Evidence

of self-abasement you took on until you achieved your goal. Like fasting on Lent-wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve done your share of that, too. Other kinds of fasting. Maybe even a vow of celibacy.”

Her jaw clenched.

“How long ago, Helga, did you start eating meat during Lent? If you ever did. Do you eat your Lent veggies and explain it as meta-ecology?”

Helga Gemein shut her eyes.

“Even so, it’s religion, Helga. Are you a strict vegetarian? Or do you sneak meat when no one’s looking?”

Silence.

“Once a Catholic, always a Catholic, Helga. Believe me, I know.”

She folded her arms. Let them drop. Began deep-breathing.

“Oh, come on,” said Milo. “Let’s be just a little bit honest and ’fess up like they taught you in convent school: At the core, you’re devout, believe sin must be punished. And there’s no greater sin than murder. Especially the murder of an innocent like Dahlia.”

Helga Gemein’s eyelids scrunched tighter. Tears trickled out.

“You loved Dahlia, that’s not a bad thing, that’s a good thing, she loved you, too. Believing is a good thing, Helga. It helps me understand what you did. Everything you’ve done since you arrived in this country has been aimed at getting justice for Dahlia. You’re powerless to go to Sranil and do what you dream about-though I’m sure you haven’t given up on that. And maybe Daddy hasn’t, either. But meanwhile…”

She let out a cry. Clamped a hand over her mouth.

Milo bent close, spoke softly, inches from her ear. “You’re a survivor aiming for justice. That’s human, Helga, and no matter what you say, you’re a member of the species.”

The entire lower half of Helga’s face began to tremble. She pressed one palm to her cheek, failed to still waves of twitches.

Milo pulled his chair so their knees were just short of contact.

“Let the bastard dangle,” he said tenderly. “He deserves it.”

Moving in closer. “What I don’t understand is why you had to kill Des and Doreen?”

Helga opened her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I think we’ve moved past self-delusion, Helga.”

“You are ridiculous.”

He handed her a tissue. She swatted it away.

Milo watched it flutter to the floor. “Why’d you have to kill them, Helga? Did they get greedy and ask for more money?”

Helga Gemein shook her head. “Fool.”

Milo said, “Or were they just a nuisance and expendable? Time to cover your tracks.”

She tried to scoot her chair back. The legs stuck. He pressed closer. She cleared her throat. Drew back her head.

Boxmeister said, “Uh-oh-”

Milo jerked away just in time to avoid the missile of spit.

A wet gob landed on the floor.

Her hands were balled. Flush-faced, she panted.

Milo shook his head, ever the patient schoolmaster. “Looks like I touched a nerve, Helga.”

“You have touched stupidity,” she said. “I have never killed anyone. Never.”

“What’s the big deal? You claim to hate humanity-”

“Humanity is shit. I don’t put shit on my hands.”

“Except when it suits your purposes.” She shook her head. “Idiot.”

Reaching for his papers, he pulled out another sheet. The picture of the man in the hoodie. Adroitly, no more fumbling. “You killed Desi and Doreen with this guy’s help.”

Helga Gemein’s jaw turned smooth. A smile spread slowly. That serene smile tightened my gut.

“I have never seen this person.”

Maria Thomas said, “Uh-oh.”

“What?” said Boxmeister.

Thomas said, “That look like a tell to you? That picture mellowed her. Damn.” She turned to me: “Either she is nuts or she really doesn’t know what he’s talking about, right, Doc? Either way, it’s mucho problemo.”

Milo continued to display the photo.

Helga said, “You can wave that around forever, your little policeman flag.”

“This guy’s your partner, Helga. The person who helped you murder Des and Doreen. Did you drive up to Port Angeles with him?”

Helga shook her head. “You are an utter fool.”

“This photo was taken in Port Angeles a couple of days ago. This man was there to retrieve the money. Talk about good planning. You never had any intention of letting Des keep a penny. Because you never had any intention of letting him live. The real reason you rented him a car was so you could follow him and find out where he stashed the money. After you returned to L.A., you got hold of his storage key-plucked it out of a pocket or found it in his desk drawer, made a mold. Maybe you did it when he was off having fun with the ladies and you were in the office all by your bald-headed, self-abasing, not-so-lapsed Catholic fundamentalist self.”

Helga Gemein giggled. “You truly believe this scheiss.”

“The evidence makes me believe, Helga.”

“Then the evidence is scheiss.” Clucking her tongue. “I have burned twigs, that is all. Now I wish to leave and pay my fine and not hear any more of this crazy nonsense.”

“Twigs,” said Milo. “We call it arson and it’s a felony.”

Helga shrugged. “I will hire a lawyer. He will make it into a prank that got too big and I will be free and you will remain stupid.”

“Damn,” said Boxmeister.

Thomas said, “She hasn’t actually asked, she’s only threatened.” Shifting close to the mirror. “Change the subject, dude.”

Milo said, “More water?”

“Yes!” said Thomas.

Helga said, “No, thank you.” Sweet smile. Unsettling. Wrong.

“Desi and Doreen were murdered in that turret. You went back to the house anyway.”

“I had business to do.”

“The murder didn’t bother you?”

“Not my concern, Policeman.”

Milo slid another piece of paper toward her.

“What is this, Policeman?”

“This is what’s left of a gentleman named Charles Ellston Rutger. He grew up in a house that once sat on the Borodi property. Had one of those stupid sentimental attachments to the land, which is why he liked to sneak up there, sit in that same turret, reminisce about the good old days. See that shiny thing?” Pointing. “That’s what was left of his wineglass. And that, over there? That used to be a tin of foie gras. Mr. Rutger was enjoying a snack, washing it down with a nice Bordeaux the night you reduced him to dust.”

Helga Gemein grabbed the paper.