FORTY-ONE

“WELL, THAT’S THAT.“ SUSAN FOLDED HER ARMS ACROSS HER chest.

“What’s what?”

“No more serial killer. No need for a trial, either, since the dude’s dead. Just the coroner’s hearing to determine the facts.” A crumb stuck to the corner of her mouth. “It’s a shame, in a way. I might have got him off, if I’d had a chance.” She chuckled and suddenly stopped. “Oh, what am I saying? I’m such an ass, trying to make light of it. I’m still shaking, see? Look at my hands. I can’t imagine how you must feel. You were right next to him.”

“I’m okay.” She looked me squarely in the eye and licked away the crumb.

“No. You are not. But hey, thank God they stopped him before he hurt anyone else.”

I looked toward the stairs. “I should go check and see how Molly is.”

“She’s fine. Let her be with the other kids. There are moms around if she needs one. Who else’s here?”

“Karen.” I didn’t remember who else. “Maybe just her.” “Karen’s enough. Relax. You look ghastly.” “So do you.”

“Do I? Damn. Time for a dose of medicine.” She took a bottle of Scotch from my liquor cabinet. “Here.” She poured. “Drink.” “Susan.”

“Drink.” It was an order.

I drank. She made a toast in what sounded like Italian and gulped.

“Look. At least we know they got him. We don’t have to worry about a loose psycho anymore. Maybe Bonita will come back to work.”

I looked at Susan as the Scotch slid down my throat, golden and warm. She held up her glass again.

“Here’s to the sharpshooters. And our luck that they shot straight.”

I nodded. “That thought occurred to me.”

“Shit. If somebody’d sneezed, if a guy’s finger trembled, you’d have splattered the walls instead of Charlie. Believe me, the cops haven’t heard the end of this. I intend to—”

Something beeped.

“Damn.” Susan reached for her bulky embroidered bag and took out a phone. I swallowed more Scotch while she spoke efficiently, rapidly, with few syllables, and stuffed the phone back into her handbag.

“Well, that was interesting.” She wrestled with a date book and a cosmetics case, jammed them together, and zipped the bag, fraying the edges of a manila envelope. “That was Ed. I guess he saw me at the shooting, so he thinks I’m an insider again.”

“What did he want?”

“To keep me informed.” She gazed out the window. “Guess what they’ve found in Charlie’s basement?”

I closed my eyes and drained my glass. “Don’t tell me,” I said. “I don’t want to know.”

But Susan had already started to tell me. With a trembling hand, I reached for the Scotch and poured myself another shot.