Fallen Gods

Fifty

Bob Skinner had often wondered exactly what a soccer mom was. As he looked at Alice Bierhoff across her comfortable, well-furnished living room, he began to understand. She was a classically pretty woman, and had an outdoor look about her, well scrubbed and with an all-embracing enthusiasm shining from her eyes, and a smile permanently on her face.

There were pictures of her son Byron all over the room, in various stages of growth, from infancy to twelve; understanding moved a step closer for Skinner when he saw that the most recent showed him in his football kit… as is true of most Scots, soccer was an alien term to him. There were no photographs of Mr. Bierhoff. They must have been removed, Bob guessed, after the stockbroker shocked the neighbourhood by moving in with a cheerleader from a college basketball team.

Eddie Brady was still seething quietly at his presence, but Dekker had stood firm. Skinner had been included on the interview, with Brady and Sergeant Madigan; he had been introduced simply as a colleague from another agency. Bizarrely, Alice Bierhoff's bland nod and smile at the description had made the image of Johnny Rotten flash before his eyes, as he looked at her, the chorus of the Sex Pistols' "Pretty Vacant' ran through his brain.

He stood by the window as she served tea to the two Erie detectives. He had declined; he had drunk enough American tea in his time.

"So you're chief of detectives, Mr. Brady?" Alice twinkled as she sat opposite them. "I guess I'm honoured. What can I do for you?"

Brady sipped his tea, and gave a short, spluttering cough. "Sergeant Madigan and I," he began, when he had recovered, 'would like to go over a couple of points in the statement you gave our colleagues, after Mr. Neidholm's death."

"His murder, you mean?" she exclaimed.

"I suppose, although technically we haven't yet ruled out suicide."

"Ron?" she exclaimed. "Kill himself? You have to be kidding."

"Like I said, it's a theoretical possibility, that's all."

"I should think so, "Alice chuckled. "But what about my deposition?

It was all true, every word of it. I saw Sarah Grace and Ron necking at his front door, and later when I drove past I saw her through his window. She was smiling, like in a, you know, contented… to be polite… way, and she was putting on her bra, although she didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry about it."

"You must have driven past pretty slowly," said Madigan, with an apparently amiable smile.

Mrs. Bierhoff missed the point. "I always do. I never exceed the speed limit in the neighbourhood… or anywhere, for that matter," she added hurriedly. "But of course, having seen what I saw earlier, I was naturally curious when I drove back."

"Are you sure Dr. Grace didn't see you?" asked Brady.

"Absolutely. From the look on her face she was only seeing one thing.

Poor Ron," she sighed, a finger going to her eyelashes, wiping away a non-existent tear. "He was a bit of a legend at school and at college, you know. All the girls were jealous of Sarah, when she landed him, and we were so surprised when she dumped him."

"Are they still jealous?" asked Madigan.

"We've all moved on since then," said Alice, in a tone that was almost matronly. "It's Sarah's husband I feel sorry for, having been in the same position myself. I was out of town when it happened, but I heard about him collapsing at the funeral. Next thing, almost as soon as the poor man's recovered and gone back to his job in Scotland, she's making whoopee with her old boyfriend. The poor man." She paused, and gasped, as a thought came to her. "Hey, you don't think it could have been him killed Ron, do you?"

I wish, thought Skinner, by the window.

"Absolutely not," said Brady. "Chief Skinner was in Scotland when it happened. To get back to your deposition, Mrs. Bierhoff," he continued, hurriedly, 'we'd like to add to it by asking you who you might have told about what you saw?"

"But that was in my statement. I told Babs Walker; I mean I felt that I had to. She's Sarah's best friend, and always has been. I thought that she might be able to talk some sense into her, or at least, to tell her to be more discreet. When you get down to it, I suppose, you can hardly blame her. Ron is such a stud, and Sarah's husband's quite a bit older than she is, but still… poor man."

Watching Brady, Skinner could see that the back of his neck had gone red. "I suppose Babs maybe told Ian," Alice went on, 'although that might have been awkward."

"Why?" asked Madigan.

"Because he was there before Ron of course," she said. "Ian and Sarah were close all through school, and then when they got to college … before he ever took up with Babs, of course… they got even closer, as close as you can get in fact. Sarah left Ian for Ron. He put a brave face on it at the time, but I could tell the poor boy was hurting. So maybe it wouldn't have been the kindest thing for Babs to tell him they were back together again."

Skinner stood, impassive, listening; he wanted to ask the next question, but he knew that he could not let her hear his accent. Even

Alice would make four out of that.

"But apart from Mrs. Walker," Madigan went on. "Did you tell anyone else?"

Alice frowned; the wrinkling of her forehead seemed to age her five years in an instant. "No, I don't think so." She paused. "I told

Mary Maggs, my cleaning lady, but she doesn't know anyone around here, plus she's seventy-one years old. And I told Candy Brew at the library, but Candy's discretion personified. And that's it; honest injun."

Brady nodded, put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. Madigan took the cue and rose also. "In that case," said the chief, 'we won't occupy any more of your time."

"A pleasure," Alice answered, vacuously. She glanced at her watch.

"My, it's almost time for me to go pick up Byron." She showed them to the door, smiling briefly at Skinner on the way out. He gave her a blank, expressionless stare in return. Her eyes flickered uncertainly, but she said nothing, holding the door open for them and waving a quick goodbye as she closed it on them.

"Well?" Bob asked as they walked down the drive to Brady's car.

"Walker? I don't think so for a minute."

"There you go assuming again, Eddie," the Scot snapped. "It's a new line of enquiry. Will you follow it up, or will I?"

"Okay, okay. We'll look at it."

"And what about this Candy Brew? Did Neidholm have any history with her?"

Both detectives laughed. "You can forget that, sir," said Madigan.

"Candy is short for Candrace. He's a guy."