Wendy Hornsby - Midnight Baby

After a respectful pause, Mike picked up the interrogation: “Mrs. Ramsdale, when did you last see or hear from your husband?”

Elizabeth’s voice: “In February.”

Mike: “You never filed a missing-persons report.”

Elizabeth: “Why should I? I didn’t want him back. He was leaving me for another woman.”

Mike: “Weren’t you worried something might have happened to him?”

Elizabeth: “I couldn’t afford to be worried. You should see the prenup I signed. If he died or divorced me, I got nothing. Nada. If he was gone, fine. I could still use the bank accounts. I wasn’t going to go looking for him.”

Mike: “You also did not report Hillary Ramsdale missing.”

Elizabeth, after a pause: “I assumed she was with her father.”

Mike: “She didn’t pack a bag.”

Elizabeth: “So what? They were a real spooky pair. Nothing they did suprised me.”

Mike: “How spooky?”

Elizabeth: “I think it’s spooky when a natural-blond kid dyes her hair dark. Means she has something to hide.”

Mike: “What did she have to hide?”

Elizabeth, cocky: “Ask her.”

Mike: “You said you inherit nothing from Randy. Does Hillary?”

Elizabeth: “Yes. Everything. She’s the million-dollar baby.”

Mike: “And if she were to die, who would get it?”

Elizabeth: “Not me. Ask Randy’s attorney.”

Mike: “I have. I just wondered whether you knew.”

Elizabeth: “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Mike: “Did you argue with Hillary?”

Elizabeth: “Maybe the connection isn’t very good. I said, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Mike: “What did you tell Hillary about her father? She must have asked about him.”

Elizabeth, angry: “She asked, all right. She nagged me until I thought I would lose it.”

Mike: “Did you lose it, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth: “No.”

Mike: “Did you know Randy was dead?”

Elizabeth: “I told you. No.”

Mike: “You haven’t asked about Hillary, Elizabeth. Do you know where she is?”

Elizabeth: “No.”

Mike: “Tell me about your last conversation with her.”

Elizabeth: “I don’t remember.”

Mike: “If Capitan Salazar is still there with you, ask him to take you on a tour of the jail. See how you like it. Because, Elizabeth? You’re going to be there until we get ready to come and get you. If I feel like walking the papers around the Justice Department, I can have you back up here in twenty-four hours. If I don’t feel like walking, you could be down there for a year, maybe two. How long does Capitan Salazar think it will take for your roots to grow out?”

Elizabeth: “You can’t hold me down here.”

Mike: “I absolutely can. Murder is an extraditable offense. You want to talk to me some more?”

Elizabeth: “I couldn’t possibly have done it. I was in Ensenada.”

Mike: “Wrong murder, Mrs. Ramsdale. We were still talking about Randy. Did you forget? You’re not supposed to know Hillary is dead. How could you know when she died?”

What followed was a string of obscenities and the sound of flying furniture, or something akin to it. Mike turned off the tape and looked down at me.

“Can you draw me a picture?” he asked.

I nodded. “Elizabeth and friend Ricco set sail from Long Beach, alone, a day or two before the murder in MacArthur Park. She puts him off somewhere down the coast. He makes his way back to L.A., kills Hillary, rejoins Elizabeth before Ensenada, where they take on a crew so they can kick back. Could work.”

“Yes, it could.”

“So,” I said, impatient, feeling ill. “You never told me you talked to Ramsdale’s attorney. Who inherits from Hillary?”

“Her mother and father. That’s the way the will reads. Her mother and father, no names.”

“Ah.” The light bulbs flickered on, dimly, in my aching head. “Once Randy was dead, all George had to do was swoop in and claim her as his long lost to gain control of the estate.”

“You can see him killing Randy?”

“If he was desperate enough,” I said. “I think it would be easier for me to kill a man than to sell off my child. He had already done that. But if he killed Randy, wouldn’t he want us to know? No body, no payoff. Eventually, he led us to the body when he sliced up Regina Szal’s raft. But he needed cash, now. Why wait so long?”

“He had to be careful no one figured out he had sold Amy in the first place. He could find himself in deep shit.”

“Still.”

“What?” he said.

“Where does Elizabeth come in? She had every reason to keep Randy alive as long as possible. Or maintain the illusion that he was alive.”

“Don’t assume they were in it together. Say she finds her husband’s body, and deep-sixes it. What’s George to do?”

“Too weird, Mike.” I had to rub my head, counteract the throbbing. “Crime according to Newton.”

“Huh?”

“You remember – every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Guess I was absent from the police academy the day they did this Newton guy. What’s the point?”

“He kills, she hides it. And so on, until they have ruined each other’s programs. It scans well. I like it.”

He nodded. “Still doesn’t explain why Hillary took off.”

“Maybe it begins to. The game they were playing was deadly from the beginning.”

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Mike was going to say next.

“Come,” Mike called out.

The door opened, a face appeared. “Long Beach PD on the line, Flint. They have your suspect in custody.”

I was persona non grata at the preliminary interrogation of George Metrano. So I was pissed. I made rude remarks to Mike about the ugly turquoiseness of the Long Beach Police Department headquarters when I dropped him off. Mike gave me his pager and told me he would buzz me when he was ready to be picked up. I said uh huh, and burned rubber when I peeled away from the curb.

My errands took about an hour. I dropped off the Toyota at the rental agency, argued halfheartedly about their extra mileage calculation, tried to explain about the broken window. The more I talked, the more the perky agent became confused. In the end I abandoned the discussion because I had known from point A that the window would come out of my pocket; my insurance deductible was higher than the repairs would be. The perky agent promised to bill me.

A guy who seemed to speak only Farsi drove me in the rental agency’s van to the tire shop where Mike’s Blazer had been towed. I gasped at the tire bill I was handed there – still below my deductible – but said nothing when I passed over my Visa. I hoped I wasn’t so close to the credit limit that it wouldn’t get approval.

After all that, I felt ballsy enough to call Leslie Metrano.

There was no answer, and neither her answering machine nor the Find Amy Foundation machine kicked on. Maybe they had been seized as evidence, I thought. While I was in the booth, I dialed John Smith’s number and left a message about George on his machine.

I drove up to Bingo Burgers. I was surprised how disappointed I felt when Leslie wasn’t there, either. The night before, I had dumped a huge load on her slender shoulders. I guess I wanted assurance that she was all right. And reassurance that whatever George had done, she had had no part in it.

I ordered a Coke and a side of fried zucchini, to go.

At loose ends, I drove down to Naples, to the scene of my own crime. Two police cars in the alley made passage tight, but I squeezed through without new bumps on Mike’s paint job. As I drove by the spot where I had parked the night before, I could see little glittery bits of shattered glass. But then, there were glittery bits all over the alley. Some of them could have been from my window, but not all of them.