Robert B Parker
Widow’s Walk
CHAPTER ONE
“I think she’s probably guilty,” Rita Fiore said to me.
We were in her office, high up, with a view of the harbor.
“And you’re her lawyer,” I said.
“Tells you about her case,” Rita said. She sat on the edge of her desk in front of me, her thick red hair gleaming. She had on a black suit with a very short skirt. Rita knew her legs were good.
“But you’ll represent her anyway.”
“Like everyone else,” Rita said, “she’s entitled to the best defense she can get.”
“Or afford,” I said.
Rita smiled. “Or afford.”
“She got money?”
“Oodles,” Rita said.
“Last time I worked for you,” I said, “I almost got killed.”
“I know,” Rita said. “We could give you hazardous-duty pay.”
“It’s all hazardous duty,” I said. “Tell me about your client.”
“Mary Smith.”
“Mary Smith?”
“Honest to God,” Rita said. “It’s her real name. She was married to the victim, Nathan Smith. Her maiden name was Toricelli.”
“She have oodles of money before she married him?” I said.
“No.”
“Ah ha!”
“Ah ha?”
“It’s an investigational term,” I said. “That where the oodles come from?”
“Yes.”
“They the same age?”
“He married her when she was twenty-three and he was fifty-one.”
“Prior marriages?”
“None. For either.”
“How old is she now?”
“Thirty.”
Rita had her legs crossed. She bounced the top leg a little, looking at the point of her shoe. The shoe had a very high heel. It looked uncomfortable. But good.
“Anyone else in her life?”
Rita shook her head sadly. “God,” she said. “You’re a cynical bastard.”
“Anyone?”
“Cops suspect her of an affair or two.”
“With?”
Rita smiled. “You want them in chronological order?” she said. “Or alphabetically?”
“You can give me a list,” I said. “What’s the prosecution’s case?”
“He was discovered naked in his bed with a hole in his head made by a forty-caliber slug.”
“They find the bullet?”
“Yes. After it went through his head it tore through the mattress and lodged in the baseboard. Angle of the shot suggests that it was fired by someone in bed beside him.”
“She have an alibi?”
