Show of Evil

'Yes.'

'Do you know how many bullets you bought?'

'Two boxes.'

'How many bullets in a box?'

'Fifty.'

'And did you keep your gun loaded?'

'Yes.'

'How many shells did it hold?'

'Six.'

'And where do you keep the remaining shells?'

'On a shelf in my bedroom closet.'

'Is that closet locked?'

'No. Why would I—'

Venable gently laid her hand over Stoddard's and shook her head, but Parver chose to ignore the comment. She opened her briefcase and took out a grey piece of paper that was folded over twice. She opened it up and laid it on the table in front of Stoddard.

'Mrs Stoddard, this is a target we obtained from the Shooting Club. You left it behind the last day you were there and they saved it. They assumed you would be back in from time to time to practice and they thought you might like to keep it.'

Venable looked down at the target, which was the customary black human silhouette on white background normally used in target ranges. There were six bullet holes, all tightly grouped in the area of the heart.

'Do you recognize the target, Mrs Stoddard?'

'That could be anyone's target, Counsellor,' Venable snapped. 'All targets look alike.'

'They don't all have your client's name and the date written on the bottom,' said Parver. She pointed to the two lines scribbled in one corner. 'They did this to identify it for her.'

'Then I guess it's mine,' Stoddard said.

'That's from twenty-five yards, Mrs Stoddard. You're pretty good.'

Edith Stoddard didn't answer immediately. Finally she shrugged. 'Most of the people at the range are that good.'

 'What kind of bag do you carry, Mrs Stoddard?'

'It's a Louis Vuitton. Just a standard handbag.'

'That's the one about eight inches long and four or five inches deep, right?' Parver said, measuring out the general dimensions in the air with her hands.

'I guess.'

'And what do you normally carry in it?'

 'What's the relevance of this?' Venable asked.

'Bear with me, please,' Parver said without changing her tone. She reached down to the floor and put her bulky leather bag on the desk. It was jammed with stuff. 'This is my bag, Mrs Stoddard,' Parver said, and laughed. 'As you can see, I've got everything in here but a set of the Encyclopedia Britannica.'

Edith Stoddard's face softened slightly and a smile flirted briefly with her lips. 'Was your bag jam-packed like mine?'

Stoddard chuckled. 'I can't imagine having that much to carry in a handbag.'

'So your bag was fairly neat and uncluttered, would that be a fair assessment?'

'Yes. My wallet, chequebook, keys, Kleenex. Sometimes a paperback, if I was reading one. I sometimes read while eating lunch.'

'Mrs Stoddard, do you have any idea how much your gun weighed?' Parver said, checking through her notes.

'No.'

Parver hesitated a moment, then turned a page. 'One pound six ounces loaded,' she said. 'Enough to be noticeable when you were carrying it in that small, uncluttered handbag, wouldn't you agree?'

'I… suppose so,' Stoddard said cautiously.

'What I mean is, this gun was for your protection, isn't that what you said?'

'Yes.'

'So wouldn't it be natural to be aware of the weight, know it was there in case of trouble?'