Winter House (21 page)

Lucky indeed. Nedda jammed both hands into her pockets, not wanting this young woman to see her tremble so.

The detective was looking down at the ice pick resting on the flat of one palm, then the camera in her other hand. She seemed to be weighing one thing against another. „I don’t know who to charge tonight. It’s a real crap-shoot.“

„If you don’t mind a suggestion?“

„Go for it.“

Nedda looked to the shadows where the police and their prisoner had disappeared. „It might be better if you charge
him
– since you cracked his skull.“

„Good point.“ Mallory held up the camera. „You run pretty fast, Miss Winter. Yes, we were watching you from the woods. Nice sprint.“ She held up the camera. „Three more shots left on the roll.“ She pointed through the trees toward a path that was well lit. „I want you to run that way – fast as you can.“

When Nedda hesitated, Mallory said, „Do it. Now!“

And Nedda ran. She stumbled the first time she heard the click behind her. She had been shot with the camera. She looked back over one shoulder to the startling sight of Mallory running behind her and shooting her again.

„That’s good! Now stop!“

Nedda halted on command – like a pet – and turned around to see the detective removing a roll of film from the camera.

„If anyone should ask,“ said Mallory, „my prisoner took those last three pictures.“

„You’re asking me to falsify –

„You’ve got a problem with
that?
Would you rather visit the local station house and explain what you were doing in the woods with a concealed weapon?“ Mallory rested one hand on her hip. It was a gesture of total disbelief. „I see you at the window every night. Always looking out at the park. You’re holding out on me. That man – you were waiting for him to show up. Am I right?“ Mallory held up the ice pick. „You want to talk about this now? No? Then meet me downtown in six hours.“

„What do you want me to do? Make a statement or – “

„You didn’t get my message? You agreed to take a polygraph exam, Miss Winter. I set it up for this morning. Were you planning to back out?“

„No, I’ll be there.“

T
he detectives rode in the back of the patrol car with their unconscious prisoner propped up between them. Mallory was going through the man’s wallet.

„This is trouble,“ she said, holding up a private investigator’s license issued in the state of Maine.

„So now we know he’s got a permit for the gun,“ said Riker. „Damn. Too bad you didn’t shoot him, kid. Fat chance we can keep Nedda out of the papers now.“ He rolled back one of the prisoner’s eyelids and waved his hand back and forth between the man’s eyes and the car’s dome light. „The pupils don’t react. I think you might’ve caught a lucky break. He’s not gonna wake up anytime soon. Maybe never.“

„
Okay,
you
win
!“ Annoyed, Mallory leaned toward the driver. „Cancel the SoHo station. Aim this car at the nearest hospital.“

The prisoner transport swerved off Seventh Avenue and rolled into the emergency entrance for Saint Vincent’s Hospital in Greenwich Village.

Riker, sarcastic alarmist, gave her no credit for knowing how to pull her shots. She had not hit the man all that hard, and he would certainly live. Also, and this was a bonus, a prolonged awakening worked in her favor. She could have the photographs developed before the man regained consciousness.

N
edda parted company with Officer Brill on the stairs outside her front door. She entered the house by herself despite his kind offer to come inside with her. After crossing the room in the dark, aided by memory alone, her hand closed on the banister, and she made the long climb to the second-floor landing with time enough for deep regret to settle in.

Why had she ever gone into the park?

The man with the camera was most likely a reporter, and now irreparable damage had been done. Cleo and Lionel would have to bear the consequence of her little walk in the woods tonight. Very soon, perhaps in the early morning hours, they would be accosted by microphones shoved in their faces, cameras and questions to fend off.

Gone was every hope for reconciliation.

She entered her room and switched on the bedside lamp, then examined the disarray of her clothing. Her leather jacket was scored with the scratches of tree branches, her slacks were ripped open in places, and dirt caked both her shoes. She turned to the only mirror in the room.

What a fright.

Strands of hair had escaped the braid in wild profusion. A branch had sliced into her neck and broken the skin. She touched the wound and her hand came away with drops of blood on it. She removed her jacket, then jumped when the ice pick fell to the floor. Mallory must have covertly slipped it back into her pocket, but why would an officer of the law do such a thing?

Behind her, there was a sudden intake of breath. Realizing that she was no longer alone in this room, she whirled around to see her small niece standing in the open doorway, all eyes and staring at the weapon on the floor – the blood on Nedda’s fingers.

„Oh, God,“ said Bitty, „what have you done?“

The elder woman started at these words – echos – of Uncle James, her first accuser. Bitty was back stepping into the hall, and Nedda bowed her head, so sorry, so utterly destroyed.

riker’s back was broken after five hours of bad dreams on a lumpy couch in the hospital lounge.

A voice close to his ear said, „I know you’re awake.“

Mallory sounded so damned alert, but she was young; she could string three days together with catnaps and never miss the sleep. Well, he might be awake, but she could not force him to open his eyes.

„I talked to the state cops in Maine,“ she said. „They went out to Susan McReedy’s place.“

Riker rolled over and away from her, burrowing into the upholstery.

Mallory’s voice was louder, more testy. „McReedy’s
gone.
The neighbors said she left town doing eighty miles an hour. She’s on the run. I ran her credit cards. No charges. She’s paying cash for her gas.“

Riker mumbled, „Some people still use cash, Mallory.“ Morning light was breaking through the slits of his sore eyes. „Maybe the lady just needed a vacation.“ Life in the boondocks of Maine might be more exciting and stressful than he had previously supposed. He rolled on his back, eyes all the way open now, and decided that – naw – Susan McReedy was on the run. „Damn. So that private dick upstairs is all we got left.“

He was talking to the ceiling. His partner was crossing the lobby, forcing him to rise and lope after her.

N
edda faltered on the stairs as she made her way up to the south attic, where the trunks of the dead were kept – all but Baby Sally’s. The light from the gabled windows was waning. The morning was turning dark and promising rain. She wandered the rows of stored effects until she found her mother’s trunk and opened it. The lid was heavier today.

So tired.

Nedda dropped the opera glasses inside and closed the trunk softly, reverently. She moved on to the neat row of murdered parents and children. One by one, she dragged their trunks to an open space. The sky was rumbling over her head as she arranged them in a circle, and lightning flashed in every window when she sat down, tailor fashion, surrounded by all that remained of her dead.

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!

W
hen 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.“

„
Listen
to me!“ Frustrated, Addison raised himself up on one arm. „She was lost for fifty-eight freaking years!“ He searched one detective’s face and then the other’s, only finding signs of disbelief. „She’s Red Winter. And I wasn’t planning to hurt her last night. I just wanted a photograph, some proof that it was the same woman I found in the nursing home. It was the Bangor Rest Home in Maine. She looks so different now. Six months ago, she was all bloated and yellow. But her eyes – those eyes.“

Riker pulled a small notebook from his coat, then fished the rest of his pockets until he found his pen. „So let me get this straight. You wanted to pass this woman off as Red Winter, and you needed a picture.“ He jotted down a few words. „A photograph you could sell to the tabloids?“ Riker looked up from his notebook. „You’re telling us you’re a con artist?“ He shrugged. „Okay with me, pal. We’ll add that to the charges.“

Riker and Mallory moved away from the bedside, as if they could not leave this man fast enough.

„Hey, wait a minute,“ said Addison. „Wait!“

They did not.

B
itty Smyth hung up the receiver on the kitchen wall phone, then faced her aunt with a smile. „The arrangements are done. I talked to Detective Mallory’s superior, a very nice man – Lieutenant Coffey. It took a bit of negotiating, but I got everything I asked for.“

„How handy to have a lawyer around the house.“ Nedda spooned scrambled eggs from a pan onto oven-heated plates. Behind her on the stove, bacon sizzled and hot water bubbled in the kettle. „You should go back to your father’s firm.“ And perhaps that would assuage her guilt over Bitty’s long sabbatical, all that time lost to the search for a long-lost child.

Her niece shrugged off this suggestion. „I lined up an independent polygraph examiner. Lieutenant Coffey said I wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the room during the examination, but I think I can get him to change his mind.“ Bitty sat down at the table and took up her fork, waving it in the air as a baton. „Good timing is very important in every negotiation. We’ll make a stand right before they – “

„No, Bitty. It’s better if I do this alone.“ Nedda picked up the teakettle before the whistle could startle her niece, then poured boiling water over the tea bags in their cups. „And then, this afternoon we might visit some real estate brokers.“ She sat down at the table and picked up a newspaper opened to listings for co-ops and condominiums. Several advertisements had been circled in blue ink. „I’m going to find a place of my own in – another part of town. I think Cleo and Lionel would like that.“

„But this is
your
house. No, Aunt Nedda. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who upset you. First that scene at the dinner party – and then last night. I’m so sorry. You can’t leave. You
love
this house.“

Yes, she did. But the house did not love anyone – not anymore. The house was sad and crazy and sick to death of love.

„It has nothing to do with you, Bitty.“ Nedda reached out to cover her niece’s small hand with her own. „You can come with me if you like. Call it a stepping stone to a place of your own. You can’t live with your mother forever, can you?“

The expression on Bitty’s face was one of instant sorrow, and Nedda realized that she had trod upon one of her niece’s many closet secrets. Though others seemed to underestimate this little woman’s complexity, Nedda never did. Sometimes even a simple conversation was like navigating a labyrinth with wrong turns aplenty. She had learned to avoid every path of discourse that led to pain, and now she folded the newspaper into her lap and out of Bitty’s sight.

T
he detectives had finished a leisurely breakfast in the hospital cafeteria. and now they were tying up a critical loose end: how to explain away Mallory’s behavior last night, the pistol whipping in Central Park.