Ed McBain - Vespers

"This court is adjourned until nine A.M. morning," Weinberg said, and banged his gavel, abruptly stood up.

"All rise!" the Clerk of the Court shouted, everyone in the courtroom stood up as swept out like a bald Batman, trailing his black behind him.

The clock on the wall read 2:55 P.M. They were due at three-thirty.

When they announced themselves over speaker at the front door, she would tell them the door was open. When they stepped into the entrance foyer, she would call, "I'm in here." And as they walked into the living room... The entire house was already in disarray.

She had spent the past hour yanking out dresser drawers and strewing their contents onto the floor, unplugging television sets and stereo equipment, gathering up silverware, jewelry and fur coats, carrying all of this down to the living room where it would appear they had assembled it after ransacking the house. Her story to the police would be that she had walked in on two armed men... She hoped they'd be armed. If not, she would change her story... two armed men whom she'd shot dead in self-defense. Two armed intruders shot to death while burglarizing a house they thought was empty.

Criminal records a mile long on both of them, Willis had shown her copies. Open and shut, don't cry for me, Argentina.

She did not have a permit for the gun she'd bought from Shad Russell, but she was willing to look that charge in the eye when the time came, even if it meant going to prison again. The important thing was to make certain none of this rubbed off on Willis. She did not see how it could.

The day watch was relieved at a quarter to four. He would not be home until four-fifteen, four-thirty. It would be over by then. All of it.

She looked at the mantel clock now.

Seven minutes to three.

She picked up the gun Russell had sold her.

A .38 caliber Colt Detective Special. Sixcapacity. Three for each of them. She had bel shoot fast and she had better shoot straight.

She rolled out the cylinder, checked that the was fully loaded, and then snapped it back into barrel.

The clock read five minutes to three.

The two girls came down the front steps of Graham School on Seventh and Culver, wearing pleated green skirts, white blouses, knee-high socks, brown walking shoes, and bh blazers with the school crest over the left pocket. They were both giggling at sc another girl had said. Books held against budding bosoms, girlish laughter spilling onto springtime air, sparkling and clear now that the had stopped. One of them was a killer.

"Hello, girls," Carella said.

"Hi, Mr. Carella," Gloria said. Blue eyes twinkling with laughter, long black hair dancing sunshine as she came down the steps.

"Hi," Alexis said. She wore the solemn look in the aftermath of laughter, her brown el thoughtful, her face serious. I'm nothing, she told him. Blonde hair falling to her shoulders bobbing as she came down the steps. They could have been twins, these two, except for their coloring.

But one of them was a killer.

"See you guys," the other girl said, and waved as she went off.

They stood in the sunlight, the detective and the two schoolgirls. It was three o'clock sharp. Students kept spilling out of the school. There was the sound of young voices everywhere around them. Neither of the girls seemed particularly apprehensive. But one of them was a killer.

"Alexis," he said, "I'd like to talk to you, please.”

She looked first at him, and then at Gloria. The serious brown eyes looked suddenly troubled.

"Okay," she said.

He took her aside. They chatted quietly, Alexis's eyes intent on his face, concentrating on everything he said, nodding, listening, occasionally murmuring a few words. A girl wearing the Graham School's uniform and a senior hat that looked like a Greek fisherman's cap, except that it was in the orange-and-blue colors of the school, came skipping down the front steps, said, "Hi, Lex," and then walked off toward the subway kiosk on the corner.

Some little distance away, Gloria watched them in conversation, her books pressed against her narrow chest, her eyes squinted against the sun.

Carella walked back to her.

"Few questions," he said.

"Sure," Gloria said. "Is something wrong?”

Books still clutched to her chest.

Behind them and off to the left, Alexis sat on school steps and tucked her skirt under her, them, puzzled.

"I spoke to Kristin Lund before coming Carella said. "I asked her if she'd seen you at church on the day of the murder. She said she Is that correct?”

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand the q "Did you go to the church at anytime before o'clock on the day of the murder?”

"No, I didn't.”

"I also spoke to Mrs. Hennessy. She told me hadn't seen you, either.”

"That's because I wasn't there, Mr. Carella.”

Blue eyes wide and innocent. But clicking intelligence.

"Gloria," he said.

Those eyes intent on his face now.

"When I talked to Alexis last week and I now verified this with her, to make sure I mistaken she told me you had the check for band deposit and wanted to know whether the was still on. This was on Tuesday afternoon, twenty-ninth of May. Is that right? Were you possession of the deposit check at that time?”

"Yes?”

Wariness in those eyes now.

"When did Father Michael give you that check?”

"I don't remember.”

"Try to remember, Gloria.”

"It must have been on Wednesday. Yes, I think I stopped by after school and he gave me the check then.”

"Are you talking about Wednesday, the twenty-third of May?”

"Yes.”

"The day before the murder?”

"Yes.”

"What time on Wednesday, would you remember?”

"After school. Three, four o'clock, something like that.”

"And that was when Father Michael gave you the deposit check made out to The Wanderers, is that correct? For a hundred dollars.”

"Yes.'“

"Gloria, when I spoke to Kristin Lund, I asked her if she was the person who'd written that check. She told me she was. She wrote that check and then asked Father Michael to sign it.”

Eyes steady on his face.

"She wrote it on the twenty-fourth of May, Gloria.”

Watching him, knowing where he was going now.

"You couldn't have picked it up on the twenty-third," he said.

"That's right," she said at once. "It was the twenty-fourth, I remember now.”

"When on the twenty-fourth?”

“After school. I told you. I went to the right after school.”

“No, you told me you didn't go to the church at, on the day of the murder.”

"That was when I couldn't remember.”

"Are you telling me now that you were at church?”

"Yes.”

"Before five o'clock?”

"I'm not sure.”

"Kristin left at five. She says you...”

"Then it must have been after five.”

"What time, Gloria?”

"I don't remember exactly, but it was long “

seven.

He looked at her.

They had not released to the media the time of the priest's death. Only the killer knew He saw realization in her eyes. So blue, intelligent, darting now, on the edge of panic. He not want to do this to a thirteen-year-old, but he straight for the jugular.

"We have the knife," he said.

The blue eyes hardened.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

Which words he had heard many times before, from murderers much older and wiser than young Gloria here.

"I'd like you to come with me," he said.

And in deference to her youth, he added, "Please.”

Maybe she's scared them off, he thought.

They hadn't heard from the two Argentinians since the day she'd cut the handsome one. That was on Saturday afternoon. A week tomorrow. And no word from them. Every night this past week, when he'd come home from work, his eyes had met hers expectantly. And every night she'd shaken her head, no. No word. So maybe they'd given her up as a lost cause.