David Handler - The shimmering blond sister

“How about Dawgie’s body? Did they find any hairs or clothing fibers on him?”

Yolie shook her head at him. “Nothing. And they can’t tell us much more about his assailant than we already knew. He, or she, swung that bat right-handed. Height’s anywhere between five six and six foot-depending on how low Augie was crouched as he crept through the brush in the dark.”

Des took a seat with them. “How about the force of the blows?”

“Average strength for a man. Above average for a woman. Meaning we can cross Bertha Peck off our list. Except she’s so tiny and ancient that she was never on it to begin with.” Yolie took a sip of her spritzer. “Those shoe prints they found down by the riverbank? Tread pattern belongs to a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. It’s a unisex shoe. A man or woman could have been wearing them. Same old song-average-sized foot for a man, above average for a woman. They gave me their usual boatload of blah-blah-blah about the perp’s estimated weight and corresponding height, for whatever good that does.”

Des made a face. “Which isn’t much.”

“I don’t even pay attention,” agreed Very, nodding, nodding. “I’ve turned up big, fat perps with little, tiny feet. Pip-squeaks who wear a size twelve triple-E. That stuff’s meaningless. Sure sounds good when they do it on Law and Order though.” He peered across the table at Yolie. “So you’re nowhere.”

“As I believe I just told you.” She turned her gaze on Des. “I’m still waiting to hear from you, Miss Thing. Got any news I can use?”

“I do. For starters, I tracked down Hal Chapman’s alibi.”

Yolie brightened. “This would be Terri E as in maybe Edsen?”

“It’s Ensor,” Des informed her. “Hal told you she worked for some New York outfit that recovers peoples’ lost assets, right? I surfed the Web sites of a gazillion companies until I finally found one called Equitrust. It’s headquartered in White Plains, not the City. I accessed their employee directory and found a Terri Ensor. Then I located a Gregory and Terri Ensor in West Nyack. Called them up and got Greg. Identified myself and asked him if his wife was home. Right away, he wanted to know why. I told him she may have witnessed a vehicular accident in Dorset last evening. He acknowledged that she was out here visiting a college friend, just got home this morning. He went and fetched her. When Terri got on the phone I told her I needed to talk to her about Hal Chapman. She said ‘Who?’ I said ‘You know, your trainer at the Dorset Fitness Center.’ After a really long silence she went ‘Ohhh…’ Clearly, Greg was still standing right there and she was scared he’d find out. I told her I just needed to know if Hal was with her last night at nine o’clock. She wouldn’t be called to testify in court. This was strictly off the record. But I needed to know.”

Yolie stared at her expectantly. “And…?”

“She backed him up, Yolie. Everything Hal told you.”

“That’s good work, girl. Thanks.”

“Excuse me, did I say I was done?”

“You’ve got something more?”

“I checked with Amtrak on the comings and goings of Kenny Lapidus over these past three weekends. The first weekend that our Dorset Flasher waved hello, Kenny bought himself a ticket on the Northeast Regional that left Boston’s South Station on Friday at 5:35 p.m. It arrived on time in Old Saybrook at 7:34. He caught a train back to Boston from New London at 10:20 p.m. on Sunday. Made it home just after midnight.”

“Why did he leave from New London?”

“The late train doesn’t stop in Old Saybrook on Saturday or Sunday.”

“So he was here in town while the Flasher was doing his thing?”

“He was here,” Des confirmed.

“No way,” Mitch protested as he turned the chicken on the grill. “Kenny’s not the Dorset Flasher.”

“I’m not saying he is, baby.”

“But Dawgie was all over his mother,” Very pointed out. “Kenny had a definite motive for swinging that bat.”

“How about the other two weekends?” Yolie asked her.

“Amtrak had no record of him purchasing tickets last weekend. He must have driven his Prius down. We already know he drove here this weekend. He told us so. What we don’t know is whether he got here on Friday in time to leave that little present on my welcome mat.”

Yolie considered this for a moment. “You think Captain Rundle would mind if you took a personal day tomorrow?”

“Captain Rundle would be thrilled not to see my long face hanging around his barracks. You want me to drive up to Boston and check out the security cams at the MassPike toll booths, am I right?”

“You are. Let’s nail down exactly when Kenny came and went. I’ll run his credit card receipts. Maybe he bought gas somewhere along the way.”

“You people are wasting your time,” Mitch argued insistently. “Kenny’s a total wimp. Hell, I used to protect him from playground bullies. Do you honestly think a guy like him could murder a retired police detective?”

“It doesn’t take balls to commit murder, dude,” Very said. “Just desperation.”

“We have to look at him, Mitch,” Yolie added. “These Flasher incidents coincide with his visits. The victim was putting the screws to his mom, like the lieutenant says. And he has no one to vouch for his whereabouts at the time of the murder. Kimberly told us he was in his bedroom sending e-mails, but he could have slipped out the bedroom window.”

“No way,” Mitch shot back. “If he’d gone out the window Des would have seen him. She was staked out right there.”

“True enough,” Des conceded. “Except the window wasn’t his only way out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Kimberly was out on the porch, right? Kenny could have just tiptoed through the apartment without her knowledge and gone out by way of the front door of the building. Then I wouldn’t have seen him.”

“Maybe somebody else did,” Very said.

“Maybe.”

“Now that you mention it,” Yolie said, “that scenario plays for Kimberly, too. She was alone on the porch. No one to vouch for her. And she’s plenty strong.”

“Why would she kill Dawgie?” Very asked.

“Because Kenny wasn’t up for it. The man’s a wimp, like Mitch said. What we don’t know is why they’d go to such lengths to protect his mom. I mean, so what if Augie was hassling the lady? All she had to do was just Say No-unless he was a total creepaholic stalker, in which case Des would have gotten involved, right?”

“Actually… there’s a bit more to it than that,” Very put in slowly. “Another angle that I worked this afternoon with my man Mitch here.”

Yolie glowered across the table at him. “What angle?”

“Augie was absolutely convinced that Beth Lapidus and her married boyfriend, Vinnie Brogna, were up to no good together.”

“What kind of no good, Romeo?”

“It’s Romaine. Are either of you ladies familiar with the Seven Sisters?”

“Wait one second…” Des said. “Augie asked me that on Friday. I thought he was talking about the colleges. He called me a hick.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Dawgie.”

“So what is the Seven Sisters?” Yolie demanded.

“A somewhat legendary Jewish crime family,” he replied. “They got their start a hundred years ago on New York’s Lower East Side. And still exist to this day. I happen to know a little about them because I’m a member of the family. So is Beth Breslauer. We’re both descended from the same long line of thieves. The two of us are cousins.”

Yolie looked at Des in amazement. “Okay, I didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

“Not even.”

“Wait, wait, there’s more,” Mitch said eagerly. “Beth’s not the only one who’s connected to the family. Back in the thirties, when she was a young chorus girl, Bertha Peck-nee Bertha Puzewski-was the mistress of Beth’s grandfather, Saul, a big time racketeer.”