Kyd of the Poison Nails didn’t appear high at all. Apparently, being suspected in a double homicide was a major buzz kill.
“You can sit there and lie all day long and piss off Detective Coulter here if you want to, Kyd,” Savannah was telling him. “But your sugar momma already gave you up. We just interrogated her in a room down the hall, and she told us the whole thing.”
“Well,” Dirk said, “that’s half true. She told us what you did. She didn’t come clean about how she was involved.”
“She left you holding the bag, Kyd, my man,” Savannah told him. “She’s saying it was your idea from the first.”
“It was not!” Kyd’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head.
Savannah loved it when they looked like a fly that had just been swatted.
“She says it was.” Dirk leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands casually behind his head. “Yes, she’s saying you tried to kill the old lady. You dug the hole with the shovel so that she’d hit it and go off the cliff.”
“Pretty smart,” Savannah added, “wiping off all the prints and then sticking it in Waldo’s shed, so that if anybody got blamed for it, it’d be him. By the way, we’re processing the rock with the peace sign and the hidden key. Did Ada remind you to wipe your prints off those, too?”
“She didn’t tell me … I … never mind.”
Savannah stifled a chuckle. From the moment he had sat down, they had told him nothing but lies. But he was buying it all. It was like shooting catfish in a barrel, only without feeling sorry for the fish.
“She told us you tried to kill her aunt for her,” Dirk said. “She even gave you up for murdering Blanca and Vern. But she said you just killed them for the fun of it, because you’re nothing but a cold-blooded bastard.”
“I am not!” Kyd shot up out of his chair.
Dirk reached across the table, put a big hand on his shoulder, and shoved him back down.
Savannah never ceased to marvel at how, no matter how vicious and cold-blooded certain criminals might be, they never wanted to be thought of as such. Over the years, she had heard the most contrived, totally illogical rationalizations for the most heinous crimes. But those who embraced their flimsy excuses did so with a passion.
Savannah suspected it had something to do with being able to sleep at night and look in a mirror every morning. Even coldblooded bastards had to live with themselves.
Dirk turned to Savannah. “See there? He’s not as bad as you thought. I told you it was all Ada’s idea. I knew she was no-good the moment I laid eyes on her.”
“She’s not!” Kyd agreed, sensing an ally. “She’s the one behind this. It was all her idea!”
“I told you so,” Dirk said to Savannah, a twinkle in his eyes. “I told you she was laying it all on this guy, when it was her who talked him into it. She’s the primary offender here. He’s just a secondary offender at most.”
She nodded solemnly. “And you should remember that when you write up your report, Detective.”
“Oh, I will.” He turned back to Kyd, who was looking much encouraged at his turn of good fortune. “So, Kyd, the only thing left to clear this whole thing up is why she had you throw that boom box in the spa in the first place. You know her better than we do. Help us out here. What would you say was her motive for that?”
Kyd looked right and left, as though expecting a vengeful Ada to appear over one of his shoulders. “I think,” he said, “it was because she thought it was her aunt in the tub with Vern. Helene was always in the tub at that time of night.”
“Ah, that makes perfect sense,” Savannah said.
“It does. Thank you.” Dirk gave him an encouraging, grateful smile. “And if Ada had already planned for you to electrocute her aunt, even before she caught her boyfriend in the tub, too, that would be premeditated murder on Ada’s part.”
“Oh, come on. She’s not that cold,” Savannah said. “She told me that Kyd here decided to do it on the spot.”
“I did not! She was planning that for days, telling me to get an extension cord for the boom box and where to plug it in and how to stand behind those bushes there by the spa so her aunt wouldn’t see me.”
“Then what was Vern, a bonus?” Dirk asked. “She wanted you to do her aunt, but then when she realized her boyfriend was in the tub, too, she figured, what the heck? Kill two birds with one boom box?”
Kyd gave him a suspicious look. “If that’s what she did, would that be better for me, or worse?”
“Oh, much better,” Dirk assured him. “Then she’d be even more of the primary offender, and you’d be like … a tertiary offender. That’s a lot better than a secondary offender.”
“Okay. Then, yeah … that’s what happened.”
Dirk stood, walked over to a file cabinet and opened the top drawer. He took out a yellow legal pad and a pencil. “But,” he said, “for me to be able to make this all a matter of record, you need to get it down on paper. Otherwise, she could still dispute everything you’ve told us and blame it all on you.”
“All right. I will. But you have to show it to her after I write it. I want her to know I was too smart for her.”
“Oh, we’ll show it to her,” Savannah said as she watched him start to scrawl his words across the paper. “We certainly will.”
Half an hour later, much to his surprise, Kyd was behind bars, and his written confession was securely sealed in an evidence envelope … having first been photocopied for Ada’s sake.
Savannah and Dirk were strolling down the hallway, on their way out of the station.
“What the hell,” she said, “is a tertiary offender?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just made it up. Pretty good for your run-of-the-mill blue-collar sorta guy, huh?”
She laughed, shook her head, and laced her arm through his. “Do you ever check to see if your nose is growing?”
“I file it down every morning when I shave.”
When Dirk knocked on Ada Fischer’s apartment door, he used his most officious, San Carmelita Police Department knock. It was the one that could be heard the first time, through every room of any residence. When Dirk used his cop knock, even the neighbors heard.
Savannah couldn’t blame Ada for leaving the security chain on when she answered.
She peeked out of the five-inch opening and looked quite dismayed and annoyed when she saw them.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“Oh, Ada,” Savannah said. “We want you.”
“Are you going to take the word of a drugged-out rock musician with a record over mine?” Ada stood in the middle of her living room, hands on her hips, glaring at Savannah and Dirk.
Even under the strained circumstances, Savannah couldn’t help noticing the formfitting purple leopard jumpsuit she was wearing. Savannah couldn’t recall seeing an outfit like that one for the past twenty years. And she hoped that after today, she’d have another fortunate twenty-year stretch without seeing another one.
It did show off Ada’s nipped and tucked body to perfection though.
Savannah glanced at Dirk and saw that he was staring straight at Ada’s face, his eyes not wavering one bit. She had seen him do that many times and admired his self-control. He would watch a cute bikini priss by on the beach, like any other guy, but when he was on duty, Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter was the consummate professional and refrained from ogling.
“Hey, some of my favorite people are rock musicians,” Savannah told her. “And a lot of them are probably drugged-out half the time. Doesn’t make them liars.”
“We have evidence that this particular rocker is telling the truth about your involvement in those murders,” Dirk told her.
“I don’t even know Emma’s idiot boyfriend. I think I met him once when she brought him to the offices to see Helene.”
“Oh, you’ve met him way more than once,” Dirk said. “I’ll bet there’s a ton of Hell’s Inferno customers who would testify they saw you two s
mooching in there.”
“One little red-haired bartender in particular who’s got her eye on Kyd and is wondering what he sees in you,” Savannah added. “And that reminds me …”
She reached into her purse and pulled out the CD the barkeep had sold her. She held it out to Ada, who reluctantly took it.
“The fifth song on that,” Savannah said, “is ‘Take Five,’ which just happens to be my favorite jazz tune of all time. It’s actually a very nice version of it. That nitwit Kyd is a halfway decent guitarist after all.”
Ada shoved the CD back at her. “What does that have to do with me?”
“You were playing it on your stereo system when I was here the other day,” Savannah said with a smile. “You were playing a song on a CD that you produced, performed by a guy you’ve met maybe once? I don’t think so.”
“People don’t lie to the cops unless they have a reason to,” Dirk told her. “And when they do, it’s usually because they’re guilty of something.”
“I’ve had nothing to do with Kyd or anything illegal that he may have done,” she protested, flipping her hair—and hair extensions—over her shoulder.
“Funny,” Dirk said as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs, “that’s what he said about you … at first … before he gave us a full written confession.”
“I want a lawyer!” Ada said as he clamped the cuffs onto her wrists. “I want to see that damned confession.”
“Then get yourself a lawyer,” Dirk said. “Maybe we’ll let him see the confession.”
Savannah walked along with them to the waiting patrol car in the apartment building’s parking lot and watched as Dirk tucked an unhappy Ada into the backseat.
“He was so quick to sell her out,” he said as they returned to his Buick.
“So much for true love. And once it sinks in on her that we’ve really got her, she’s gonna blame everything on him.”
“Sure makes our job a lot easier.”
“Yeah,” Savannah said, watching the unit drive away with its prisoner glaring at them through the back window. “If people ever start treating each other decent in this world, Lord help us. We’ll actually have to work for a living.”
They looked at each other and in unison said, “Heaven forbid.”
The next morning, when the receptionist at Strauss Doll Works escorted Savannah back to Helene’s office, he was far more polite, even personable.
“I hear that Ms. Fischer was arrested last night,” he whispered as they walked down the hallway, passing one office door after another. “I even heard that she tried to kill Ms. Helene. Is that true?”
“Now, how would I know a thing like that?” Savannah said, raising one eyebrow.
“I heard you’re the private investigator who solved the case.”
“Don’t believe anything you hear and only half of what you see. I’m only one of several people who solved this case.”
“Then Ms. Fischer was arrested?”
“I’m nothing if not discreet. You’re just going to have to read your newspaper, young man.” Savannah reached over and patted him on the front of his well pressed shirt. “Now, if I can find a murderer, I can find my way to an office I’ve already visited. Thank you for your company.”
She left him and hurried on down the hallway to Helene’s office. When she knocked, she heard an instant and cheerful, “Come in.”
Entering, she saw Helene rising from her desk.
The lady hurried to her and folded her close in a warm hug. “My dear Savannah,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you!”
“So, you’ve heard?”
“My extremely repentant granddaughter called me first thing this morning and filled me in on all the details.” Helene invited her to sit at the desk’s side chair.
Savannah took the seat and watched as Helene glided back to her desk. She couldn’t help hoping that she would be that graceful when she was Helene’s age.
“I told Emma,” Helene continued, “that guy was a no-good bum. But of course, the youngsters never believe us old-timers.”
“Did you believe your grandmother when you were Emma’s age?”
“Not on your life. I was sure she was cracked.” Helene’s green eyes glowed with an affectionate warmth as she looked into Savannah’s. “But you revere your grandmother, don’t you?”
“I do. I have to. If I didn’t, she’d take a hickory switch to my behind.”
Both women laughed.
Then Helene grew somber. “I still can’t quite believe they actually tried to end my life … and wound up killing two people in the process. I’m not a young thing, you know. Ada couldn’t have just waited until I died?”
“Ada is—what’s the new term for it?—troubled.”
“Yes, she’s been troubled for a long time now. And the ironic thing is, I’d already rewritten my will and left everything to Emma and Waldo.” A look of sadness swept over her face. “I’m going to rewrite it one more time. They’ll have to address their substance-abuse problems to receive their inheritances. And even then, it’s going to be in installments. I refuse to finance their addictions.”
“I understand.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few moments as Savannah looked around the enchanting room with its beautiful furniture, the shelves of beautiful dolls, and the large, black-and-white photograph of the little girl.
She studied the picture, and again, she was curious about the child, standing on the quaint, European street, holding a doll in her arms.
“If that isn’t a picture of you,” she said, “do you mind telling me who she is? She’s so lovely, such a sweet little face.”
Helene turned in her chair and looked at the picture that dominated the wall behind her. When she turned back to Savannah, her eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t talk about her. Hardly anyone is still living who knows her story. But because of what you’ve done for me, I’m going to tell you.”
Helene rose and walked over to the large window, overlooking the city, and stood, her back to Savannah.
“Her name was Esther. She was my cousin, one year younger than I was. We lived in the same village in Bavaria, and we played together every day. She had a doll, the one in the picture. It was so beautiful, and I wanted it so badly. She would let me play with it, but I didn’t want to play with it. I wanted it for my own.”
She paused in her storytelling, and Savannah could tell she was crying.
Savannah took some tissues from her purse, walked over to the window, and handed them to her. “That’s understandable, Helene,” she said softly. “Every child wants what others have.”
“Not like this. We aren’t supposed to covet, and I truly coveted that doll. It’s all I thought about night and day … how I could take it away from her, how I could have it for my own.”
Helene dabbed at her eyes with the tissues. “Then one day, Nazi soldiers came to our village. They stayed for a week. And when they left, there were no more Jews in our town. My family was Catholic. Esther’s was Jewish. My aunt and my uncle, and all their children were gone. In one night, they vanished. I remember going with my mother to their house. It was empty.”
Savannah reached for Helene’s hand and held it tightly. “I’m so sorry, Helene. For them. For you.”
“My mother told me to keep the doll to remember her by. But I didn’t want it anymore. All I wanted was my playmate. I left the doll there on the floor that day and walked away. I never saw it or my cousin again.”
Helene turned and waved a hand toward the shelves overflowing with the beautiful creations of her company. “So, for over fifty years I’ve made dolls, dolls for little girls like Esther all over the world … to remember her by.”
“And what a wonderful legacy that is for her,” Savannah said, wiping away her own tears as she looked at the picture on the wall. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You’re welcome, Savannah. Thank you for listening.”
Helene walked over t
o her desk and picked up a white box that was lying there. It was a bit longer than a shoe box and tied with a pink ribbon.
“I want you to have this,” she said, holding out the box to Savannah.
Savannah took it, touched the soft pink satin ribbon. “What is it?”
“It’s the first prototype of our new doll.”
“I thought you threw it in the trash.”
A Decadent Way to Die Page 25
