Free The Gorgon Festival by John Boyd

might convince a rookie. If he continued the act, volunteering to go up as a friend of the deceased, he might give self-incriminating evidence that could later be used against him without the warnings of his rights or the presence of counsel or any of that Supreme Court crap.
    “Let’s go,” Cabroni said.
    “Dinner will be ready at eight,” Ester said dully.
    As the two men walked toward the detective’s car, Cabroni considered the turn of events. For the best results, interrogation procedures required two men, one hostile and one friendly, but caught without a partner he would have to play both roles at once. “So you were giving her a treatment for arthritis, Alex,” he said gently. “That was decent of you.”
    “Actually she gave herself the treatment. I set up the electrodes.”
    This one was clever, Cabroni thought as he held the door open for Ward. Already he was twisting his story to fit the evidence.
    “Were there side effects?” Cabroni asked, starting the motor.
    “Yes,” Ward said, and lapsed into a silence Cabroni read as suspicious, then added, “but on the whole the treatment was beneficial.”
    “When we find her body,” Cabroni said, “we’ll check the skeleton for calcification.”
    “If you don’t mind a layman’s suggestion,” Ward said, “I know where I could look for her body.”
    “Where?” Cabroni was suddenly alert, but no expression showed in his voice.
    “I would go down to the Embarcadero and look for a long line of longshoremen. At the front of the line, you’ll probably find Ruth Gordon’s body, and very active. Those side effects were quite potent.”
    Cabroni smiled knowingly. “The greatest aphrodisiac in the world, eh, Alex?”
    “Her words exactly,” Ward said, half astonished. A man who couldn’t pronounce “hermaphrodite” had rolled out “aphrodisiac” with practiced ease.
    “By the way, Joe. If you don’t accept my opinion, don’t go digging around in Ruth’s garden looking for her body.”
    Suddenly Cabroni’s voice was harsh, edged. “Why not, Doctor Ward?”
    “Practically every bush in that garden bears a prizewinning rose, and she’ll be very angry if you dig among them. She’s spent all spring pruning those bushes.”
    “Corpses cut no roses,” Cabroni said.
    “Nor do they make good fertilizer when they’re arthritic,” Ward added. “There’s too much calcium.”
    For a moment, Cabroni wished he were back at headquarters questioning some ghetto kid who could answer only yes or no. After he had alerted himself for a self-incriminating remark from Ward, he had gotten a short lecture on horticulture.
    When they pulled up in front of the house, Cabroni said, ominously, “There’s a couple of items in her office I’d like to interrogate you about, first, Doctor Ward.”
    Ward did not like the official sound to the word “interrogate,” but he said nothing as they entered the office and Cabroni handed him Ruth’s typewritten release.
To Whom it May Concern: It is my intention to conduct an experiment using myself as the control on this day in the presence of Doctor Alexander Ward, my friend and colleague. In the event that this experiment results in maiming or fatality, I wish to exonerate Doctor Ward of any and all responsibility for the results.
    Doctor Ruth Diane Gordon
    “I told Ruth this release had no legal value,” Ward said.
    “It has,” Cabroni said flatly. “It might make the difference between first-degree murder and manslaughter, if an investigating officer went to the D.A. in behalf of a cooperating suspect.”
    Cabroni walked over to the bookcase and fumbled for the family album, taking more time than necessary to let his offer sink in. “Police are like everybody else,” he mused, “do them a favor and they’ll do you a favor.”
    He returned with the family album and laid it on the desk. He flipped the pages over. All photographs had been torn from the first section of the album. Only paste marks