Stuart Kaminsky - Dead of Winter

Mac looked at Aiden.

"Bullet that killed Lutnikov was a.22," she said.

"Louisa Cormier has a.22," Mac said.

"But it hasn't been fired," Aiden responded.

"Maybe she has another one," said Mac. "Or she got rid of the one that had been fired and replaced it with the one we saw."

"Covering her ass," said Stella.

"She's a mystery writer," said Mac.

"We should have checked the registration on the gun she showed us. Do we have enough for a warrant?" asked Aiden.

"No," said Mac. "Did you notice Louisa Cormier's hands when we talked to her?"

"Clean," Aiden said with a shrug.

"Scrubbed clean," said Mac. "Her hands were red. Why?"

Mac looked around and waited.

"Lady Macbeth," said Danny.

"Mystery writer," said Stella. "Residue. Gunshot residue. She's afraid we'll find it."

Mac held up the gunshot residue information report Aiden had prepared.

During the discharge of a firearm, gases escaping from the gun leave a residue on the shooter's hand and clothing, principally lead, barium, and antimony.

"She can't get it all off," said Aiden.

They all knew that samples would have to be taken from Louisa Cormier's skin and then examined in the lab for atomic absorption under a scanning electron microscope.

"Maybe she doesn't know she can't get it all off," said Mac. "She checks the Internet and then starts scrubbing, probably burns whatever clothing she was wearing."

"So?" asked Danny. "Can we force her to use a GSR kit on her hands?"

"Not with the evidence we have," said Aiden, "but maybe we can worry her into making a mistake."

"How?" asked Danny.

"We lie to her," said Aiden. "And Mac's the best liar I know."

"Thanks," said Mac. "First thing in the morning then. Anything new on Guista?"

"Nothing yet," said Stella.

"How's Don?" asked Danny.

"Out of the hospital," said Mac. "Doctor told him to go home, gave him pain pills. He's probably in bed by now."

Mac was wrong.

Don Flack, trying not to shiver, stood in front of the small house in Flushing, Queens and rang the bell. It was after nine. Night had dropped the temperature to just below zero degrees and that wasn't counting the wind chill.

There were lights on inside the house. He rang again, trying not to breathe deeply. The doctor who taped his ribs, Dr. Singh, had told him to take one of the hydrocodine tablets and go to bed. Don had taken half his advice. He had downed one tablet before he left the hospital.

The door opened. The warmth of the house greeted him and he found himself facing a pretty brunette teenage girl holding a book.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Is Mr. Taxx home?" he asked.

"Yes," the girl said. "I'll get him. Come in."

Flack stepped in, closing the door behind him.

"Are you all right?" the girl asked.

"I'm fine," he said.

She nodded and strode away into a room on the right calling, "Dad, there's someone here to see you."

The girl returned almost immediately to face Flack.

The warmth of the house, the stab of pain, and the hydrocodine got to the detective. He must have swayed slightly.

"Are you sick?" the girl asked.

"I'm fine," he lied.

Ed Taxx came out of the room the girl had gone into seconds earlier. He wore jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a New York Jets sweat shirt.

"Flack," he said, "you all right?"

"Fine, can we talk?"

"Sure," said Taxx. "Come on in. You want some coffee, tea, a shot of something?"

"Coffee," said Flack, following him, controlling a need to wince.

"Could you get a cup of coffee for Detective Flack?" Taxx asked the girl.

The girl nodded.

"Cream, sugar, Equal?" she asked.

"Black," said Flack as Taxx went one way and his daughter the other.

They were in a small, clean living room. The furniture wasn't new but it was bright, flowery, clean, a woman's room. Two sofas, almost matching, sat across from each other with a low gray table between them and copies of the latest Entertainment Weekly and Smithsonian Magazine next to each other.

Taxx sat on one sofa. Flack sat across from him.

"Cliff Collier's dead," Flack said.

"I got a call," Taxx said, shaking his head. "Any leads on the killer?"

"I shot the killer," said Flack straight-faced. "But he's out there someplace. He got away."

"I didn't know Collier well," said Taxx. "Just duty those two nights. You were a friend of his?"

"Went through the Academy together," said Flack, trying not to move, knowing it would result in a silent stab in his chest.

The girl came back with identical yellow mugs and cork coasters in each hand. She placed the drinks down in front of the two men.

"Thanks honey," said Taxx, smiling at his daughter.

"I'm going back to my room," she said, "unless…"

"Go ahead," said Taxx.

The girl looked back once and exited slowly, probably, Don thought, hoping to pick up a bit of the conversation between her father and the unexpected visitor.

"Wife's down the street playing bridge," said Taxx.

They went silent, drank their coffee.

"You in trouble?" asked Flack.

Taxx shrugged.

"DA's office is investigating," he said. "I'll probably get a reprimand and since I'll be retiring in about a year, I won't go back in the field again. Can't say it bothers me all that much. Someone has to take the blame for losing a star witness."

Flack drank. The coffee was hot but not steamy hot.

"My guess is the papers and television people will say Cliff's murder suggests that he was involved in the killing of Alberta Spanio, that he was killed to shut him up," said Don.

"I don't believe that," said Taxx, working on his own coffee. "I didn't know him well, but I was there. He didn't have anything to do with killing her."

"Then whoever did it thought Cliff saw something or knew something," said Flack. "Or figured something out. My best guess is Cliff was following a lead on his own and got spotted."

"Makes sense to me," Taxx said.

"Whoever did it may be after you next."

Taxx nodded and said, "I've been thinking about that. I can't come up with any reason."

Flack asked Taxx to go over what had happened at the hotel.

"Told you already," said Taxx. "We knocked on her door."

"We?"

"I think it was Collier who knocked. I called her name. No answer. Collier put his hand on the door and looked at me. Signaled for me to do the same. I did. The door was cold."

"Whose idea was it to break down the door?"

"We didn't discuss it," said Taxx. "We just did it. When we got in, Collier ran to the bathroom and I went to the bed to check on Alberta."

"Why did he go to the bathroom?"

"Wind was blowing in from there," said Taxx. "We just agreed, nodded, something. You know how it is when something happens fast in the field."

"Yeah," said Flack. "Why did he go to the bathroom and you to the body?"

Taxx was holding the coffee cup in his hand.

"I don't know. It just happened. I saw him run for the bathroom. That left the bed."

"How long was he in there?"

"Five, ten seconds," said Taxx. "Flack, what's going on with you? You look…"

"Guy who killed Cliff sat on my chest before I shot him. Broken ribs."

"You have far to drive to get here?"

"It wasn't bad."

"Want to spend the night here?" asked Taxx. "We've got an extra room."

"No, thanks," he said. "I'll be all right. When Alberta Spanio went to bed, what was the drill the last night?"

"Same as the first three nights," said Taxx. "We checked the windows to be sure they were locked."

"Who checked?"

"We both did," said Taxx.

"Who checked the bathroom window?"

"Collier. Then we left, and Alberta locked the door behind us. We heard the bolt slide and lock."