Ed McBain - Three Blind Mice

“We’re safe here in the country,” she said. “Aren’t we, Ned?”

Something passed between them.

A look?

No, nothing quite that blatant.

Something, though.

“Very safe,” Weaver said.

The something again.

Ineffable.

But there.

All at once, Warren wondered if young Ned here was diddling the farmer’s wife.

The eye contact — or whatever it had been — between Jessica and Weaver broke like delicate crystal. Weaver brushed the lock of hair from his eyes, the mermaid on his forearm catching the sun as if she were breaking the surface of shining water. Warren glanced at the tattoo. Weaver caught the glance.

“Nice tattoo,” Warren said.

“Thanks,” Weaver said.

The eyes grazed again, his and hers, green brushing green, touching, veering away.

Press it, Warren thought.

“Navy?” he asked.

“Nope,” Weaver said.

“I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” Warren said. “Did you get that here in Calusa?”

“San Diego,” Weaver said.

But not Navy, Warren thought.

“Big Marine base there, right?” he said. “San Diego?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Weaver said. “I’ve never been in the service.”

Which left only one other thing Warren could think of.

“You’ll excuse me, won’t you?” Jessica said, and turned and went back into the house.

“I just want to check a few more doors,” Warren said to her green-shirted back.

“I got work, too,” Weaver said, and left him standing there in the sun, still wondering.

Patricia Demming was sitting in Matthew’s outer office when he got back at three that afternoon. She was wearing a dark-blue tropical suit with a white silk blouse and medium-heeled blue leather pumps. She was thumbing through what looked like the Calusa telephone directory but which was only Vogue’s Fall Preview issue. The window behind her was running with rainsnakes. The rains had returned, and with them the Assistant State Attorney. She put down the oversized magazine.

“Hi,” she said, and smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Matthew remembered how Andrew Holmes had described her courtroom style: flamboyant, seductive, aggressive, unrelenting, and unforgiving. He wondered what she was doing here.

“Come on in,” he said.

“Sure.”

She rose, smoothed her skirt, followed him past Cynthia Huellen’s desk — Cynthia giving her the once-over as she went by — and then down the corridor to Matthew’s office.

“Have a seat,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Coffee?” he asked. “Soft drink? Anything?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“So,” he said.

“So,” she said.

“To what do I owe the honor?”

Patricia crossed her legs. Blue pantyhose. Sleek legs. Long blond hair, electric blue eyes. A beautiful woman altogether.

“I thought you might be ready to talk a deal,” she said.

Matthew looked at her.

“Am I wrong?”

“You are wrong,” he said.

“That’s not the impression I got.”

“From whom?”

“I won’t play games, okay? Morris Bloom told me you’d discussed the case with him…”

“I didn’t discuss a deal.”

“I know that. But he told you that I might be ready to make one, isn’t that so?”

“He mentioned something like that, yes. We’re friends.”

“I know that, too.”

“He was afraid I might not have a case.”

“Didn’t want to see his friend get burned by the Wicked Witch of the West, huh?”

“He never once called you that.”

“But you know the nickname, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard it.”

“Because you had someone research me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you learned that my first job was in Los Angeles with Dolman, Ruggiero…”

“Yes.”

“… where I was called the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Apparently.”

“Because I was such a mean bitch,” Patricia said, and smiled. “I’ve had you researched, too, by the way. I can tell you anything you want to know about yourself.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Graduate of Northwestern, where you also got your law degree, married quite young to a nice Chicago girl, divorced her several years ago, picked up again with her sometime later, ended it yet again sometime after that. You’ve got a fourteen-year-old daughter who’s said to be a quote Brainy Beauty unquote and who now attends a private school in Massachusetts. You came to the practice of criminal law rather late in your career, having specialized before then in real estate, divorce, and what-have-you.”

“Right, what-have-you,” Matthew said.

“Right. But from what I understand, you’ve had a remarkable string of successes till now…”

Matthew did not miss the “till now.”

“… defending murderers like Stephen Leeds.”

“Objection,” he said, and smiled.

“Sustained,” she said, and returned the smile. “In fact, there are people in town who say you’re even better than Benny Weiss.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“You should. He’s a shark. But so am I.”

“So I understand.”

“In which case, you should consider yourself fortunate,” she said.

“About what?”

“My presence here. To offer you a deal.”

“My man’s innocent.”

“No, no, Matthew.”

“Yes, yes, Patricia.”

“Ah, he remembers my name. Hear me, will you, please? You know what I’ve got, you’ve seen all the discovery material.”

“Yes.”

“Well, now I’ve got even more.”

“Want to tell me?”

“Sure. I’ve got a witness who saw Leeds parking his boat at a restaurant named Kickers…”

“I’m assuming I’ll be receiving…”

“Yes, all in due course, name, statement, bra size,” she said, and rolled her big blue eyes. “She also saw Leeds getting into the car one of my Vietnamese witnesses described. A green Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme.”

“He didn’t know the make.”

“But he described it accurately otherwise.”

“No, he wasn’t sure about the color, either.”

“He said dark blue or green. And my new witness nailed it as green.”

“Did she also nail that nonexistent license plate?”

Patricia looked at him.

“There’s no such plate in the state of Florida,” he said.

“I assume you’ve checked.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You’re better than I thought,” she said.

“I try,” he said.

“But I’ve still got enough to cook him.”

“Maybe.”

“Take my deal, Matthew.”

“Why? If your case is so wonderful…”

“I want to save the state money.”

“Please,” he said. “No bullshit.”

“Okay. Skye wants this one put away fast.”

“Why?”

“Ask him .”

“Me? I’m still waiting for the morning edition to break.”

“Here’s the deal,” she said. “You plead your man guilty to…”

“I don’t even want to hear it.”

“Come on, Matthew,” she said, and smiled again. “I got caught in the rain walking over here, the least you can do is hear me out.”

“You always seem to be getting caught in the rain.”

“Bad failing, I know. What do you say? Give me a break, huh?”

Blue eyes wide. Little Miss Innocence.

“If I hear your deal, I’d be obliged to report it to my client.”

“If you know I’m ready to deal, you’re obliged to report that , too.”

Matthew looked at her.

“Let me hear it,” he said.

“You plead him guilty to three counts of murder one, we agree to waive the penalty proceeding.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning your man gets life and becomes eligible for parole in twenty-five years.”