Free Night Secrets by Thomas H. Cook Page A

killed that old lady, pure and simple.”
    Frank’s pen stopped. “But why?”
    Tannenbaum shrugged. “For now, I don’t know,” he admitted.
    â€œThe other woman, this Maria Jacobe, did she have any idea?”
    â€œShe was a basket case, Frank,” Tannenbaum said. “She barely knew what country she was in.”
    â€œSo you don’t have a motive?”
    â€œNot yet,” Tannenbaum said. “But like we say in the trade, the body’s still warm. We’ll find one.”
    â€œHave you talked to any of the neighbors?”
    Tannenbaum laughed derisively. “The neighbors. What a bag of Halloween candy they are.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou got a local drug dealer on one side with a yellow sheet as long as your arm,” Tannenbaum said. “On the other side, you got a family of illegals, refugees who figure that in the end this is going to get them sent back to Haiti.” He lit the cigar, took a quick puff. “But who knows, Frank, maybe you can get these people to cooperate.”
    Frank glanced back down toward his notebook. “How’s the physical evidence standing up?”
    â€œThe Rock of Gibraltar,” Tannenbaum said confidently. “We could nail her six ways from Sunday.” He lifted his hand, shot one finger into the air. “The blood on her sleeves and under her fingernails came straight out of the old lady’s throat.” A second finger joined the first. “The prints on the razor couldn’t be better. Clear as a goddamn bell. Textbook shots, I mean it. Unmistakable.” The third finger rose. “The little guy who runs the bodega next door saw her go into the house only a couple minutes before the old lady died, so that’s two people who can testify that she was present, like they say, at the scene of the crime.”
    â€œAre you sure the razor’s the murder weapon?” Frank asked, as he continued to write in his notebook.
    â€œAccording to the medical examiner, it is.”
    â€œWhat did the autopsy say?”
    â€œThat she died from a single cut to the throat,” Tannenbaum said. He picked up one of the sheets of paper in the folder and read the exact words. “A deep cut which severed the major veins and arteries of the neck.” He returned the paper to the folder. “It was very deep, and it was pretty much ear to ear.”
    â€œMust have been a sharp razor,” Frank said. “What kind was it?”
    â€œKind? What do you mean, kind? It was a razor.”
    â€œA shaving razor?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œIn a house with no men?”
    Tannenbaum smiled. “Not bad, Frank.”
    â€œDid you check it out?”
    â€œFirst thing.”
    Frank waited.
    â€œThere were no traces of hair or hair follicles on the blade,” Tannenbaum said.
    Frank nodded.
    â€œSo what that tells us is that nobody had ever used it to shave with,” Tannenbaum said. “It was clean as a whistle.”
    â€œExcept for fingerprints,” Frank reminded him.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAnd they belong to the woman.”
    â€œYeah.”
    Frank tried to pull it all togemer. “So the razor had never been used.”
    â€œThere was nothing but the old woman’s blood on it,” Tannenbaum said. “My guess is the woman bought it new, just for the occasion.”
    Frank wrote it down.
    â€œI hear the woman has a lawyer now,” Tannenbaum said.
    â€œYeah, she does.”
    â€œThe lab report will be on his desk in the morning,” Tannenbaum said. “By the way, who is he?”
    â€œA guy named Andrew Deegan,” Frank said. He closed his notebook. “I’d like to see where it happened,” he said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œJust to get a feel for it,” Frank told him.
    Tannenbaum drew in a weary breath. “Okay, I’ll arrange for you to take a look.”
    Frank stood up