Free A Playdate With Death by Ayelet Waldman

home from meeting Candace to ask his advice on how to find the names of all the babies born at Haverford Memorial Hospital on February 15, 1972. I’d also asked him what he’d heard from his friends on the force.
    “It looks like a suicide,” he had said.
    “But they’re not sure?”
    “There are some ambiguities.”
    “Like what? Explain to me what they look for whenthey’re evaluating a suspicious death to determine if it’s suicide or murder.”
    “A variety of things. The presence or absence of a weapon.”
    “And they found a gun in the car.”
    “In his hand, actually.”
    “Right, in his hand. What else?”
    “They look at the trajectory of the bullet. You know, could a person have shot himself at that particular angle.”
    “Did they do that in Bobby’s case?”
    “Yup, but it didn’t get them very far. The trajectory is consistent with suicide, but that obviously doesn’t rule out murder.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Sure. The presence or absence of fingerprints in the car.”
    “And?”
    “And there were fingerprints. Lots of them. Your friend had a lot of passengers.”
    I sighed. “Anything conclusive? What about residue on his fingertips? If he had fired the gun himself, wouldn’t there be gunshot residue?”
    “You’re getting good at this, girl. Sure, there would.”
    “And was there?”
    “Some.”
    “Some?”
    “Some. Not as much as you might expect, but enough to be consistent with suicide.”
    “Basically, what you’re telling me is that there’s not enough conclusive evidence either way.”
    “Right now, the forensic evidence could lead to either conclusion: suicide or death by person or persons unknown.”
    “Well, where does that leave the cops? What do they do next?”
    “That depends. There was no note, so they could treat the death as a murder, investigate the family, that kind of thing.”
    “And will they?”
    “Maybe. It depends how many other murders the detectives have on their plates.”
    I told Al about Bobby’s on-line purchases. “Why would someone contemplating suicide buy a Palm Pilot?” I asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”
    “You’re right. It does seem unlikely. But maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll call my friend and suggest that someone check into Bobby’s credit card bills in the days before his death. They’ve probably already done it, but it’s worth a word.”
    “Thanks, Al.”
    “No problem. I’ll let you know what I find out about the hospital, too.”
    Al called two days after our telephone conversation and invited me over for a “consultation.” I’d left Isaac with Peter—they had big plans to check out the new titles at Golden Apple Comics—dropped Ruby off at preschool, and headed down to Westminster.
    I sat down in a white vinyl chair Al brought out from the kitchen for me.
    “So, how’s business?” I asked.
    “Getting there. Listen, have you given any more thought to my idea?”
    “You mean about joining you in this flourishing endeavor?” I asked, waving my hand around the garage.
    “Hey, this is only temporary. Pretty soon I’ll be able to afford office space, but until then, the wife said if I’m going to be home all day, the least I can do is get out from under her feet.”
    “I don’t know, Al. It looks like a one-man operation to me.”
    “This is just the beginning. Like I told you, I’m going to start doing defense investigation, maybe some death penalty work. I could really use someone like you—someone whose legal experience would complement my investigative skills. It would be worth your while, Juliet. At a hundred and fifty bucks an hour, the money’s going to be rolling in.”
    I nodded, not wanting to rib him anymore when he clearly had such faith in me. “Why would my legal experience be useful to you? I don’t know much of anything about investigation. That’s why I’m always bugging you for information.”
    He leaned back in his