This was the family.
Following a crack of thunder, rain streaked the glass panes. As Nedda cried, so did the house.
Nestled in her lap was the canvas sack of Baby Sally’s rotted clothes. This child was never far from her thoughts, though she could only see her youngest sister as a newborn with hair of soft down – fingers and toes impossibly small. Nedda called up a memory of solemn children gathered in the kitchen. Old Tully the housekeeper had taken it upon herself to explain this impending death of their baby sister, and she had done it badly, telling them that they were all dying from the moment they were born. „That’s what life’s about,“ said Tully.
Not good enough.
The children, not one philosopher in the pack of them, had demanded a more concrete explanation. Obligingly, the housekeeper had gone out into the yard, captured a slug and returned with it, laying the slimy creature on the kitchen table. „This is death,“ she had said, holding up a heavy mallet used for tenderizing meat. The old woman had brought her weapon down upon the slug and smashed it into a smear on the tabletop. „There,“ said Tully, „it’s gone to live with Jesus.“
Nedda held up a little dress that a four-year-old might wear.
Sally, my Sally.
A child-size wraith in a white nightgown hovered by the attic stairs.
Only Bitty.
Nedda swiped her wet face with the back of one hand, then turned to her niece and braced herself for some new accusation. Bitty was lit by a flash of lightning. Her eyes rolled up toward the rafters, and she stiffened slightly, waiting for the thunderclap.
It never came.
„I’m sorry, Aunt Nedda – about last night. I got a call from Officer Brill this morning. He wanted to know if you were all right. He told me what happened in the park. After everything you’d been through, I made you feel like a criminal.“
„Don’t give it any thought, dear. It was perfectly understandable.“
Bitty pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of her robe. „You had an earlier call last night after supper. I didn’t want to disturb you. I thought you might be sleeping.“ She held out the piece of paper as she walked toward her aunt. „It’s a message from that detective,“ said Bitty, „the tall blond one.“
BANG!
The thunder cracked overhead. Bitty jumped and her hands flew up like wings. The note wafted to the floor.
Nedda reached out to retrieve the fallen paper, already knowing its contents before she unfolded it. This was Detective Mallory’s demand to appear at the police station this morning. She looked up to see that Bitty had recovered nicely from the inclement weather.
„Aunt Nedda?“ Lightning returned to light up her face, her worried eyes. „I’ve never practiced criminal law, but I know it’s always a bad idea to take a polygraph. I don’t think you should do it.“
„Don’t worry, dear. I can deal with this.“
BANG!
When the patient regained consciousness, Mallory was the first thing he saw, and Riker felt sorry for Joshua Addison, a private investigator licensed in the state of Maine.
Mallory leaned over the hospital bed, both hands curling round the metal rail. Such long red fingernails. And Riker saw that old look on her face – hungry – as if she had not been fed for days and days.
Startled, the patient appeared to be playing dead with his eyes wide open. Riker watched the man’s chest, fascinated and wondering how much longer Addison could hold his breath. The private investigator’s survival instinct was slow to kick in, and when he finally sucked in air and tried to raise his arms in a protective reflex, he discovered that his right hand was manacled to the side rail. „What the hell is this? What happened?“
„The way I remember it,“ said Riker, „you were making a move on a woman in the park – when you tripped and fell. Now you’re going down on a pervert charge.“
„That’s ridiculous,“ said Addison. „You can’t – “
„You need a lawyer,“ said Riker, thinking it best to bring up the subject first. The moment their suspect asked for counsel, the interview must end. „Yeah, and make it a damn good lawyer. A pervert charge is – “
„What? You’re crazy!“
„Addison, you were stalking an old woman. And maybe we should add an assault charge.“ Mallory reached out to touch the bandage on the patient’s forehead. Her long nails were dangerously close to the man’s eyes and he flinched as she peeled the bandage back to expose a jagged cut. Though there was no doubt that the wound had come from the broken lightbulb in the basement of Winter House, Mallory said, „We need a picture of this scratch. Looks like the old lady tried to fight him off.“
On cue, Riker pulled a disposable camera from his coat pocket and snapped a close-up photograph with a burst of light in Addison’s eyes.
„You’re both nuts!“ Half blinded by the flash, the private investigator squinted at his accusers. „I never touched that woman.“
Mallory laid three photographs on the bedsheet. Riker knew that these pictures had been taken by his partner, though she had given him the gift of deniability by lying to him. Unlike all the other shots from Addison’s roll of film, these three had Mallory’s center fixation. Nedda Winter’s head was in the precise center of each frame, as if she had been shot through a gun sight. In the first one, the camera was facing the startled woman. In the next one, she was running away. The third shot, a personal favorite, had Nedda, still on the run, looking back over one shoulder – a documented chase.
„We have a lock on this case,“ said Mallory. „These shots came ixomyour camera.“ She laid the private investigator’s license on his pillow. „And you can kiss this good-bye. We’ve got you cold for breaking into that woman’s house.“ She pulled out an evidence bag with Officer Brill’s signature. It contained fragments of glass. „This came from a broken lightbulb in her basement. It’s your blood type, O negative.“
„Ordering a DNA test would be overkill.“ Riker smiled. „Real jail time, pal.“
„An old woman like that,“ said Mallory – as if she had ever been sentimental about old ladies. „You freak.“
„I was working a case.“
„We don’t think so,“ said Riker, more affably. „We like the pervert charge.“
„I was working for a client, and I can prove it,“ said Joshua Addison.
Riker was loving this. Normally it was like pulling teeth to get a client name from a private investigator. „Who’ve you got lined up? Your mother?“ He looked up at his partner. „Let’s book him. I’m tired. I wanna go home.“
„That old woman,“ said Addison, „I think she’s Red Winter.“
Riker feigned mild surprise. „You’re planning an insanity defense?“ He turned to Mallory in the guise of a translator. „Red Winter was a little girl, a kidnap victim. She disappeared maybe thirty years before you were even born.“ He looked down at the man on the bed. „And, last I heard, she’s still lost.“
„No,“ said Addison. „Her house is across the street from the park. She’s back.“
„You’re kidding,“ said Mallory. „That’s your story? You were waiting for her to come home?“
„You know,“ said Riker, leaning on the bedrail as he opined, „this job is definitely losing its edge. The perverts get dumber every year.“
„I was hired by Bitty Smyth,“ said Addison. „At the time, I didn’t know she was Red Winter’s niece. I had to do some checking. But now I – “
„Yeah, right,“ said Mallory. „The niece hired you to stalk her aunt.“
„No, she hired me to find her aunt.“
„This is too confusing,“ said Riker. „The lady wasn’t lost in the park. She just went out for a walk.“