Evidence

Milo collected his papers and left. Alone, Helga fooled with the hairpiece some more, massaging the top of the glossy black strands, working a finger joint under the hem and poking around.

Don Boxmeister said, “What, she’s got cooties? Maybe we should’ve strip-searched her.”

Maria Thomas said, “What I said still stands, Don: No sense alienating her right off, he needs something to work with. And it’s paying off, she admitted premeditation.” Several pokes at the BlackBerry. “I’m needed back in an hour, hope he can nail the bitch soon.”

Helga straightened the wig, turned, leaned on the table. Sat and planted her boots on the floor. Her eyes closed. Her head swayed.

“What the hell’s she doing?” said Boxmeister. “Some kind of meditation?”

I said, “Probably dissociation. Putting herself somewhere else is her default strategy.”

Milo returned with a small cup of water. Helga didn’t acknowledge him, but her eyes opened when he said, “Here you go,” and placed it in front of her.

He put on reading glasses, reviewed his notes. She eyed him, finally sipped.

“Okay, tell me about the trip to Port Angeles.”

She touched a fringe of wig. “I engaged in tourism. The great lifeblood of American pseudo- culture.”

“A pleasure trip.”

“I have been to Disneyland, as well.”

“Guess I don’t need to ask if you liked it.”

“Actually,” she said, “it was quite pleasing in its own repugnant way. Consistent.”

“With vulgar American culture?”

“With a world devoid of reason.”

He harrumphed. Slid a couple of sheets toward her. “This is your registration form from the Myrtlewood Inn in Port Angeles. And this is your car rental receipt.”

“I stayed at a nice hotel,” she said. “So?”

“You and Des Backer both stayed there. You took separate rooms, the staff remembers you paying for both. They also recall seeing you and Des at breakfast together.”

Guesses. Good ones. Helga Gemein frowned. “So what? I already told you I got my equipment from him.”

“It was a purchasing trip.”

“Sightseeing, then some purchasing.”

“Why’d you give Des your car and rent another vehicle for yourself?”

“Because we were not together.”

“As…”

“As being together.”

“Did you drive up together?”

“I drove, he flew.”

“So no one at the office would suspect anything.”

“I wanted to drive,” said Helga. “He wanted to fly. He wanted to visit his family.”

“What did you do when he was visiting?”

“I shopped.”

“For timers and fuses?”

“Among other things,” said Helga.

“What things?”

“Clothing.”

“Find some bargains?”

“Jeans,” she said, stroking one shapely thigh. “Black jeans on sale.”

“You drove because you couldn’t risk an airport security check with fifty thousand dollars in two suitcases.”

Helga took several seconds to respond. “If you know so much, why are you wasting my time?”

“That darn old procedure thing. I need to hear it from you.”

“All because of twigs?”

“Afraid so. They were big twigs. Owned by an important person.”

“No one is important.”

“Obviously someone was to you, Helga.” He moved in closer, like I’d seen him do so many times. Spreading his shoulders and hardening his voice.

She flinched reflexively. Forced a smile.

He asserted his big face inches from hers. “Helga, someone was important enough for you to pay fifty thousand dollars to burn down twigs. Important enough for you to set up a shell company. Important enough for you to plan precisely.”

Helga Gemein’s chest heaved. She looked away. Beginning of the end.

“Helga, you’d like me to think you believe in nothing, but the way I see it, everything you did was an act of pure faith. Because that’s what vengeance is, right? Pure faith in the power of correction. That wrong can be made right.”

Pretty lips quivered. She stilled them with another smirk. “Ridiculous.”

“Faith motivated by love, Helga.”

Silence.

Milo said, “You loved Dahlia, nothing to be ashamed of, on the contrary. But it is downright fundamentalist, taking faith that far. You may not be religious, Helga, but you have no trouble drawing upon religion when it works for you.”

Helga Gemein rolled her eyes. Let loose with a ragged, too-loud laugh.

The sudden rise of her shoulders, the rippling along her jawline gave her away.

Milo said, “Sutma.” No answer.

“You’ve heard of sutma, Helga.”

“Primitive nonsense.”

“Maybe so, Helga, but the point was Prince Teddy and his family don’t agree.”

Waiting for a reaction to the name.

A single blink. Then nothing.

Milo said, “Or maybe it’s not just them. Maybe you really do believe in heaven and hell and all that good stuff. But that doesn’t really matter, Helga. The point is the sultan and the rest of the family believes and after what was done to Dahlia, you needed to grab hold of any shred of revenge you could find. Because Teddy’s out of your reach, geographically, financially, you can’t touch him. But cosmically? You burned those twigs in order to leave Teddy dangling in cosmic limbo. Downright terrifying for someone who believes in sutma.”

Silence.

He said, “It is a funny concept, though. If I was a religious person, I’d want to believe just the opposite-destroying material remains speeds up entry to the next world.”

He laughed, clapped his hands hard, sprang up, paced the room twice.

Helga watched, alarmed. Forced herself to stop following his circuit. Sat still as he came to a halt behind her.

She stared straight ahead, pretending not to care about the massive figure shadowing her.

Her jawline was an information highway.

“Reason I just laughed, Helga, is I had a sudden insight-an epiphany, I guess you’d call it. You’re totally into ritual. Like shaving your head. Since the first time I met you I’ve been trying to figure it out, why would you do something like that. But now I get it. It’s a ritual