Kathy returned from church. Some pieces were beginning to fit, but he wanted her input.
The overnight rain and rising temperatures had melted the snow into dirty water on and around the red Honda. David's single purpose in returning to the parking lot was to compare the black oil stains beneath the cycle with the ones on the piece of cardboard. They matched. Another hallelujah. He rubbed his decision scar. But wait, isn't an oil stain an oil stain? Sure, but one's color could have been golden. For good measure, he checked the footrests and found no particulate matter stuck to them.
At eleven-thirty he arrived at Kathy's condo.
Chapter 22
David asked Kathy why raincoats are hot and winters don't stay cold and how does anybody know what to wear? He ripped off his dark blue London Fog, a lighter blue sweater and, exhaling a full morning's breath, spread out stiffly in an easy chair like a dental patient awaiting root canal surgery.
Kathy ignored the questions and said, 'You want coffee, or some lunch?' She had just returned to her condo from church and wore a pink cowlneck sweater and black pants. He got up and followed her into the kitchen.
'Just coffee. I'm not hungry.' He wiped his brow with a handkerchief, sat at the small table before a bay window, and placed Friday in front of him.
The kitchen was airy with pastel-colored appliances. Scant white curtains hung over double windows facing the driveway and on the bay window of the opposite wall.
'So what did you start with?' she asked, flicking on the coffeemaker and joining David at the table.
'Come again?'
'The plan. Your strategic plan.'
'Tactical.'
'All right, tactical,' she said, derisively.
'The Coughlin site.'
'And?'
David was not being unattentive but realized that once he got started, the findings of the day-and his interpretation of them-could flow nonstop. He evened the attache case with the near edge of the table as he arranged his thoughts.
'David, are you sharing with me or not?'
'Of course. I just don't know where to start.' He snapped Friday open, removed one of the bags of bluish particles and the bag of vacuumed material from Spritz's car, and laid them aside. 'Okay, let's do it this way. First off, I think the evidence is overwhelming that Spritz wasn't set up and that he murdered the others. His was the rifle used to kill Coughlin, the writing samples match, he had the opportunities and plenty of motive and besides … '
'Wait now,' Kathy said, 'motive for which killing?'
'All of them.' He counted on his fingers, 'Tanarkle-Coughlin-Foster-Bugles. They were the EMS committee that turned him down. Remember, we're dealing with a paranoid schiz here. So he kills the first two, lets Foster go because he was a supporter, and as far as Bugles goes, that was a special case. And forget Dr. Cortez-he had to be eliminated in order for Spritz to get to Bugles.'
'Why's Bugles a special case-except for the brutality?'
'Precisely.' David underscored the word by slamming two fingers against the table. 'The brutality. There had to be something more to kill like that, and it's obvious: the drug connection. Something went sour between Bugles and Spritz, and Spritz handled it his way. His psychopathic way. He'd been around hospitals for years and undoubtedly understood some anatomy and had observed O.R. procedures, and he had the balls to pull off … as we say … the brutality.'
Kathy looked as though she didn't want to get up to get the coffee, but did. 'Hold up a minute,' she said. She poured two cups and cut two squares from an apple Danish. David would never have guessed his charged moment might allow an appreciation of coffee aroma. He took a long swallow, felt the burn on his palate, and followed with two cautious sips.
He held up for not much more than her requested minute, then raised the bags to the light and, after describing their origin, received Kathy's concurrence that a match was indefinite to the naked eye.
'Is Sparky any good in forensic geology?' he asked.
'I thought he was a suspect,' she responded, biting into the pastry.
'He is.' David twisted his mouth. 'Hmm-yes, of course. Anyone else around?'
'Sure. Joe Bangor. He's a geology professor over at the university. We've used him in the past. Good with the microscope.'
'If I leave these specimens with you, can you arrange for him to examine them?'
'It'll be done tomorrow.'
'Good.' He eyed her suspiciously. 'Is it okay if I dip a corner of this?' he asked, dangling the Danish over his coffee.
She skewed her lips and said, 'Yes, certainly. Anyone who lives in a pad is entitled to dip a Danish.'
'Hey, that's clever,' he said, buoyed by the way his evaluation was proceeding. 'Now then, there's the matter of these gloves.' He pointed to the pair in Friday. 'I found them in Spritz's laundry room. I don't feel like putting on latex when I'm having coffee so take my word for it-on their undersurface, there's a powder which I'm quite sure is fireclay.'
'Fireclay, like in safes?'
'Like from the lining in safes. I learned all about that from Musco. I'll wrap them in plastic before I leave. Can you give them to your professor friend?'
'Yes.'
'See if he agrees it's fireclay. And don't bother asking me-I have no idea yet where it fits in. All I know is these gloves weren't at Spritz's when I was there on Thursday.'
'Do you think they belong to Spritz?' 'Absolutely-if we've ruled out evidence planting ….'
'And we haven't.'
'Kath, let's just say we have. I can't imagine someone sprinkling blue mortar powder around the floor of a car. But, regardless …' He let the sentence trail because he was anxious to speak of the missing pistol and the Spritz murder.
'Now, moving on,' he said, 'I think I have a reasonable explanation of the events leading up to Spritz's death. Sparky said the murder weapon was probably a handgun from the Kimber series, right?'
'Right. You found it?'
'No. Spritz had the series in his collection and one of them is gone. I would have noticed it was missing Thursday-I'm sure of it-and there was no forced entry to the house.'
'Maybe the perp has a Musco pal, too.'
'C'mon, next thing you'll be saying Musco did it.' David finished his coffee and Danish before continuing. 'Here's what I believe happened. The motorcycle you saw in the parking lot belonged to Spritz. He drove to his EMS place armed with the pistol, and either invited the killer there under some pretext-therefore, they knew each other-or was surprised by the killer. No doubt the murder was drug-related. They had some kind of struggle, and Spritz was disarmed and done in by his own gun. The murderer fled, taking the gun with him. Which, by the way, could possibly eliminate organized crime. It's not a hard and fast rule, but they usually drop the gun before they scram.' David noticed Kathy's half-smile. 'I'm sure I'm not telling you anything on that score,' he added.
'They'd have their own gun or guns anyway,' she cut in.
'Exactly.'
'There's one other possibility, David.' She licked her middle finger of frosting.
'Go ahead, I'm listening.' He was beginning to wrap the gloves in a plastic sheet he took from Friday.
'Maybe the cancellation of the EMS contract had nothing to do with it and Spritz didn't act alone in the killings.'
David elevated his eyes. 'Are you saying two people collaborated for the same drug motive?'
