I—”
“Conduct your own homicide investigation.”
“Danger, danger, Will Robinson!” I waved my arms spasmodically like the robot from Lost In Space . “Honey, let me preface this by saying I love you more than life, but at what point this morning did you lose your mind?
Just think of how many teddy bears you’d have to sell to post my bail.”
“Mulvaney would have to catch you first and she won’t even be here if she’s at the police station questioning Tony.”
“There’ll still be a platoon of cops and evidence techs here.”
“Looking in the wrong places.”
I covered my ears. “La, la, la, la, la! I’m not listening.”
“Think of the unhappy expression on Mulvaney’s face when you solve the case.”
“We wouldn’t be able to tell what she felt, because her face is paralyzed.”
Ash gave me a grave look. “Okay, what if I asked you to find the real killer because you and I both know it’s the right thing to do?”
I was going to offer another feeble protest, but stifled it because she was absolutely correct. Whatever Jennifer Swift’s faults were, she didn’t deserve to be murdered, The False-Hearted Teddy
83
much less spend her final moments of life in a tortured gagging panic, trying to force her inoperative lungs to work. It was a hellish way to die. During my career as a homicide inspector I’d investigated over a thousand murders and this one belonged in the top tier—or bottom, depending on how you looked at it—for sheer, cool, premeditated cruelty. So, regardless of the fact I was no longer a peace officer, I felt I had a moral duty to help identify and capture the killer, especially if the police had arrested the wrong person for murder.
At the same time, my motivation wasn’t entirely altru-istic. I was fascinated by the prospect of investigating one of the most rare forms of homicide, a poisoning murder, and I craved the excitement of going monster hunting again. Furthermore, the murder had been committed in my presence and, rightly or wrongly, I viewed that as a personal challenge. Most of all, I wanted revenge on Mulvaney for abusing Ash and me in front of our teddy bear artisan peers. The best way to do that was to identify the killer and withhold the information from the egomaniacal lieutenant until she’d made a groveling apology.
As you’ll have gathered by now, “forgive and forget” isn’t one of my maxims.
At last, I said, “Does it ever bother you that you’re always right?”
She pretended to be lost in thought for a moment. “No, not really. So, where are you going to begin?”
“By trying to figure out all the angles associated with the inhaler. It tells us an awful lot about the murderer, such as it was someone that understood what the superglue fumes would do to Jennifer’s lungs.”
“And it also has to be someone that was well acquainted with Jennifer, since the suspect had to know she used an inhaler. That means Todd or Donna.”
“As far as we know right now, although I’d have to 84
John J. Lamb
imagine that some of the other teddy bear artists would have known Jennifer was an asthmatic.”
“But how many of them would have wanted her dead?”
“None, and I can’t figure Todd as the killer either.
Yeah, he’d poison Tony, but not Jennifer.”
“Then my money is on Donna. She knew Jennifer and obviously hated her.” Ash inhaled sharply. “You don’t think that confrontation this morning at breakfast . . . ?”
“Was deliberately intended to provoke an asthma attack that would cause Jennifer to use the inhaler? It’s an interesting idea, but why make it so complicated? It’s too much like a bad episode of Murder, She Wrote . Real killings aren’t like that.”
“Hey! I liked Jessica Fletcher.”
“I know, and if you ever wonder how much I love you, think back on all those Sunday nights when I sat watching with you, resisting the urge to tell you all the different ways it went wrong.”
Ash’s eyes bulged
“Conduct your own homicide investigation.”
“Danger, danger, Will Robinson!” I waved my arms spasmodically like the robot from Lost In Space . “Honey, let me preface this by saying I love you more than life, but at what point this morning did you lose your mind?
Just think of how many teddy bears you’d have to sell to post my bail.”
“Mulvaney would have to catch you first and she won’t even be here if she’s at the police station questioning Tony.”
“There’ll still be a platoon of cops and evidence techs here.”
“Looking in the wrong places.”
I covered my ears. “La, la, la, la, la! I’m not listening.”
“Think of the unhappy expression on Mulvaney’s face when you solve the case.”
“We wouldn’t be able to tell what she felt, because her face is paralyzed.”
Ash gave me a grave look. “Okay, what if I asked you to find the real killer because you and I both know it’s the right thing to do?”
I was going to offer another feeble protest, but stifled it because she was absolutely correct. Whatever Jennifer Swift’s faults were, she didn’t deserve to be murdered, The False-Hearted Teddy
83
much less spend her final moments of life in a tortured gagging panic, trying to force her inoperative lungs to work. It was a hellish way to die. During my career as a homicide inspector I’d investigated over a thousand murders and this one belonged in the top tier—or bottom, depending on how you looked at it—for sheer, cool, premeditated cruelty. So, regardless of the fact I was no longer a peace officer, I felt I had a moral duty to help identify and capture the killer, especially if the police had arrested the wrong person for murder.
At the same time, my motivation wasn’t entirely altru-istic. I was fascinated by the prospect of investigating one of the most rare forms of homicide, a poisoning murder, and I craved the excitement of going monster hunting again. Furthermore, the murder had been committed in my presence and, rightly or wrongly, I viewed that as a personal challenge. Most of all, I wanted revenge on Mulvaney for abusing Ash and me in front of our teddy bear artisan peers. The best way to do that was to identify the killer and withhold the information from the egomaniacal lieutenant until she’d made a groveling apology.
As you’ll have gathered by now, “forgive and forget” isn’t one of my maxims.
At last, I said, “Does it ever bother you that you’re always right?”
She pretended to be lost in thought for a moment. “No, not really. So, where are you going to begin?”
“By trying to figure out all the angles associated with the inhaler. It tells us an awful lot about the murderer, such as it was someone that understood what the superglue fumes would do to Jennifer’s lungs.”
“And it also has to be someone that was well acquainted with Jennifer, since the suspect had to know she used an inhaler. That means Todd or Donna.”
“As far as we know right now, although I’d have to 84
John J. Lamb
imagine that some of the other teddy bear artists would have known Jennifer was an asthmatic.”
“But how many of them would have wanted her dead?”
“None, and I can’t figure Todd as the killer either.
Yeah, he’d poison Tony, but not Jennifer.”
“Then my money is on Donna. She knew Jennifer and obviously hated her.” Ash inhaled sharply. “You don’t think that confrontation this morning at breakfast . . . ?”
“Was deliberately intended to provoke an asthma attack that would cause Jennifer to use the inhaler? It’s an interesting idea, but why make it so complicated? It’s too much like a bad episode of Murder, She Wrote . Real killings aren’t like that.”
“Hey! I liked Jessica Fletcher.”
“I know, and if you ever wonder how much I love you, think back on all those Sunday nights when I sat watching with you, resisting the urge to tell you all the different ways it went wrong.”
Ash’s eyes bulged
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