict herewith.”
The hypocrisy of the law astonished Leona.
But it also delighted her.
Because now she knew she could go into a gun shop without a license and buy a perfectly legal lethal weapon.
Sophie Brechtmann was a fat lady with a hearing aid that wasn’t working. She took the button out of her ear, shook it. She shook the battery case. She put the button back in her ear, adjusted the volume control.
“There’s something wrong with it,” she explained to Matthew. “You’ll simply have to speak very loud.”
She must have been a blonde in her youth. There were still the faintest of blond streaks in her otherwise gray hair. She must have been pretty, too. Never beautiful, but perhaps pretty in a gemütlich sort of way. Never slender, but perhaps not as fat as she was now, pleasantly plump perhaps, even zaftig. Perhaps there still resided within this cow of a woman the attractive young girl who had won the heart of Franz Brechtmann more than half a century ago. Perhaps. If so, it was nothing more than a shadow now, or — more accurately — a shade, a ghost. Only the piercing blue eyes seemed youthful. The rest — the corpulent body in the severe black dress, the bloated arms and legs, the pasty, puffed face, the hard line of her mouth — seemed to have been old always.
He searched those eyes.
Helen Abbott’s eyes exactly.
“So,” she said. “What’s this about, Mr. Hope? On the phone, you said I might have information that could help your client. A murder case, you said.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They were sitting in a sun-washed alcove off the larger living room, the room’s French doors open to the beach and the overwhelming view of the Gulf. The day was magnificent. A day for celebration. But Sophie Brechtmann was dressed in the raiments of mourning.
“I must tell you at once,” she said, “that I do not admire men who defend criminals.”
“My client…”
“Especially murderers,” she said.
“I would not have taken the case if I thought my client was guilty,” Matthew said.
“I imagine all criminal lawyers say that,” Sophie said.
“Perhaps they do. I happen to mean it.”
“Perhaps you do,” Sophie said drily. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes to tell me what you didn’t tell me on the phone.”
“We’re trying to find a person my client saw on the morning of the murder.”
“What?”
“A person my client saw…”
“Yes, what about him?”
“He may be the murderer…”
“Unless your client is.”
“No, my client isn’t,” Matthew said gently. “But even if this person isn’t the murderer…”
“What?”
“I said if the person my client saw isn’t the murderer…”
“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Sophie said.
“The possibility exists that he may have witnessed the murder. We would like very much to find…”
“What do I have to do with this?” Sophie said, and looked at her watch. “You’ve got twelve minutes. And speak up, you’re fading. My horn’s on the fritz, I told you that.”
“I thought I was shouting,” Matthew said.
“What?”
“I said I thought I was shouting!”
“Yes, well, you are,” Sophie said.
“Mrs. Brechtmann,” he said, “tell me about your granddaughter and her friends.”
“Oh, I see,” Sophie said, and shook her head. “The little bitch has surfaced again, is that it?”
“Are we talking about…?”
“We’re talking about Helen Abbott,” Sophie said. “What the hell does she have to do with your client?”
“Mrs. Brechtmann, two of your granddaughter’s friends were…”
“I have no granddaughter,” Sophie said.
Matthew looked at her.
“Helen Abbott told me…”
“Helen Abbott is a liar and a fortune hunter,” Sophie said. “And so is her father.”
“Her father’s in the hospital,” Matthew said. “Did you know that?”