Widow’s Walk

CHAPTER TWO

I was in the office of the Homicide Commander.

“If she did it,” I said, “wouldn’t she work up a better alibi?”

“You met her?” Quirk said.

“Not yet.”

“When you do, don’t let her do brain surgery.”

“Not smart?”

“Not even close,” Quirk said.

“Maybe the alibi is elegant in its simplicity,” I said.

“I know,” Quirk said. “We thought about that. A lot of cases you got some rocket scientist who has six witnesses say that he was a hundred miles away, which gives you a place to start. All you got to do is poke a hole in one witness and the whole thing collapses.”

“You can’t disprove her alibi.”

“Nope.”

“And it occurs to a seasoned investigator like myself that only an innocent person would have an alibi that sucked this bad.”

“Seasoned investigator,” Quirk said.

“So maybe she’s smarter than we think she is.”

“Even if she were much smarter than we think she is…”

“She’s not capable of trickery?”

“Talk to her,” Quirk said. “And get back to me.”

“You don’t think it’s a double fake,” I said.

“She’s dumber than my dick,” Quirk said.

“That dumb?” I said.

“But better-looking,” Quirk said.

“Anything you don’t like about the case?” I said.

“I’d like to find the murder weapon. I’d like to tie her to it. I’d like to put her in the room when he died.”

“And you’d like to have a video of her pulling the trigger.”

“Yeah.”

“That aside,” I said, “anything that doesn’t seem right to you?”

Quirk was a big strong healthy-looking guy, one of the two or three toughest people I’d ever met. He was also one of the most orderly. There was nothing in his office that didn’t need to be there, and what was there was neatly arranged. The only thing on the desk was a plastic cube that displayed his wife and children and the family dog.

“Other than the lousy alibi? No.”

“There were powder burns on his hands,” I said.

“Sure. He shot himself then got rid of the gun so we wouldn’t catch him.”

“Maybe somebody wanted to cover up the suicide.”

“Sure. Or maybe Dr. Kevorkian stopped by.”

“Just a thought.”

“Somebody points a gun at you,” Quirk said, “close range, you put your hands up in front of your face like to protect yourself.”

Quirk raised his hands.

“Guy pulls the trigger,” he said. “You get powder residue on your hands.”

“Good point,” I said. “But wouldn’t it be on the palms, where if he shot himself it would be on the back?”

“And if he shot himself it would be mostly on the gun hand,” Quirk said.

“Yes.”

“He had powder residue on both hands, mostly on the palms.”

“I hate when you’re right,” I said.

“I’m used to it,” Quirk said. “She did it. Go talk to her.”

“You know anything I don’t know?”

“A lot,” Quirk said, “but not about this case.”

“You think they’ll convict her?”

“In a heartbeat,” Quirk said. “Jury will hate her.”

“That’s pretty much what Rita said.”

“Fiore?”

“Yes.”

“Used to be a prosecutor in Norfolk County,” Quirk said.

“She’s with Cone Oakes now,” I said.

“Good-looking broad,” Quirk said.

“Yes.”

“Good ass.”

“You noticed.”

“I’m a seasoned investigator,” Quirk said. “Isn’t she the one that’s hot for you?”

“I hope so,” I said.