Act of God

fireplace. It was on the ground by Abe... by Abe’s body. And Joel just grabbed it and threw it to the side.”
    “Where did he grab it?”
    “What?”
    “The poker. Where did Mr. Bernstein grab it?”
    “I don’t know. I may have... no, no I didn’t—I couldn’t see, because he—Joel—got down on his knees between me and Abe... Abe’s...” Swindell waved her hand, warding off the memory.
    I waited, then said, “Where was Finian Quill all this time?”
    “I didn’t know. I mean, we’ve all talked about it since, so I know Finian was in the alley in back, looking for whoever it was, and Joel was in the men’s, but that’s just because we talked about it. I didn’t see any of it.”
    “Mr. Rivkind, he was dead when you found him?”
    “I don’t know. Joel said we should move him, try to... resuscitate him? But... I helped him move the body a little, got some blood on... on me, and I wasn’t too good after that.”
    I waited longer before saying, “Mrs. Swindell, how do you think the killer got out?”
    She shook her head. “At first, when the police were talk-mg to us, I figured whoever it was must have gone out the front way.”
    “The front way?”
    “The swinging doors we have back out to the store.”
    “Past the rest rooms.”
    " Yes, and then when the main entrance on the first floor was locked and he couldn’t get out, he went back through the store to the back door and set off the alarm. But that was because I didn’t hear anything before the alarm went off.”
    “You did have your door closed, though.”
    “That’s right. That’s what I mean. With the door closed and all, I guess the man could have gone by my office, then down the back stairs and out.”
    “Setting off the alarm.”
    “Right, but the alarm goes off up here, too.”
    “You already told me that.”
    “No. No, I mean—what’s the best way to say this? We hear the alarm all over the store, that’s the idea of it, to warn everybody. But it gets set off by opening any one of the doors to the stairs.”
    I tried to picture it. “Any one of the doors to the back stairs sets off the alarm?”
    “I’m pretty sure.”
    I made a mental note to ask Bernstein and Quill about that, but there were still a few questions I had for her, ones I’d saved till the end because I didn’t think she’d like them. “Mrs. Swindell, have there been any problems with the business here?”
    She stiffened. “Problems?”
    “Money problems, debt problems, you tell me.”
    “I don’t think I will, Mr. Cuddy. I’m the bookkeeper, and I don’t think it’s my place to comment on that.”
    She’d gone back to the reserved, precise tone of her profession. “Different question, then. There’s no easy way to phrase this. Do you think there was anything beyond business between Darbra Proft and Abe Rivkind?”
    Stiff became rigid. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Cuddy. When I was young, and my husband got sent to prison, the judge was going to send me along with him. He might have had grounds, too, some kind of accomplice charge. Well, I’d been taking some courses at one of the business schools over in Back Bay , improve myself, but I needed a job. The probation officer back then, he knew Abe from the temple they belonged to, and he asked Abe if he’d stand up for me, give me a job.” Her anger seemed to burnish itself. “Abe met with me, talked with me, and hired me. Nowadays, all you hear about is the friction, the hate. Farrakhan and the JDL. Even back then, though, it still meant having a black woman in a Jewish business, but Abe gave me a chance, and that means something to me, Mr. Cuddy. So you have that kind of questions, you can ask them to somebody else.”
    A male voice boomed off the walls of the corridor. “ Beverly ? Beverly, you all right down there?”
    Swindell took the edge out of her voice. “I’m fine, Joel, but there’s somebody here I think you ought to meet.” Footsteps barely sounded on the carpet outside, even with the office door open. I said, “One last thing. What’s your husband’s name?”
    She spoke softly, contempt lacing the words. “Swindell, Samuel E. He did a short ten at Walpole , and I haven’t seen or heard from him since he got out. What’s more, I hope I never will.”

12

    The man filling the doorway to Beverly Swindell’s office literally had toturn himself sideways to walk through it. About five-eight, he was obese, his stomach swinging in front of him like the bass