"Supposed to be a lot of money," Carella said. "We don't have an exact figure."
"Whatever it is," Parker said, and again nodded knowingly, "it's enough to get the hippie daughter salivating."
This was a big word for him, salivating. He looked around as if expecting approval for having used it.
"What's this about she knew four bullets did the wife?" Willis asked.
"Yeah," Carella said.
"Was that in the papers?"
"No, but it was on one of the television shows."
"Who gave it out?" Byrnes asked.
"We're trying to find out now," Brown said. "It might've been the M amp;M's. Or anybody from Homicide, for that matter."
"Homicide," Byrnes said, and shook his head sourly.
"That don't mean she didn't put those four slugs in the wife herself," Parker said. "Get rid of her, too, make it a clean sweep. She kills the old man to get her quarter of the pot…"
"Assuming she knew that," Byrnes said.
"She knew it, Pete."
"From when she was on her mother's knee," Parker said.
"Well, both daughters were grown at the time of the divorce, this was only two years ago. But they knew they were in the will for a quarter."
"Who gets the wife's share of the estate?" Kling asked. "Now that she's dead."
"Her will leaves it to a brother in London."
"Sole heir?"
"Yeah. But we called him and that's where he is, London. Hasn't visited the States in four years."
"Forget him," Parker said, "London's a million miles away. The hippie daughter was after the money, case closed."
"Then why'd she kill the other two?" Kling asked.
"Hatred, pure and simple," Parker said.
"You should hear the way she says ''Mrs Schumacher,'" Carella said.
"The first wife, too," Brown said. "She says it the same way. Mrs Schumacher. She hated both of them. The old man, the new wife …"
"So'd the hippie daughter," Parker said, defending his case.
"No, wait a minute, don't let go of that so fast," Willis said. "The old lady hates Schumacher …"
"Right," Kling said, nodding.
"So she not only wipes out him, but also all the women in his life."
"Kills two birds with one stone," Kling said. "Gets the mistress and the present wife …"
"Three birds," Hawes corrected. "When you count Schumacher himself."
"Well, yeah, but I'm not talking body count. What I mean is she knocks over the women, and at the same time she puts her daughters in line for the cash."
"Yeah, but she has to kill Schumacher to do that."
"Well, sure."
"Is all I'm saying," Hawes said.
"Sure."
"How about the three of them did it in concert," Willis suggested. "Maybe we're looking at three killers instead of just one. Like the Orient Express."
"What the fuck's the Orient Express?" Parker asked.
"You know, Agatha Christie."
"Who the fuck's that, Agatha Christie?" Parker asked.
"Forget it," Willis said.
"Anyway, that was more than three people," Hawes said.
"And the younger daughter loved him," Carella said. "I don't think she'd have …"
"Claims she loved him," Willis said.
"Well, that's true, but. . ."
"Butter wouldn't melt," Brown said.
"Those are sometimes the worst kind," Willis said. "And I know it was more than three people, Cotton. I was just using it as an example."
"What is this, the public library?" Byrnes asked.
"Huh?" Parker said, looking bewildered.
"What about this pet-shop lady?" Kling asked.
"What about her?"
"Did she know she was in the will?"
"Claims she knew nothing about it," Carella said.
"Seemed genuinely surprised," Brown said.
"Anyway," Hawes said, "who'd kill somebody for a lousy ten grand?"
"Me," Parker said, and everyone laughed.
"Besides, she hardly knew the guy," Brown said.
"Just gave him occasional advice on the pooch," Carella said.
"Also she knew the dog from when he was a pup," Hawes said. "Whoever blew away that mutt was somebody who hated him."
"Right, the hippie daughter," Parker said, nodding. "I was you, I'd pick her up, work her over with a rubber hose."
Everybody laughed again. Except Byrnes.
"Where'd that twelve grand come from?" he asked.
"What twelve grand?" Hawes said.
"The twelve grand in the cash box in her closet," Byrnes said. "And how'd the killer get in the apartment?"
"Well, we don't actually …"
"Anybody talk to the doorman who was on?"
"Yes, sir," Kling said. "Me and Artie."
"So what'd he say?"
"He didn't see anybody suspicious."
"Did he or did he not let anyone in that apartment?"
"He said there's deliveries all the time, he couldn't remember whether anyone went upstairs or not."
"He couldn't remember," Byrnes repeated flatly.
"Yes, sir."
"He couldn't remember."
"Yes, sir, that's what he said. He couldn't remember."
"Did you try to prod his memory?"
"Yes, sir, we spent an hour, maybe more, talking to him. His statement's in the file."
"He could hardly speak English," Brown said. "He's from the Middle East someplace."
"Talk to him again," Byrnes said. "Go back to the beginning."
The beginning was the dead girl.
Blue eyes open. Throat slit. Face repeatedly slashed. Nineteen, twenty years old, long blonde hair and startling blue eyes, wide open. Young, beautiful body under the slashed black kimono with poppies the color of blood.
