Weird Detectives Read Online Free PDF Page A

don’t you remember that hill? I couldn’t see a thing from the path. Hill’s too steep.”
    “Really,” said Rollins, and I could tell he saw where I was going. He played it just right. “You couldn’t?”
    “No,” I said, and looked back at Gold, whose face was stony. “I couldn’t, and I’m pretty tall. So how could you see the dog?”
    A blotch of crimson stained Gold’s throat. “Maybe I left the path. I don’t remember.”
    “That would explain it,” said Rollins.
    “Yeah, maybe that’s it,” I said. “Because there’s no way to see down that hill. But then . . . ”
    “Yes, Detective?” Gold’s tone was neutral.
    “Your clothes. You didn’t have any burrs. I had burrs on my coat. The dog had burrs.”
    “I had burrs,” said Rollins.
    “You didn’t have any burrs,” I said to Gold. “But you should have. Your shoes weren’t even wet.”
    Gold looked from me to Rollins and back again. “Are you accusing me of something, Detective? If you are, I should have a lawyer.”
    “I’m just trying to clear up a discrepancy, Miss Gold.”
    “No, you’re not.” She leaned forward, getting into my space, not intimidated in the slightest. “Listen to me. I did not kill that child. Now, I’m sorry if you and Detective Rollins can’t find anyone to blame . . . ”
    “Hey,” said Rollins.
    Her gaze didn’t waver, and I felt her take control. “But just because I may have made a mistake on where I was standing, or didn’t have garbage on my clothes, doesn’t mean I did anything wrong. Someone killed that little boy, and it wasn’t me.”
    I tried to recoup. “You know who kills little babies, Miss Gold? It’s not only their daddy, or their mommy’s coked-up boyfriend, or some sick sex predator-creep. I’ll tell who kills little babies: mothers. Sometimes that mother is depressed and suicidal and wants to take her child to a better place. Sometimes that mother wants attention. So she makes her child sick, and then there are all those doctors, and she feels important. And then there are mothers who are simply evil.”
    “Evil,” said Gold. For the first time, I saw not defiance but astonishment cross Gold’s features. “Is that what you think? You think that’s my baby?”
    Actually, until that moment, that’s exactly what I’d thought. All I’d seen her in were baggy clothes, for one. And pieces of her story didn’t fit. But Gold’s reaction was genuine. You can’t do a hundred million hours of interrogations and not know when someone’s honestly amazed.
    Gold gave a mirthless laugh. “I can’t believe this. There are tests, right? To prove maternity?”
    “Yes,” I said, knowing already what we’d find. “DNA that we—”
    “Fine.” Gold held out her arms. “Which one?”
    She wasn’t the mother.
    My condo’s off Lee Highway, in Arlington. I grew up in DC and now I work it. I can’t live there. On the way home, I bought Thai takeout and then picked up a six-pack of icy-cold Bangkok beer. I ate my pad Thai out of the carton, had a beer. Then I popped a second beer, put on Mingus, and settled into my favorite—my only—recliner. I sleep there a lot. I don’t know any single guy sleeps in his bed. We sleep on couches, chairs. Never the bed. And in our clothes, usually.
    Rabbi Dietterich had given me a book on Kabbalah. Then, as we had shaken hands, he said, “I have often thought about Detective Lennox. His death, such a tragedy. You and I both know there are demons and monsters everywhere. Nazis, murderers. But what are not so easy are the monsters that are hidden.” Dietterich bunched his fists and brought them to his chest. “The ones in here, in the dark chambers of the heart. Detective Lennox was a Jew, but he had no faith, and he found his monsters. Or they found him. Hashem can help, but a man must have faith, and he must work. We Jews are not like you Christians. We don’t believe that Hashem makes everything better. Hashem can be harsh.