Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 35, No. 10, October 1990

She’d never made a secret of not liking Abernathy, but wasn’t that why he’d taken her along?

“All we have is her word for almost everything. What Nelson said. The computer printouts. The briefcase. What happens if we take all of that away?”

“We don’t have a damned thing,” said Spocker.

“No, lieutenant. We have an entirely new case. One built around what she told us as a cover for what really happened. I’d like to spend a few hours looking behind the front we’ve seen.”

Spocker, who had spent more time with her than Beckett, gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

“Go,” said Beckett.

As his body couldn’t be denied sleep indefinitely, neither could it be denied food. He sat in the restaurant across from the courthouse, sipping his second cup of coffee after the flounder fillet. Fish is brain food, they said. Okay. I can no longer walk these streets, drive these roads, sit parked staring at the house where Toni lived. I can no longer stay here or work here. It was as simple as that. Go to work, flounder.

Gina found him there.

“You can tell me to get lost until you’re finished, captain—”

“Sit down and have some coffee.”

He’d been right. Staring at those eyes and lips across a small table could make a man forget what was on his plate.

“Maybe the lieutenant should hear this. I don’t want him to think—”

“If he was your partner, yes. He isn’t. He took you along because you’re the newest on the squad and the odd man out. He won his spurs a long time ago, so he isn’t going to worry about sharing in any glory your freelancing might turn up. What’s the story on Abernathy?”

“I read her all wrong. She has about as much reason to worry about financial security as Princess Margaret, and even Meryl Streep would envy that acting she laid on us last night. I stopped when I reached a net worth of three hundred thousand. She didn’t inherit it, and she didn’t get it from her ex-husband, and anyone who believes she acquired it through frugality and wise investing is an ideal customer for junk bonds. Furthermore, no way she’s living a cloistered existence, so I asked who the office gossips had her down for. Try the recently deceased Millard Humble. Very odd she should have a close relationship with the two men we’ve found dead, so I asked the question no one thought to ask. Where was she yesterday morning at ten? No one seems to know. Then I called Peters, who played sentry outside her apartment last night. Could she have left through the service entrance? His exact words were, hey, I wasn’t in bed with her, you know. I didn’t tell him how lucky he was.”

They come along once in a blue moon, thought Beckett, the ones who hear the little warning bells and keep digging.

“Where is she now?”

“She was at the office all day, working with the man taking over for Nelson. I suppose she’s at her apartment now. I think the only reason she’s still here is because a sudden departure wouldn’t look good.” She pushed her coffee cup aside. “Ever since I heard it, I’ve had a very unladylike word for that story of hers.”

“Go ahead. I’m not easily shocked.”

A light danced in the brown eyes and her lips twitched.

“Hogwash,” she said.

Beckett smiled. “Stake out her apartment, but don’t spook her. If she walks out, bring her in, even if she says she’s going shopping. With that kind of money, she doesn’t have to take anything with her. She can afford to buy everything new.”

He called in Spocker and together they juggled the men around to concentrate on MT and Miriam Abernathy. Three hours later, after much grumbling by Tolley about the overtime, he pulled up behind Gina’s car and handed her a warrant.

“We put it together with the cooperation of the people at MT. Spocker will be here shortly with a search warrant, but since you zeroed in on her first, she’s all yours. I’ll be your backup.”

If the lights in the parking area hadn’t been on, her grin would have been a good substitute.

They walked toward the door.

“Just the two of us?”