Show of Evil

Twenty-two

Vail snatched up the car phone and punched out a number. Paul Rainey's smooth voice answered. 'Paul Rainey speaking.'

'It's Vail. Where is he, Paul?' Vail demanded.

'I, uh… I can't, uh…' Rainey stammered.

'You can't put your finger on him, right? Like you couldn't put your finger on him last night.'

'It's no big deal, Marty, he doesn't know there's paper out on him. Probably fishing or hunting. He's been through a lot.'

'So has his wife.' Vail snapped back. 'You're acting pretty damn cavalier for a guy with a murder-one warrant in his pocket and a client on the run.'

'He's not on the run, damn it!'

'You accepted service, Paul. I'm putting out an APB on him.'

'Another four hours, Marty. I'll have him there by noon.'

'Four hours for what, a tutor session? What's it going to be? He was sexually abused by his mother and took it out on his wife, or he was afraid she was going to cut off his dick because he was running around with Poppy Palmer? The Menendez or the Bobbitt defence?'

'Damn you!'

'Get off it, Paul, don't pull that indignant shit on me, I've known you too long. We're going to find him. And Poppy Palmer while we're at it. And the deal's off. He's going to get the needle. Goodbye.'

Vail hung up. He looked at St Claire and Stenner. 'Darby turned rabbit, I can tell. I could hear Rainey sweating over the phone.'

St Claire rubbed his hands together very slowly, stared out the window for a few seconds.

'I want a search warrant for the entire farm,' Stenner said, keeping his eyes on the road. 'We've checked airlines, buses, car rentals, trains. Nothing so far on the stripper.'

'You think he off'd her, don'cha?' asked St Claire. When Stenner nodded grimly, he said, 'Well, it ain't like he's not up to the task.'

'And he thinks he's off the hook,' Stenner said.

'Unless Rainey's got 'im in tow, maybe working' up a new yarn to get by the shot sequence.'

Vail shook his head. 'No, I don't think Rainey's up to anything. He accepted service of the warrant. If he hides Darby, he could be disbarred. The case isn't worth it to him. He's got to be thinking we have more than just the tape and he knows Darby hasn't a sou to his name. You two better get started as soon as you drop me at the airport.'

'Yeah.' St Claire snickered. 'It's almost eight-thirty. Day's half over.'

He was totally bald with a tattoo of a lizard down the middle of his skull, its tongue arched down his forehead. The sleeves of a Hawaiian shirt were rolled up tightly against his machine-tooled biceps, from which other tattoos formed a tapestry of daggers, names, and pierced hearts down to his wrists. His trousers were belted by a braided leather thong tied in a sailor's knot just below his belly button. In place of a toothpick, he had a ten-penny nail tucked in one corner of his mouth while a silver tooth gleamed from the other side. He was checking the stock behind the bar.

At ten in the morning, the bar smelled of stale cigarette smoke, old sweat, and spilled beer. A sliver of sunlight slanted through the front door, revealing an unswept floor littered with cigarette butts, wadded-up paper napkins, and dirt. Stenner held up his ID.

'I'm Major Stenner, Chicago DA's office. This is Lieutenant St Claire.'

'Major. Lieutenant. A lotta weight fer two guys,' the bartender answered with a lopsided grin.

'Is the manager around?'

'Lookin' at him. Mike Targis.'

He held out a melon-sized fist and shook hands as if he was trying to inflict pain on the two cops.

'Yer lookin' fer Poppy, I told you people all I know. She split day before yesterday, didn't even come by, called it in.'

'What time was this?'

'I dunno, lessee… One, maybe, one-fifteen.'

'She have any money coming?'

'Yeah. Three days, three bills.'

'She sneezed off three C's, she was in that big a hurry?'

Targis shrugged. 'Easy come…'

'Does she have a car?' Stenner asked.

'Whaddya think? She pulls down three, four K a month in tips, plus a hundred a day salary. She's my big attraction, gents. A red mustang ragtop, last year's model.'

'Know the tag number?'

Targis gave St Claire a sucker look. 'No, and I don't know the engine number either.'

'Know where she lives?'

'Sure. Fairway Apartments, over near the golf course. Straight down 84 two miles. Can't miss it. This is about the Darby thing, right?'

'Do you know anything about it?' Stenner asked.

'Only what I read in the papers, if you can believe that.'

'You don't?'

'What, that Calamity Jane-Wild Bill Hickok shootout?

Shit.'

'That's just a guess, right?'

'Oh, yeah, man.'

'Did Poppy talk about it at all?'

'You kiddin'?' He leaned across the bar and lowered his voice even though they were the only people in the room. 'She was scared shitless.'

'Of what?'

'Everything. The cops. You guys. Big Jim.'

'That's what you called Darby, Big Jim?'

'That's what Poppy called him. Everybody else picked up on it. A guy leaves a dollar tip after drinkin' for four hours? Big Jim, my ass. But who can figger women, y'know? Poppy's smart, got a figger'd give a statue a stiff, looks like Michelle… What's her name?'

'Pfeiffer?' said Stenner.

'No, the other one. Used to be a canary.'

'Phillips,' St Claire said.

Targis jabbed a forefinger at him. 'That's the one.'

'Did she ever mention this sister of hers before?' Stenner asked.

'Uh, maybe once'r twice.'

'So you didn't get the idea they were real close?'

'I didn't get any idea at all. I don't give a shit about her sister. I got enough trouble with my own family.'

'Thanks, Mr Targis,' Stenner said, handing him a card. 'If you think of something, give us a call.'

'Is she on the lam or sompin'?'

'We just want to talk to her.'

'I thought you already did.'

'We forgot a coupla things. She happens to call in, give her that name and number, okay?'

'She ain't gonna call in. I been in this business almost twenty years, I know a goodbye call when I hear one and that call from her was definitely a goodbye call.'

'Maybe she'll call about the three hundred you owe her.'

He shook his head as he took out a towel, held it under the spigot, then twisted it damp and started cleaning the bar.

'It mattered, she'd a come by and got it. Had to drive right past the front door on her way to the interstate.'

'That's what she told you, she was driving out to Texarkana?'

'Didn't say. I just figgered she drove down to O'Hare.'

'Thanks.'

'Sure. Come back later and have a drink. On the house.'

'Thanks, Mike, you're a real gent.'

On the way out the door, St Claire said, 'Targis is an ex-con.'

'How do you know?'

'He's about ten years behind in his vernacular. Besides, I know everything. I even know who Michelle Phillips is.'

'Mamas and the Papas,' Stenner said, opening the car door. St Claire stared at him with disbelief. 'I wasn't always fifty, Harve.' They got in the car and headed back to Darby's farm to see how the search was going.

The chopper swerved off the main highway and swept down over the town of Daisyland. From the air, it was a modest village surrounded by old Victorian houses hidden among oak and elm trees. As the chopper headed north of town, the residential area became sparse and then quite suddenly the trees ended and the Stevenson Mental Health Institute appeared below them, a group of incompatible though pleasant-looking buildings separated from the town by tall, thick hedges and the brick wall that surrounded the place. Two new wings adjoined the older, rambling main structure of the hospital. Together they formed a quadrangle. Vail could see people moving about, like aphids on a large green leaf. Vail remembered one of the structures from his visits a decade earlier - a three-storey building with a peaked atrium, its slanted sides constructed of large glass squares. Maximum security - Stampler's home for the past ten years.

Down below, in one of the buildings facing the quadrangle, a man watched the chopper chunk-chunk-chunk overhead. He was pleasant-looking, verging on handsome, and husky, his body tooled and hardened in the workout room, and he was dressed in the khaki pants and dark blue shirt of a guard. He had intense blue eyes with blondish hair trimmed just above the ears, was clean shaven, and smelled of bay rum aftershave lotion. There was just the trace of a smile on his full lips. He stood with his arms bent at the elbows, his fists under his chin, his fingers intertwined except for the two forefingers that formed a triangle that pressed against his mouth. His attention was pure, focused intently on the chopper. He watched it veer off and disappear beyond the trees. Finally he said, in a voice just above a whisper:

'Welcome, Mr Vail.'

And his smile broadened.

'You say something, Ray?' a voice said from the hall.

'No, Ralph, just hummin' to myself,' he answered. His voice was like silk. He sat down at the worktable and went back to work.

As the chopper fluttered down on a large practice football field near the institution, a black, four-door Cadillac pulled down the service road and parked. The chopper settled lightly on the ground, its blade churning up dust devils that swirled around it.

'You could land on eggs, Sidney,' Vail said, flipping off his safety belt and opening the door.

'You say that every time,' the pilot answered.

The driver of the sedan was a trim man in his late thirties with an easy smile. He wore khaki pants and a dark blue shirt and did not look like a guard, which it turned out he was.

'I'm Tony,' he said, opening the rear door. I'm here to run you over to the Daisy.'

'The Daisy? They call it the Daisy?'

'Yeah,' Tony answered, holding the door for him. 'Daisyland wasn't stupid enough.'

Vail slid in and Tony slammed the door. The drive took five minutes. As they approached the sprawling complex, the large iron gates rolled back and Tony drove through and headed up a gravel road bordered on either side by knee-high winter shrubs. Vail felt vaguely uncomfortable. Perhaps subconsciously, he thought, he was afraid they would keep him there. Or, more likely, he did not look forward to seeing the unfortunate patients locked away from the world in the place cruelly known as the Daisy.

For Shana Parver, the objective of the deposition was to get as much information on the record as possible, enabling her to stand tough on a plea bargain. She was certain that Stoddard would never go to court and Venable would be manoeuvring to get in the best position for a deal. She was partly right.

Jane Venable had to defend a client who did not want to be defended and manoeuvre into position for the best plea bargain she could get. Venable had to, at the very least, convince Edith Stoddard to let her continue to whittle away at and weaken Parver's case. Getting Stoddard to recant the confession was a big step. Now, hopefully, she could prevent Stoddard from incriminating herself during the Q and A with Parver.

They had a few minutes together before Shana Parver arrived. Edith Stoddard was brought to the interrogation room in the annex by a female guard who stood outside the door. Stoddard looked wan, almost grey, her mouth turned down at the corners, her eyes deeply circled. She was wearing a formless blue dress without a belt and white, low-cut tennis shoes. Her hair was haphazardly combed. Wisps of grey and black dangled from the sides and back.

'How are you this morning?' Venable asked.

I'm not sure,' was Stoddard's faint, enigmatic answer.

'This won't take long,' said Venable. 'Just a formality.'

'When is it going to be over? When are you going to make whatever deal you're going to make?'

'This is part of it, Edith. I'd like to make a good, solid showing here today. It will help when we discuss your plea.'

Stoddard shook her head in a helpless gesture.

'She's going to go big on the gun, Edith. I'm not going to ask you where you lost it or even if you lost it. When she asks about it - about losing the gun, I mean - be vague. Also she's going to bear down on where you were the night Delaney was killed. Just remember, the less Shana Parver knows, the better.'

'Why can't you just tell her… why can't you do whatever it is you want to do? What do you call it?'

'Plea bargain.'

'Just do it today. Get it over with, please.'

'Please trust me. Let me set things up right.'

'I just want it to end.'

'I understand that, Edith, but let me do my job, too. Okay?'

Stoddard's shoulders sagged. She took several deep breaths.

'Good,' Venable said. 'You'll do just fine.'

Shana Parver, dressed in a teal silk pant suit, her black hair cascading down her shoulders, arrived a few minutes later with a stenographer, a tall, slender, pleasant-looking woman from the courthouse named Chorine Hempstead. There were pleasant 'Good mornings' and offers of coffee from Hempstead, which everyone but Edith Stoddard gratefully accepted. She sat beside Jane Venable and across the table from Parver, her hands folded in front of her. She reminded Parver of a frightened bird.

Parver dropped a bulging shoulder bag on the floor, opened her briefcase, and took out a legal pad, a sheaf of notes, several pencils, and a small Sony tape recorder, all of which she placed on the table. Hempstead brought back the cups of coffee and sat at the end of the table with a shorthand tablet and waited.

'Are we ready?' Shana asked pleasantly, arranging in front of her her notes and those taken by Shock Johnson the day Stoddard had suddenly blurted out that she killed John Delaney.

'Let's get on with it,' Venable said tersely.

'For the record,' Parver began, 'I would like to state that this is a formal interrogation of Mrs Edith Stoddard, who is charged with first-degree murder in the death of Mr John Farrell-Delaney on February 10, 1994, in the city of Chicago. I am Shana Parver, representing the district attorney of Cook County. Also attending are Ms Jane Venable, representing Mrs Stoddard, and Chorine Hempstead, a clerk of the Cook County Court, who will transcribe this meeting. This interrogation is being conducted in the courthouse annex, 9 A.M., February 16, 1994. Mrs Stoddard, do you have any objection to our tape-recording this meeting?'

Stoddard looked at Jane Venable.

'No objection,' Venable said.

'Good. Please state your full name for the record.'

'Edith Hobbs Stoddard.'

'Are you married?'

'Yes.'

'What is your husband's name?'

'Charles. Charles Stoddard.'

'How long have you been married?'

'Twenty-six years.'

'And where do you live?'

'At 1856 Magnolia.'

'Do you have any children?'

'I have a daughter, Angelica.'

'How old is she?'

'Twenty-one.'

'Does she live at home?'

'She goes to the university. She lives in a dorm there, but she has a room at the house.'

'Is that the University of Chicago or the University of Illinois?'

'Chicago. She's a junior.'

'And you support her?'

'She has a small scholarship. It covers part of her tuition and her books and lab fees, but I - we - pay for her room and board and other necessities.'

'How much does that run a month?'

'Five hundred dollars. We give her five hundred a month.'

'And you have a full-time nurse for your husband?'

'Not a nurse. We have a housekeeper who attends to Charley, cooks meals, keeps the place clean.'

'Do you have separate bedrooms, Mrs Stoddard?'

'What's that got to do with anything?' Venable asked.

'A formality,' Parver answered casually.

'We have adjoining bedrooms,' Stoddard answered wearily. 'I keep the door cracked at night in case he needs something.'

'You work at Delaney Enterprises on Ashland, is that correct?'

'I did,' Stoddard said with a touch of ire.

'And how long does - did - it take to get to work every day?'

'Thirty minutes or so. Depends on the traffic.'

'You drive then?'

'Yes.'

'How long did you work for Mr Delaney?'

'Seventeen years.'

'And you were his personal secretary?'

'Executive secretary was my title,' she said proudly.

'And how long did you hold that position?'

'Nine years.'

'In that position, did you have occasion or occasions to go to Mr Delaney's apartment in the Lofts Apartments on Astor Street?'

'Yes.'

'Frequently?'

'Yes. He liked to work there, away from the bustle of the office. I frequently took files, letters to sign, or took dictation over there.'

'And did you have a key to that apartment?'

Venable started to object to the question, then thought better of it and kept quiet.

'Yes.'

'Where is that key now?'

'I, uh, it's on my keyring with my other keys.'

'And where are they?'

'The police took them when they arrested me.'

'So the police have the key now?'

'Yes.'

'Now, Mrs Stoddard, I want to ask you about the gun. You do own a gun, do you not?'

'Yes.'

'What calibre?'

'It's a .38.'

'Make?'

'Smith and Weston.'

'You mean Smith and Wesson?'

'I guess. Yes.'

'Where did you acquire this gun?'

'The Sergeant York gun store on Wabash.'

'Do you recall when you purchased it?'

'It was about a month ago. I don't remember the exact day.'

'How much did you pay for the gun in question?'

'One hundred and thirty-five dollars.'

'Why did you buy a gun?'

'For protection.'

'Did you carry this gun with you all the time?'

Pause. 'Yes.'

'You seem uncertain, Mrs Stoddard.'

'I was. I was trying to remember if I ever left it home. I don't think I did.'

'Where did you carry it?'

'I just told you, everywhere.'

'No, I mean, where did you keep the gun when you were carrying it?'

'In my handbag.'

'And when you were at the office?'

'In my middle desk drawer on the left side. I locked it.'

'And at night?'

'Under my mattress.'

'In your bedroom?'

'Yes.'

'Where is this weapon now?'

'I, uh, lost it.'

'How? I mean, if you kept it in your handbag and you locked it in the desk drawer and you kept it under the mattress at home, how did you manage to lose it? Is there a possibility that somebody stole the gun from your drawer at work?'

'I don't think… Maybe.'

'So what happened to the gun?'

'I guess maybe… it must have fallen out of my bag.'

'Was this after you shot Delaney?'

'Objection. Come on, Counsellor, there's been no admission -'

'We have Mrs Stoddard's confession -'

'Which she has recanted, as you well know. It was given under duress, she was emotionally disturbed at the time…'

'Did you lose the gun after Delaney was killed, Mrs Stoddard?' Parver said, cutting off Venable's objection.

'I still don't like the question. I would prefer that you ask her when she lost it.'

'All right, Mrs Stoddard, when did you lose the gun in question?'

'I'm not sure. I first noticed it when I got home from work Thursday night.'

'That was the night Delaney was killed, was it not?' Parver looked at the Venable and raised an eyebrow.

'Yes,' Mrs Stoddard said.

'Now, Mrs Stoddard, did you know anything about guns when you purchased this Smith and Wesson .38?'

'No.'

'Did you take lessons?'

'Yes, that's right, I took lessons.'

'To become proficient in its use, right?'

'Yes.'

'And where did you take these lessons?'

'On Pershing Street, the Shooting Club.'

'How proficient did you become, Mrs Stoddard?'

'That's a relative question, Counsellor. Would you rephrase, please?'

'Relative to what?' Parver demanded.

'Mrs Stoddard has already stated that she knew nothing about guns. She has no point of reference for a comparison.'

'Mrs Stoddard, did you stop taking lessons?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'The instructor told me I was good enough.'

'Everything, right? Loading, cleaning it, shooting?'

'Yes.'

'And you became good enough to discontinue the lessons, is that a fair statement?'

'I guess so.'

'Did the instructor agree that you didn't need any further lessons?'

'Yes.'

'And you purchased bullets for this weapon?'

'Yes.'

'Do you know how many bullets you bought?'

'Two boxes.'

'How many bullets in a box?'

'Fifty.'

'And did you keep your gun loaded?'

'Yes.'

'How many shells did it hold?'

'Six.'

'And where do you keep the remaining shells?'

'On a shelf in my bedroom closet.'

'Is that closet locked?'

'No. Why would I—'

Venable gently laid her hand over Stoddard's and shook her head, but Parver chose to ignore the comment. She opened her briefcase and took out a grey piece of paper that was folded over twice. She opened it up and laid it on the table in front of Stoddard.

'Mrs Stoddard, this is a target we obtained from the Shooting Club. You left it behind the last day you were there and they saved it. They assumed you would be back in from time to time to practice and they thought you might like to keep it.'

Venable looked down at the target, which was the customary black human silhouette on white background normally used in target ranges. There were six bullet holes, all tightly grouped in the area of the heart.

'Do you recognize the target, Mrs Stoddard?'

'That could be anyone's target, Counsellor,' Venable snapped. 'All targets look alike.'

'They don't all have your client's name and the date written on the bottom,' said Parver. She pointed to the two lines scribbled in one corner. 'They did this to identify it for her.'

'Then I guess it's mine,' Stoddard said.

'That's from twenty-five yards, Mrs Stoddard. You're pretty good.'

Edith Stoddard didn't answer immediately. Finally she shrugged. 'Most of the people at the range are that good.'

'What kind of bag do you carry, Mrs Stoddard?'

'It's a Louis Vuitton. Just a standard handbag.'

'That's the one about eight inches long and four or five inches deep, right?' Parver said, measuring out the general dimensions in the air with her hands.

'I guess.'

'And what do you normally carry in it?'

'What's the relevance of this?' Venable asked.

'Bear with me, please,' Parver said without changing her tone. She reached down to the floor and put her bulky leather bag on the desk. It was jammed with stuff. 'This is my bag, Mrs Stoddard,' Parver said, and laughed. 'As you can see, I've got everything in here but a set of the Encyclopedia Britannica.'

Edith Stoddard's face softened slightly and a smile flirted briefly with her lips. 'Was your bag jam-packed like mine?'

Stoddard chuckled. 'I can't imagine having that much to carry in a handbag.'

'So your bag was fairly neat and uncluttered, would that be a fair assessment?'

'Yes. My wallet, chequebook, keys, Kleenex. Sometimes a paperback, if I was reading one. I sometimes read while eating lunch.'

'Mrs Stoddard, do you have any idea how much your gun weighed?' Parver said, checking through her notes.

'No.'

Parver hesitated a moment, then turned a page. 'One pound six ounces loaded,' she said. 'Enough to be noticeable when you were carrying it in that small, uncluttered handbag, wouldn't you agree?'

'I… suppose so,' Stoddard said cautiously.

'What I mean is, this gun was for your protection, isn't that what you said?'

'Yes.'

'So wouldn't it be natural to be aware of the weight, know it was there in case of trouble?'

'Objection. She carried the gun for three weeks. More than enough time to become accustomed to the weight.'

'Uh-huh. Now, Mrs Stoddard, you say you put the gun in your desk drawer and locked it. Can you recall for me the last time you specifically remember putting the gun in that drawer?'

'Come on, Counsellor, she was upset, distressed over...'

'Mrs Stoddard, when were you informed you were being retired?' Parver said, cutting off Venable.

'On Thursday.'

'You had no idea before that?'

'There was nothing official.'

'I didn't ask you that. Did you have any indication, prior to Thursday morning when Delaney replaced you, that you would be leaving?'

'There were rumours. There are always rumours.'

'And when did you first hear these rumours?'

'You know how rumours are, you don't remember when you hear a thing. I don't even remember who said it.'

'Had this been going on for a while? The rumours, I mean?'

'She just told you, Counsellor, she doesn't know when they started,' Venable said. 'I'm going to intercede here. You're dealing in hearsay. Also it's immaterial - '

'On the contrary, Ms Venable, it's quite material. Some of the other employees say it's been fairly common knowledge - that Delaney was planning to replace Edith, I mean - since just after Christmas. That's two months.'

'I am advising my client not to answer any more questions related to what she may or may not have heard or when she may or may not have heard it or who she may or may not have heard it from. She's already told you, she heard it from Delaney last Thursday morning. That's when it became a fact of life for her.'

'Mrs Stoddard, on Thursday morning when Delaney told you he was replacing you, what was your immediate reaction?'

'I was, uh, I was shocked and, uh, I guess angry…upset, confused…'

'Confused?'

'I wanted to know why. All he said, all he ever said was, "Edith, it's time for a change." My whole life was… Everything was turned topsy-turvy in just a few minutes because it was… it was time for a change. Yes, I was upset and confused and angry. I was all those things!'

'When was the last time you saw Delaney?'

'He told me I would be paid for two weeks and I could have until Friday to clean out my things. I think the last time was when he left for lunch Thursday.'

'The day he was killed?'

'Yes.'

'And Friday was to be your last day?'

'Yes. I guess he thought my replacement could learn the job over the weekend and be ready to start Monday morning.' She stopped for a moment and looked down at her hands, folded on the table in front of her. 'Sorry, that was sarcastic of me. I'm sure she had been working with Mr Delaney for weeks, maybe months.'

'So now tell me, when was the last time you specifically remember locking the gun in your desk drawer?'

'I guess it was Wednesday.'

'So Thursday you kept the gun in your bag, is that it?'

'Objection. She has already stated that she doesn't remember. She's guessing it was Wednesday.'

'So you don't remember whether you had the gun Thursday or not?'

'That's what she said, Counsellor.'

'I just want to clarify, as closely as possible, when she lost the weapon.'

'It was Thursday,' Stoddard said suddenly. 'I remember putting it in my bag Thursday when I left the house. I'm just hazy about what I did with it after that. It was a very upsetting day. People coming up, telling me they were sorry. That kind of thing.'

'So let's recap for a minute. You bought the gun, took lessons, became proficient in its use' - Parver tapped the target lying on the table - 'and carried it in your bag for protection. At the office you locked it in your desk drawer and at night you kept it under your mattress. The last time you remember seeing the gun was when you put it in your bag Thursday when you left for work. Then you got to the office and Delaney called you in and retired you. And you don't remember anything about the gun or its whereabouts after that. Is that correct?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Now let's get to Thursday. Tell me in your own words what you did that day and evening - up until you went to bed that night.'

'After Mr Delaney told me, gave me the news, I went outside. There's a little picnic area behind the building. People eat lunch there, go outside to smoke, you know, a nice little place to take a break. And I sat outside for a while. I don't know how long. I think… I may have… I guess I cried. It was such a shock, finally realizing it was true, and I was trying to get my wits together - '

'Excuse me, Mrs Stoddard, I'm sorry to interrupt, but you just said, 'It was such a shock, finally realizing it was true.' So you were aware of the rumours, weren't you?'

'Objection,' Venable said sternly, 'that's a conclusion on your part.'

Parver's voice remained calm. 'Not my conclusion, Counsellor. She has admitted she heard the rumours - '

'She hasn't admitted a damn thing!'

Parver turned back to Edith Stoddard. 'You had been hearing these rumours, had you not?'

'Don't answer that,' Venable snapped.

'!…!…' Stoddard stammered. 'All right,'

Parver said softly, 'we'll move on. You were saying you were trying to get your wits together?'

Stoddard, rattled, began dry-washing her hands. She licked her lips and said weakly: 'Yes, uh, trying to, you know, I have a full-time housekeeper for Charley during the day and my daughter is going to the university and she lives at the school and, uh, I was… I don't know how long I sat out there. Some of the people came out and talked to me, told me they were sorry. Finally I just couldn't take it any longer, so I went back upstairs and got a box and started getting my things together. One of the women, Mr Delaney asked one of the women to sit there, you know, when I gathered up my things, I guess so I wouldn't… wouldn't steal anything. I really didn't keep many personal things in the desk, anyway.'

'Did you have anything in that middle desk drawer on the left? The one you kept locked?'

'No, there were mainly backup disks from the computer and some confidential files of Mr Delaney's.'

'But you did check it?'

'Yes.'

'Was the gun in the drawer when you checked it?'

'I, uh…'

'We've been over this,' Venable said. 'She said she doesn't remember where the gun was.'

'I realize that. But she was getting her personal things together and she checked that drawer, and certainly if the gun was in there she would have removed it since it was a personal item. Isn't that true, Mrs Stoddard?'

'She says she doesn't remember!'

'Can she answer the question, please? Mrs Stoddard, did you take anything out of the drawer of a personal nature?'

'She… doesn't… remember,' Venable snapped.

'Well, what did you remove from the desk?'

'Some make-up. A Montblanc pen that was a Christmas gift. Uh, uh, some photographs of my family. A dictionary. I can't…'

Stoddard looked helplessly at Venable and started to shake her head. Her hands were trembling. Venable could see she was losing it, beginning to fall apart.

'Can we move on, Shana?' said Venable. 'What she took from the desk is really immaterial. She was obviously distraught…'

Parver leaned back and turned off the tape recorder. 'Would you like to take a break?' she asked.

'I want to get this over with,' Edith Stoddard said in almost a whisper.

Parver pressed the record button again.

'I left the office early. At lunchtime. And I drove around a while. I drove into the city, to Grant Park, and sat by the fountain for the longest time.'

'Was that the Great Lakes Fountain?'

'Buckingham.'

'So you sat by Buckingham Fountain and just cleared your mind?'

'Tried to. I just stared out at the lake.'

'Where did you park?'

'The indoor parking deck by the art institute.'

'Is it possible someone could've broken into your car while you were over by the fountain?'

'Nobody broke into my car. It was locked and nobody broke into it.'

'How long were you in the park?'

'I don't know. I got cold and left after a while. An hour, maybe.'

'Then what?'

'I went over to the gift shop at the art institute and bought Angel a shoulder bag.'

'Angel, that's what you call your daughter?'

She nodded. 'It was one of those canvas bags to carry her books in. I remembered that hers was… it was pretty worn and she had mentioned she needed a new one and I went into the institute to get warm and I remembered that, so I went to the gift shop and bought it. Twelve dollars.'

'It cost twelve dollars?'

'Uh-huh. And at four o'clock I went to the lab on Ellis Street - Angel has lab on Thursdays - and waited for her and we went across the street to the bookstore and had coffee and I gave her the canvas bag, and, uh… and then I, uh… I told her what happened and she was… she was so very… upset.'

Stoddard's voice broke and she stared down at her lap.

Parver snapped off the recorder again, reached into her over-stuffed bag, and slid a box of Kleenex across the table to her.

'Thank you.'

She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose and then straightened her back and nodded. Parver started the recording machine.

'You see, she has this scholarship, but it's not enough to… She studies very hard, A average, and maybe she'd have to get a job and she got furious over that, so we left and I took her back to the house. She cried all the way home. It was very traumatic. So sad. She didn't want to see any of her friends. So I suggested that she spend the night at home.'

'She has her own room?'

'Yes. I didn't tell my husband that night. He had a rather bad day and… Oh, what was the use? Why make the day worse for him? Our day lady had already fed him. We weren't hungry. He had already dozed off. So I took Alice up to the bus stop about five-thirty…'

'Alice is the housekeeper?'

'Yes. Alice Hightower. Been with us since the accident. And I went home. Angel had cried herself to sleep on her bed and I decided not to disturb her, so I went down to the living room and fixed myself a drink and turned on the TV, but I left the sound off. I was exhausted, too. And I guess I dozed off.'

'What time was this?' She shrugged. 'Six or so. It was dark.'

'And what time did you wake up?'

'I guess it was, I don't know, I didn't really notice, maybe ten, ten-thirty. Diane Sawyer was on the TV when I turned it off. I went upstairs and woke Angelica up and told her to get undressed and then I went to bed.'

'So between, say, six and ten or ten-thirty, Charley was asleep in his room and Angelica was asleep in her room and you were asleep in the living room. Is that correct?'

Edith Stoddard nodded.

'And nobody saw you?'

'No.'

'Nobody called? You know, to tell you they were sorry about your leaving?'

'No.'

'Nobody called Angelica?'

'No.'

Parver looked at Jane Venable, but she was busy taking notes on a yellow legal pad and did not look up.

'So your husband and your daughter can't account for your whereabouts during that period of time - between six and ten-thirty, I mean?'

Stoddard looked at her and her face clouded up. 'Leave them out of this,' she said, her voice suddenly becoming strident and stern. 'They don't know anything, don't drag them through the mud!' She glared at Venable, her eyes watery, her lips trembling. 'I told you - ' she began, but Venable quickly cut her off.

'All right,' Venable said. 'That's enough for today. I'm advising my client to end this right now.'

'I have a few more - ' Venable slapped her hand on the table and the sharp smack startled both Parver and Stoddard. 'I said enough!' Venable said. 'She told you about the gun and she told you where she was that night. That's all we've got to say for now.'

'I just have one more question,' Parver insisted, looking back at her notes.

'Make it quick and to the point,' Venable said edgily.

'When did you first hear that Delaney was dead?'

Parver asked softly.

Stoddard looked at her for several seconds, then said, 'I heard it on the radio on my way to the office.'

Bang! Parver's strategy had paid off. She turned to Shock Johnson's notes.

'I'd like to read something from Lieutenant Johnson's report of his first meeting with you at Delaney Enterprises last Friday, Mrs Stoddard, and I'm quoting, "Mrs Stoddard, Delaney's executive secretary, was obviously very upset over the death of Delaney and was dressed in black and had a mourning ribbon on her sleeve." Unquote.

'If you had just heard about Delaney's death on the way to your office, Mrs Stoddard, why were you already dressed in mourning clothes?'