Act of God

end?”
    “Kismet?”
    A grunt. “Best you talk to Cross, then. Be her toes you’d be stepping on, and I don’t much like your chances for a life long and happy, you do.”

    “What?”
    “Nice to see you, too, Sergeant.”
    “Cuddy, what?”
    I sat in the chair beside her desk. On the desk were stacks of manila case folders and a box of assorted Dunkin’ Donuts Munchkins. Behind the desk, Cross sat in a black, padded swivel chair with her elbows on the blotter. The elbows were even with her shoulders, which didn’t need any padding to fill out the camel’s hair blazer or the buttoned-down brown blouse underneath it. Her hair matched the blouse but was pulled behind her neck in a careless ponytail. She wore small pearl studs as earrings, no other jewelry except for a Timex on her left wrist, the face of the watch peeking at me as she reached for a powdered cinnamon and popped it into her mouth.
    Around the Munchkin, she said, “For the third time, what?”
    “I just talked with the lieutenant. He said you’d drawn the Rivkind killing.”
    “He ought to know.”
    “I’ve got a missing-person thing that might be related to it. I was wondering if we could talk some.”
    Cross stopped chewing and looked at me, then swallowed and brushed off her hands. Moving a file, she delved into a short stack of folders and came out with one that she opened in front of her. “Related as in a relative?”
    “No. A secretary at the furniture store named Darbra Proft. Her brother’s hired me to find her.”
    “The secretary.”
    “Don’t get you.”
    “Proft, she’s the one and only secretary they had, and she left work the day of the killing at like five-thirty. She was with a friend of hers at the movies when the boss got it.”
    I took out a pad. “Friend’s name?”
    “I’ve got Wickmire, Traci. Want the spelling and address?”
    All roads do lead to Ms. Wickmire. “Thanks, already got them from the brother.”
    Cross closed the file and looked at me. “Guess that does it for you, then.”
    I returned the look. “How about some details on the crime.”
    “How about them?”
    “Meaning, I’ve got just the secretary with an alibi, how come I’m still sitting here.”
    “Cuddy, you’re still sitting there account of I haven’t thrown you out. The question is, how come you’re still interested in the homicide when it doesn’t look like the missing person has anything but coincidence going for her with it?”
    “The widow’s also asked me in.”
    “The widow. Mrs. Rivkind?”
    “Yes.”
    Cross dropped the eyes and the voice. “You know, I really feel sorry for her.”
    “How come?”
    She passed a hand over the file like a magician disappointed with a trick. “Woman’s lived her whole life for a man without knowing what the hell was going on in his.”
    “What was going on?”
    Cross raised her eyes again. “Number one, the store was going to hell in a hand basket.”
    “Recession?”
    “And the big suburban discount houses. Talk to the partner on that, Joel Bernstein.”
    “Number two?”
    “Two, I’ve got enough smoke to make me think there was a little fire between the decedent and your Darbra there.” Shit. “Which is why you checked about the alibi.”
    “That and the phone call.”
    “What phone call?”
    “The night he was killed, within probably ten minutes of him being attacked, there was a call placed from his office phone to her apartment.”
    “Who made the call?”
    Cross smiled, some powdered sugar lodged at the corners of her mouth like dried foam. “That’s a good question, isn’t it? Abraham Rjvkind or somebody else or whoever killed him. New England Tel records show the call was completed, but—”
    “But how could it be, if Proft was out to the movies with Wickmire?”
    A better smile before it disappeared around a honey-dipped Munchkin. “You’re almost getting good at this, Cuddy.”
    “Practice.”
    “Yeah, you and me both. Anyway, Proft told us she had her tape machine on that night, and when she got home the message light was lit.” Cross jumped her tone two octaves, “ ‘But like it was five minutes of just like dead space, you know?’ ”
    “A direct quote?”
    Cross answered in her own voice. “Afraid so.”
    “You believe her?”
    “No. But it seemed kind of stupid for Proft to have an accomplice call her at home from the victim’s number, so I didn’t follow up much.”
    “Aside from the telephone call, any other connections with