Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

the cop asked, waving the weapon casually toward Walter.
    "Yes," Julia said. "He's a friend of mine."
    The cops looked at each other, and then one led the Creep around the house, reciting the Miranda warning.
    "Are you both willing to make statements?" the other cop said, finally returning his gun to its holster.
    "Sure," said Julia. "You want to come in the house? I guess you'll want to check for fingerprints and all that."
    "The crime scene tech is on duty at the hospital," the cop said, taking out a small notepad. "She's going to hate coming out this time of night. So, you going to press charges, Mrs.—?"
    "Stone. Julia Stone. Of course I'm pressing charges."
    The cop scribbled down her name and asked for Walter's name. When Walter gave it, the cop lowered the notepad and let his writing hand make a subtle crawl toward his holster. “Triplett?”
    “That’s right.” Walter straightened a little and glanced at Julia. “ That Walter Triplett.”
    The cop nodded and asked Julia, “So you’re vouching for his side of the story?”
    Julia considered the possibility that the intruder had actually been Walter, and the college guy may have caught him in the act. But Walter had a key and needn’t bother sneaking in or out the window. And despite his reputation as a possible wife-killer, his kindness had eased her fears. “He’s safe,” she said.
     The cop glowered at Walter, went to his car, and retrieved a clipboard. He spent the next fifteen minutes filling out an incident report. Then the car pulled away, lights still flashing. The college students jeered as the cops passed, holding their beer cans in the air.
    "I thought they were going to check for fingerprints," Julia said.
    "This is Elkwood," Walter said. He touched the bruise under his eye and winced.
    "Come in and let me get you some ice for that."
    Julia retrieved her Louisville Slugger on the way inside. If discretion was the better part of valor, she figured 34 inches of hardwood would bridge the remainder of the gap if necessary.

 
     
    CHAPTER NINETEEN
     
    Walter sat in the living room, looking at the baseball cards spread out on the table, as Julia wrapped some ice in a washcloth. She brought the cloth to him and then sat across the room in the chair at her work desk.
    "Stan Musial," Walter said, noting the arrangement of the cards by position. "Didn't he play centerfield?"
    "No, left," Julia said. She shifted restlessly on the couch. She had leaned the bat in the corner, but the mace still bulged in her pocket. "He couldn't throw well enough for center. He hurt his arm pitching in the minors. Three-time MVP. Led the Cardinals to two championships during World War II."
    "I thought all the good players got drafted by the army. Wasn't Ted Williams a fighter pilot?"
    Julia shrugged. "Maybe it was a conspiracy to make St. Louis look good. The old St. Louis Browns made their only World Series appearance in 1944. First time in 42 years. They won in 2006, too."
    Walter pressed the impromptu ice pack to his cheek. "Ouch."
    "Did that Creep slug you?"
    "Nope. He accidentally elbowed me in the face when I tackled him."
    Now came time for the question Julia had been delaying. She tried to sound casual, not like an interrogator. "When did you see him break in?"
    In other words, what were you doing lurking in the woods behind my house? WATCHING my house?
    "I do yard work for Mrs. Covington. She saw me fixing up this house after Hartley moved out and she hired me. I was over yonder—" he waved with his arm, "—laying some mulch when I saw somebody go around back of your house. I didn't think much of it, figured he was heading down that trail in the woods. My Jeep was parked behind Mrs. Covington's, so I reckon he didn't know I was watching."
    Julia slid her hand into her pocket, felt the contour of the mace canister. "He lives in one of those apartments. Mrs. Covington told me one of them had a history of peeping."
    "Guess he took it a step further this time. When I didn't see him pass there where the trail goes by Mrs. Covington's back yard, I got suspicious. So I went through the woods and saw your window open. I figured somebody had been messing around there before, or else you wouldn't have asked Mr. Webster to check your windows."
    "Maybe you should become a cop," Julia said. Just like T.L. Snead. Then Walter could be part of the great Satanic conspiracy and get his piece of the action.
    "No, thanks," he said. "I don't like guns."
    "You sure didn't