Night Victims (The Night Spider) Read Online Free PDF Page B

floor. And there were some charred sticks nearby stacked in a pyramid pile.”
    “Sounds like he was trying to build a campfire.”
    “In the garage?”
    Horn raised his glass and sipped; he looked thoughtful. So his only grandchild was a pyromaniac. “Well, no harm done if they gave him a good talking-to. Boys are naturally intrigued by fire.”
    “So are men.”
    He smiled. “You should have some wine with your meal, relax, then after dinner we’ll go back home and I’ll show you I meant it when I called you darling.”
    The waiter arrived with their food. He rested his large round tray on a nearby table and with a flourish raised silver lids to expose steaming entrees.
    Anne’s face gave away nothing, but she ordered wine.

5
    “Kinda posh for a former police captain,” Paula said, as she and Bickerstaff were about to climb out of the unmarked Paula had parked at the curb in front of Horn’s brownstone.
    “Nobody ever suggested Horn was a bent cop,” Bicker-staff said. “Rumor is he inherited some money, made some smart investments. And he’s not exactly a millionaire.”
    “Yeah, but I bet his wife’s not bagging groceries so they can scrape by.”
    “Matter of fact she does hold down a job. Some kinda executive at a hospital.”
    Paula had her fingers curled around the door handle but paused. “You like this guy.”
    “Never met him. But I like what I heard. He’s straight and tough and an old-fashioned cop.”
    “What’s that mean—old-fashioned?”
    “Means he knows when and how and how hard to push.” Bickerstaff sat and wheezed for a while, then added, “I know how you feel about Horn taking over the investigation, but the important thing you gotta know is that from everything I heard about the guy, he’s not about to hang us out to dry.”
    Paula sighed. “So he’s got balls. Cojones. He’ll go to the wall for us.”
    “Let’s get outta the car, Paula,” Bickerstaff said, perceptive enough to know when he was being patronized.
    He’d already opened his door and was squeezing his bulk out. Egress wasn’t his strong suit. He was still working on it after Paula had gotten out of the car. She slammed her door before he did his. Too many doughnuts, the unknowing might say of Bickerstaff, but Paula knew better. He could move amazingly fast when it was necessary and with an economy that made what he did count. Almost too many doughnuts.
    Neither of them said anything as they took the concrete steps to tall oak doors that had to be original to the house. Bickerstaff pressed the faintly illuminated doorbell button.
    There was no sound from inside, but within a few seconds the door to the left opened and a tall man with bulky shoulders and the beginning of a stomach paunch smiled out at them. He had a nice smile that crinkled his craggy features. He was wearing pinstriped gray suit pants and a white shirt, loosened red tie, and dark blue suspenders, but Paula thought he’d look good modeling hunting outfits in an outdoorsware catalog. It was something about his rangy if slightly paunchy build, and his marksman’s pale eyes. Your manly guide for hunting moose in the north country.
    “Detectives Ramboquette and Bickerstaff,” he said, and shook both their hands with his left hand. His own hands were huge and rough as a stone mason’s but clean and with closely trimmed nails.
    Paula managed to smile back at him, slightly irritated that he’d unnerved her with his size and presence. He wasn’t exactly what she’d expected, and his welcome and amiability seemed genuine.
     
    Paula and Bickerstaff followed as Horn led them into the comfortably furnished living room with overstuffed chairs and sofa, an oriental rug on hardwood flooring, a fireplace that had a brass shovel and poker set alongside it but looked as if it was never used. On the mantel was an arrangement of elegant vases and framed photos of a young blond woman holding an infant, and an older blond woman who might be her