KISS THE WITCH (18 page)

As my mind drifted among images of Ursula’s
oiled body reflecting in the blade of the athame and my own in the
black mirror, I heard Carlos ask, “You think?”

I came back to him on a thread of
disinterest. “Huh?”

He regarded me with a curious scowl.
“Where’s your head?”

“
What do you mean? It’s
right here.”

“
I asked what you
thought.”

“
`Bout what?”

“
That car. The one
following us. They backed off as soon as Dominic called in backup.
You think they had a police scanner? Maybe they heard the
call.”

I shook my head as if I didn’t care. I
suppose I did not. “Don’t know, Carlos. Maybe.”

My phone rang. It was Spinelli with
Williams’ address. We headed there immediately, arriving around
five-thirty. Mrs. Williams let us in and showed us to the living
room. I looked around. The TV was on. Volume down. Apparently, we
had interrupted a rerun of Judge Judy. Pictures of Mrs. Williams
and her husband adorned the fireplace mantle and bookshelves. Most
were shots of the two posing at receptions and award banquets, many
with Mister Williams holding a drink.

“
Mrs. Williams, we’re
sorry for interrupting,” I said. “But this won’t take long. I
promise.”

She came back, “The only thing taking too
long, Detective, is you getting to the bottom of this case.”

“
Ma'am?”

“
Haven’t you come to
investigate my husband’s death?”

I stole a glance at Carlos. He seemed
equally surprised. “We did want to ask you some questions.”

She grabbed a pack of smokes off the coffee
table and tapped it against her palm. A single cigarette slid out.
She offered it to me. “Smoke?”

I waved her off with a polite smile. She
gestured to Carlos without actually offering it to him. Carlos
stepped forward and liberated it from the pack.

“
Thanks,” he said, and
slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll save it for later if you
don’t mind.”

The look on her face told me she did. She
tapped another from the pack, lit it up and blew the smoke in
Carlos’ face. “You have questions, Detective?”

I crossed the room to an open slider leading
to the patio. “Yes. I wanted to ask you if your husband ever talked
about his work at Biocrynetix Laboratories, especially lately.”

She shook her head, exhausting a lung full
of smoke around her face. “My husband never discussed his work,
Detective. Least not with me. His contract prohibited him
discussing it with anyone outside the lab.”

“
Do you know what he was
working on when he died?”

“
No, but it is what killed
him. I know that much.”

“
How do you
mean?”

She embraced another drag
of her cigarette and expelled it effortlessly. “Of course
IT
did not kill him.
They killed him because of it.”

“
They?”

“
The
government.”

I looked to Carlos. He gestured an easy
shrug. “Mrs. Williams. Are you saying the government murdered your
husband?”

“
Of course they
did.”

“
But the coroner’s
report––”

“
The coroner’s report
stated he died of blunt force trauma to the head resulting from a
fall, which is true. What the report does not state is that someone
tossed him over the balcony that night.”

“
With all due respect,
ma'am, from what I understand, the report also put his blood
alcohol level at twice the––”

“
Legal limit, I know. But
I’m telling you. My husband could hold his liquor. There is no way
he fell over the railing of that balcony on his own. If you ask me,
it was those men who came to see him the night before.”

“
Men?”

“
Government men.” She took
another drag of her cigarette before crushing it out in an ashtray
on the coffee table. “The night before his death, two men came to
the house to talk to Mark. They met in the kitchen. Spoke in hushed
tones so I couldn’t hear their conversation.”

“
How long did they
stay?”

She raised her left shoulder and dropped it
lightly. “Not long. Ten minutes.”

“
Then what?”

“
They left, and Mark
seemed different after that.”

“
How so?”

“
He seemed nervous.
Paranoid even. He didn’t go to work the next day. Said he didn’t
feel well. I asked him to talk about it, but he wouldn’t. He went
upstairs to his office and didn’t come out after that.”

“
Tell me about his death.
Who found him?”

She grabbed the pack of smokes, coaxed
another cigarette out of the pack and lit it up. “I found him. I
went to his room around six o’clock to bring him something to eat.
I knocked on the door. Got no answer. So I went in.”

“
And?”

“
He wasn’t there. I
noticed the French doors opened to the balcony, which seemed
strange because it was raining. The wind was blowing, pushing
rainwater in through the curtains. I went over to shut the doors. I
don’t know why, but instead of shutting them, I walked out onto the
balcony and looked down over the railing. That’s when I saw
him.”

I turned around and looked out beyond the
sliders onto the patio. “There?”

She blew a trail of smoke that seemed to
point at the very spot. “Yes, Detective. There. Of course, the
sliders down here were closed. As I said, it was raining, so I
didn’t hear him fall.”

“
Did you let anyone in the
house that night?”

“
No.”

“
Did you see or hear
anyone else in the house?”

“
No.”

“
Then how could someone
have gotten to your husband to kill him?”

“
Someone could have
climbed the outside stairs.”

“
The outside….”

I stepped out onto the patio. Carlos
followed. Around the corner, we found a wrought-iron spiral
staircase leading up to the balcony outside Williams’ office. “Did
you tell the police about your theory, Mrs. Williams?”

“
I told the investigating
officer. A pig with an overblown ego and the manners of a
baboon.”

“
What did he
say?”

“
He blew me
off.”

“
Did you get his
name?”

She didn’t have to think about it. “Sergeant
Powell.”

I looked at Carlos. He shook his head and
turned his eyes to the ground. I handed her my card. “Again, Mrs.
Williams, we are sorry for your loss. We will look into this. I
promise. In the meantime, if you remember anything else about the
men who came to see your husband, please let me know.”

“
I remember their car,”
she said.

“
Oh?”

“
After they left, I looked
out the window. I saw a dark-colored sedan pulling out of my
driveway. It had blacked-out windows, half-moon hubcaps, a riveted
gas lid and dual antenna on the trunk.”

“
Wow,” said Carlos.
“Sounds like a G-car to me.”

Williams added, “The plates read
CARE-1.”

That got our attention.

“
CARE-I?” I said. “Are you
sure?”

“
You think I’m
mistaken?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. Thank you
for your time.”

Back in the car, I asked Carlos what he
thought of the widow Williams. He said he thought the old girl
seemed sharp enough, but doubted her suspicions about the spiral
staircase intruder.

“
Why?” I asked.

“
Come on. You saw those
pictures on the bookcase and mantle. Every one of them showed
Williams holding a drink. I believe someone came to talk to him.
Maybe upset him enough to drive him to binge drink. But if it were
raining, Williams would have had those French doors shut. No one
could have gotten in from the outside.”

“
What if he let someone
in?”

“
Why would he do that if
he was frightened and upset?”

“
Hmm, good point. Maybe we
should have gone upstairs to look for signs of forced entry through
the French doors.”

“
You want to turn
back?”

I checked my watch, remembering Lilith
wanted me home by six o’clock in time for dinner. “Better not. We
can do that tomorrow. I need to get home. Fact, I should call
Lilith now and––” My phone rang just as I was reaching for it.
“See? That’s probably her now.”

I heard Carlos making light whipping noises
as I answered it.

“
Hello?”

It was Spinelli. “Tony. Got it.”

“
Got what?”

“
A run on the tags you
asked me about. They are not Massachusetts tags. They are U.S.
government tags registered to the Department of
Agriculture.”

“
Department of
Agriculture? I guess that makes sense. The DOA would have an
interest in Biocrynetix Laboratories if they were working on a corn
syrup substitute.”

“
Yes, but listen. Because
it is registered to DOA, does not necessarily mean it is a DOA
car.”

“
How do you
mean?”

“
It’s the oldest shell
game in government. The Department of Agriculture is the department
the government uses for clandestine operations without going
underground. By simply cloaking themselves in the fog of the DOA,
they appear legit while staying below the radar of Congressional
budget and oversight committees.”

“
Who are they?”

“
Could be anyone: CIA,
NSA, DoD, Homeland Security. Pick one.”

“
Which one of those
agencies is known for assassinating American citizens?”

“
Officially? None of
them.”

“
Unofficially?”

“
Unofficially, it could be
the Boy Scouts of America. I don’t know, Tony.”

“
Okay. I get it. Listen.
Before you go home tonight, can you dig up the medical examiner’s
reports on McSweeney, Gerardi and Brookfield? Look for anything out
of the ordinary. Drugs in their systems, alcohol, anti-depressants.
We’ll get together on it tomorrow.”

“
Roger that
Kemosabe.”

I hung up. “Nice,” I said to Carlos. “He
called me Kemosabe. Do you believe that?”

“
What?”

“
That’s what I call
you.”

“
So?”

“
So, what now I’m his
Kemosabe?”

“
What’s wrong with
that?”

“
It’s not very
respectful.”

“
Oh, but it’s okay when
you call me Kemosabe.”

“
That’s not the
same.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because he’s just a kid.
I’m forty years his senior.”

“
Not any more. You’re
about the same age now.”

“
On the outside
maybe.”

“
On the inside,
too.”

“
You know what I
mean.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it.”

“
Oh really? Then what is
it?”

“
He meant it as a term of
endearment, a gesture of camaraderie between good friends. That is
something you can’t reconcile right now because of what you did
with his fiancée last night.”

“
What do you mean? I
didn’t do anything with his fiancée. It’s what she did to
me.”

“
Oh, so now you’re the
victim.”

“
Yes. No. I mean there is
no victim. Nothing happened last night that anyone needs to be
ashamed of.”

“
Good, then you should
tell Dominic everything.”

“
I will do no such thing,
and neither will you.”

“
Okay, but I
think––”

“
I don’t care what you
think. This is between me, Dominic and Ursula. If my fiancée wants
to tell him herself, that’s between him and her.”

“
What did you
say?”

“
I said if his fiancée
wants to––”

“
No you
didn’t.”

“
What?”

“
You said if your fiancée
wants to tell him. You called Ursula your fiancée.”

“
No I didn’t.”

“
You most certainly
did.”

“
Why would I say that?
She’s not my fiancée.”

“
You tell me. A Freudian
slip maybe?”

“
Why don’t you just shut
up and drive? Take me home.”

He signaled left and turned on Broadway. I
rooted myself into my seat and crossed my arms at my chest. I spent
the rest of the ride wondering if I really called Ursula my
fiancée, or if Carlos was just screwing with me. I decided it was
Carlos screwing me. I had to. Otherwise, I would have to submit to
his armchair psychoanalyses. And frankly, he is better at it than I
care to admit.

Lilith and Ursula made a great dinner that
night: baked lasagna, garlic bread and tossed salad with red wine.
Of course, the lasagna came from the frozen foods aisle, the garlic
bread from a poppin` fresh can and the salad from a plastic bag of
ready-mix assorted veggies. And though the wine came in a box, it
was crisp, bright and refreshing. Overall, a delicious meal.