"I know what he was doing, I can read the papers, thank you. My point is the killer goes after Margaret next, so we'll think he's after all my father's little dollies when instead what he's going after is the whole damn Schumacher family. It doesn't take a genius to recognize that. I thought you were supposed to be policemen. Who would you like to see killed next? My sister? Me?"
"You've got that wrong, by the way," Brown said.
"Oh, have I?" she said, turning to him. "Then how do you see it? The first three murders were …"
"I mean about when he started with the Brauer girl."
"I don't know when he started with her, whatever that means, but I know he was intimately involved with her last June."
"Couldn't have been."
"I'm telling you …"
"Miss, we've got a letter from your father saying he met her on New Year's Day …"
"Her letter is dated last June."
Both detectives looked at her.
"Whose letter?" Carella said.
"Well, who do you think? The woman he was keeping, the woman who was all over the newspapers, Little Suzie Sunshine."
"You have a letter Susan Brauer wrote to your father?"
"Yes."
"How'd you get it?"
"I found it."
"Where?"
"In Vermont."
"In the house your father gave you?"
"Not the house, the garage. A shoe box in the garage. I was cleaning out the garage when I moved in, and I…"
"Just that one letter in the box?"
"Yes."
"What kind of letter?" Brown asked.
"Hi!" she said, and put her hands alongside her face, and spread her fingers like fans. Blue eyes wide, smiling like Shirley Temple, she chirped in a tiny little voice, "I sure would love to suck your cock, baby!" and then snapped her hands shut and said in the same little voice, "Bye\"
Brown nodded.
"That kind of letter," she said.
"And you found this when?" Carella asked.
"Last July. When I moved into the house up there."
"Can't be," Brown said again. "Him and Susan . . ."
"Don't tell me what can't be!" Betsy said. "I know damn well when it was! It was the most important day of my life!"
"We have his letters to her," Carella said, "all dated this year …"
". . . and hers to him," Brown said.
"Well, I found that letter a year ago," Betsy insisted, "and it's dated Friday, June thirtieth."
"Has to be this year," Brown said.
"Are you telling me I don't know when I … look, where's a calendar?"
Carella looked at Brown, stifled a sigh, and reached into his desk drawer. He took out his appointment book, flipped through the pages till he came to the calendar for June of this year, glanced at it briefly, looked up, and said, "The thirtieth fell on a Saturday."
"See what you got for last year," Brown said softly.
At the back of the book, facing a map showing time zones and postal area codes for the entire United States, Carella found three reduced calendars printed on the same page, the current calendar flanked above and below by calendars for the preceding year and the one following. Squinting at the smaller numerals, he studied last year's calendar, looked up, and said to Brown, "She's right, June thirtieth fell on a Friday."
Brown nodded.
"You still got that letter?" he asked.
Friday, June 30 Hi!
I like this game. I'm only sorry you didn't think of it sooner. But the next time I see you, you'll have to explain the rules again. Am I allowed to write whatever comes into my mind? Oh dear, I'll be so naughty, you won't be able to stand it.
It's raining today. Want to go splash in the rain with me? Want me to play with you in the rain?
You always ask me what I'm wearing. Right now I have on a push-up black lace bra, cut so low it exposes my nipples. Black silk stockings, held up by a garter belt. Black crotch-less panties. Black spiked heels. These silk stockings feel so smooth. I think you'd like to run your hand over them, run your hand up along my thigh until you reach the rim of the hose. Maybe then you'd like to move your hand over to my moist, eager cunt. My legs are spread so wide for you. But maybe, since you know I'm ready and aching for you, you'd just like to slide your cock inside me and start fucking me right this minute.
Do you think of me when you're fucking your wife?
