“Then all bets are off. I’ll dance naked at his hanging. But…” She shook another cigarette from the pack. Thatcher lit it for her.

Bill said, “You were about to say, Mrs. Kemp?”

“I’m not sure Gabe has it in him to do that. I told you she was pouty when he left that afternoon. It was because he wouldn’t make love to her. Our walls are thin. I could hear her trying to seduce him. He refused, saying it was too so

on after the baby for them to have sex. So the way she was violated today just doesn’t seem like him. Murder maybe, but not that.”

“Not even if he’d found out the baby isn’t his?” Bill asked. “Maybe he realized that he’d been duped, suckered into killing his wife and his own unborn child for another man’s. That could have motivated him to fly into a blind rage.”

She said, “Then they ought to hang the bastard twice.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance from Dallas arrived. Bill directed it to the back of the building, where Norma Blanchard’s body was loaded. Patsy was going to follow in her car. She told Bill that her husband had family in Dallas, and that she had arranged to stay with them until her sister’s body could be released for burial.

“Please remember that you’re a material witness in two crimes,” Bill said. “I’ll need to reach you.”

“I understand.” She gave him her relative’s telephone number and address.

As they watched her departure, Bill said to Thatcher, “She could also face charges of obstruction if Mila Driscoll suffered the fate I suspect. But I didn’t want to tell her that.”

They returned to the doctor’s office so Dr. Perkins could sign off on departmental paperwork. Thatcher remained in the waiting room. He noticed that Patsy had left her last cigarette smoking in the ashtray. He went over and stubbed it out, then he and Bill left the office together and started downstairs.

Bill slipped a small stoppered bottle into the pocket of his jacket, and when he saw that Thatcher noticed, he said, “For Daisy.”

“Is she all right?”

“For the past few days, she’s had a stomachache. Doc said this would settle it.”

Thinking of the picture gallery in the Amoses’ foyer, Thatcher said, “I wonder if Mrs. Kemp has a picture of Norma.”

“Lots. I saw them in the house when I went to interview them.”

“That’s good. When the boy gets older, he’ll want to know what his mother looked like.” Bill gave him an inquiring look, but he pretended not to see it and returned to the topic of the attack on Norma Blanchard. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Don’t hold back.”

“A man in a blind rage would have killed her outright. Whoever attacked that woman wanted to punish her to death. There’s a difference.”

Bill took that in, then gave him a wry smile. “Don’t talk yourself out of that badge, Thatcher. You were born for this.” He continued on his way down the stairs. Thatcher followed.

As they exited the building Bill cursed under his breath. Bernie Croft was between them and the sheriff’s car, waiting for his dog to finish peeing against a utility pole.

Forty-Seven

Hello, Bill. Hutton.”

“Bernie,” Bill said.

Thatcher didn’t believe that the mayor’s being here at this precise time was coincidental with his dog’s bladder. He was right. When the dog lowered his leg and wandered off to sniff at a patch of weeds growing against the side of the building, Croft strolled along the boardwalk to join them.

He looked Thatcher over. “I heard you actively participated in the raid on Lefty’s.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“A mutual acquaintance of ours.” Thatcher figured he referred to Chester Landry but didn’t remark on it.

Croft turned to Bill. “This young man is practically your shadow these days.”

Tags: Sandra Brown Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net