Stuart Kaminsky - Dead of Winter

"Not unless someone kills her or she kills someone else," said Stella, still looking at the painting. "How old do you think the original painting is?"

"Jean Franзois Millet," said Mac. "The painting's called The Gleaners, 1857."

Stella turned to look at him and said nothing.

"My wife had some prints of his work," said Mac. "One of the highlights of our trip to Europe was to see Millet's Angelius in the Musйe d'Orsay."

Stella nodded. It was more information about Mac's dead wife than he had ever given up before.

Mac's smile was broader now.

"She saw beauty in that painting," he said. "And you see a woman with a medical condition."

"I'm sorry," said Stella.

"No," said Mac. "You're both right."

"Mac," she said. "I know who killed Alberta Spanio, and it wasn't the Jockey."

When Don Flack answered his cell phone, Mac told him what Stella had said.

"I'll go right there," said Flack.

"You want backup?" asked Mac.

"I won't need it."

"Anything new on Guista?"

"I'll find him," said Flack, touching the tender area of his broken ribs.

Flack closed his cell phone and kept driving, but instead of heading for Marco's Bakery, he now headed for Flushing, Queens.

The temperature was up to fifteen degrees and the snow had stopped. Traffic moved slowly, and after almost four days of frigid snowstorm tempers were on edge. Road rage at a snail's pace was ever ready to break out.

Don checked his watch. The phone rang. It was Mac again.

"Where are you?" Mac asked.

Don told him.

"Pick up Danny at the lab. He has the crime-scene photographs and Stella just briefed him," said Mac.

"Right," said Flack. "How is she doing?"

"Fine, doctors say she'll be back at work in a few days."

"Tell her I asked," said Don, signing off again.

Danny was waiting behind the glass doors wearing a thick knee-length down coat and a hat with flaps that covered his ears. He held a briefcase in one gloved hand and waved at Don with the other to let him know he was coming out.

As soon as he opened the door, his glasses clouded and he had to pause to wipe them with his scarf.

"Cold," he said, getting into the heated car.

"Cold," Flack agreed.

Danny Messer told Flack everything that Stella had told him on the phone as they drove to Flushing. Flack looked for holes, alternatives to Stella's conclusions, but he couldn't come up with any. He turned on the radio and listened to the news until they pulled up in front of Ed Taxx's house.

Taxx answered the door. He was wearing jeans and an open-collared white shirt with a brown wool sweater. He had a cup of coffee in his hand. The word DAD was in bright red with a blue border.

"Anyone else home?" asked Don.

A television set was on somewhere in the house. A woman in some show was laughing. The laughter sounded insincere to Don.

"All alone and getting bored," said Taxx, stepping back to let the two men in and closing the door behind them. "I'm still on leave till the department finishes its investigation."

Taxx led the way into the living room, asking over his shoulder if he could get either of them some coffee or a Diet Coke. Both men declined.

Taxx sat in an overstuffed chair and Don and Danny on the sofa.

"What brings you here?" asked Taxx, taking a sip of coffee.

"A few questions," said Flack.

"Shoot."

"When you knocked down the door to Alberta Spanio's bedroom, you immediately went to the bed?"

"Right," said Taxx.

"And you sent Collier to the bathroom?" Flack continued.

"I wouldn't say I sent him. We just did what we had to. What…?"

"Collier said you told him to check the bathroom," said Flack.

"Probably," Taxx agreed.

"Did you go into the bathroom after he came out?"

Taxx thought and then answered, "No. We went into the living room and called in the murder. Neither of us went back in the room. It was a crime scene."

"Collier said he stood in the tub and looked out the open window," said Flack.

"I wasn't in there with him," said Taxx, looking puzzled.

"Danny, show him the photographs," said Flack.

Danny opened the briefcase and took out the stack of crime-scene photographs he and Stella had taken. He selected four of them and handed them to Taxx. All four photographs were of the bathtub and the open window. Taxx looked at the photographs and then handed them back to Danny.

"What am I supposed to be seeing in those pictures?" Taxx asked, putting down his coffee mug.

"There's no snow, no sign of snow or ice in the tub," said Flack. "It was too cold in that room for the snow to melt."

"So?" asked Taxx.

"If someone came through the window to kill Alberta Spanio, he'd have to push in the snow that had piled up against the window."

Taxx nodded.

"Maybe he swept the snow out with his arm or leg instead of pushing it in," said Taxx.

"Why?" asked Danny. "Why let go with one hand or reach in with a foot and pull the snow back outside. It wouldn't help cover the crime. The window was open. It makes no sense to do anything except swing through the window, pushing or kicking the snow in, climb in and out of the tub, murder Spanio and go out the way he came in."

"Someone inside the bathroom pushed the snow out," said Flack.

"Why? And who? Collier? Alberta?" asked Taxx.

"Alberta Spanio was knocked out from an overdose of sleeping pills," said Danny, "and even if she weren't, why open a window to let in zero-degree air and snow?"

"Collier?" asked Taxx.

"We think whoever killed Alberta Spanio pushed that snow out, wanting us to think someone had come through the window," said Flack. "Because if the murder wasn't committed by someone coming through the window, that leaves only two possible suspects."

Taxx said nothing. His tongue pressed against the inside of his right cheek.

"Collier?" he repeated.

"When and how?" asked Danny. "The door to the bedroom was locked all night."

"And the bathroom window was closed," Taxx reminded them. "Both Collier and I confirmed that. We left the bedroom together."

"But in the morning you broke down the door and one of you went to Spanio's bedside while the other went to the bathroom," said Danny. "That was the only time Spanio could have been murdered. You were the one who went to the bed, pulled the knife out of your pocket, and stabbed the unconscious Spanio in the neck. You could have done it in five seconds. A CSI investigator timed it."

"The woman," said Taxx, looking out the window.

"Stella figured it out," confirmed Don.

"Dario Marco hired Guista and Jake Laudano to get that room at the Brevard Hotel," said Flack. "They were supposed to be seen, a big strong man and a tiny one. We were supposed to think they had murdered Spanio so the real killer, you, wouldn't be suspected."

"Guista was there to pull the window to the washroom up by dangling a chain down and hooking it onto the hoop you had screwed into the bathroom window."

"Far-fetched," said Taxx.

"Maybe," Flack agreed, "but we're pulling Jake Laudano in and when we have both him and Guista, the DA starts dealing and they start talking."

"Am I under arrest?" Taxx asked softly.

"You are about to be," said Flack.

"I think I should call a lawyer," said Taxx.

"Sounds like the thing to do," said Flack.

The detective rose with a sudden sharp sting from the broken ribs in his chest. He took the four steps to Taxx and handcuffed the man's hands behind his back.

Don adjusted his glasses and put the photographs away while Flack began the Miranda. Don said the words slowly, and for some reason it sounded like a well-memorized prayer.

Aiden examined the bolt cutter and the broken lock. She had done a magnified close-up photograph of both the edges of the bolt cutter and the ridges and scars where the lock had been cut.