N Is for Noose

it's gone funny and has to be thrown out. Mom was never seen nor heard from again."
    "Pinkie sounds like a very nasty piece of work."
    "The worst."
    "So anybody could have killed him, including one of his kids. Is that what you're saying?"
    "That would cover it," he said. "Of course, by the time he died, they were out from under his control. The rest of the kids had scattered to hell and gone. Couple of 'em still in California, though we don't see 'em all that much." Homer finished the last dish and turned the water off. I continued drying silverware while he put away the clean plates.
    "When did you see him last?"
    "Five years ago in March. The minute he got out of Chino, he headed straight up here, arrived on the Twenty-fifth and stayed a week."
    "Good memory," I remarked.
    "The cops asked me about that so I looked it up. How I pinpointed the date is I withdrew five hundred bucks from a bank account the day Pinkie left. I counted backward from that and the date stuck in my mind. Anything else you want to quiz me about?"
    "I didn't mean to interrupt. Go on."
    "Dolores was the only kid of his still living in the area so naturally, he felt she owed him room and board for as long as he liked."
    "She agreed to that?"
    "Of course."
    "Didn't you object?"
    "I did, but that was an argument I couldn't win. She felt guilty. She's a hell of a gal and what she's endured, believe me, you don't want to know-but the upshot is, she's anxious to please, easily manipulated especially when it came to him. She wanted that man's love. Don't ask me to explain, given what she suffered. He was still Daddy to her and she couldn't turn him away. He was just like he always was: demanding, critical. He refused to lift a finger, expecting her to wait on him hand and foot. I finally got fed up and told him to clear out. Pinkie says, 'Fine, no problem. I won't stay where I'm not wanted. To hell with you,' he says. He was sore as a boil and feeling much put upon, but I was damned if I'd back down."
    "Toth was with him at the time?"
    "Off and on. I think Alfie's ex-wife lived in town somewhere. He mooched off her when he wasn't here mooching off us."
    "And the two left together?"
    "As far as I know. At least, that was the plan."
    "And where were they headed?"
    "Los Angeles. You piece it together later and it turns out they stole a car in Los Angeles and drove up to Lake Tahoe."
    "What about Pinkie's parole officer? Wasn't he supposed to report in?"
    "Hey, you're talking a career criminal. Following the rules wasn't exactly his strong suit. Who the hell knows how he got away with it? Same with Toth."
    "You think someone could have been after them?"
    "I wouldn't know," he said. "Pinkie didn't act like he was worried. Why? You think someone might have been trailing them?"
    "It's possible," I said.
    "Yeah, well it's also possible Pinkie overstepped his bounds for once. He was one of those little guys, chip on his shoulder and feisty as all get out. I can't say that about Alfie. He seemed harmless. Pinkie's another matter. Whoever killed Pinkie should get a medal, in my opinion. And don't quote me. Dolores gets upset if she hears me talkin' like that. I notice I'm doing all the talking."
    "I appreciate that."
    "This is good. I appreciate your appreciation. Now it's your turn. What's a private investigator doing in the middle of a homicide investigation? Last I heard they didn't have a suspect so you can't be working for the public defender's office."
    Given his cooperation, I thought he was entitled to an explanation. I filled him in on the situation, beginning with Selma Newquist and ending with Colleen Sellers. The only thing I omitted were details of the two killings. He didn't seem curious about specifics and I wouldn't have revealed the information for all the money in the world. In the meantime, on an almost subliminal level, I could hear an odd series of voices from another room. At first, I thought the sound was coming from a radio, or television set, but the phrases were repeated, the tone lifeless and mechanical. Homer heard it, too, and his gaze caught mine. He tilted his head in the direction of the short hallway that seemed to lead into a back bedroom. "Dolores's back there. You want to talk to her?"
    "If you think it's okay."
    "She can handle it," he said. "Give me a second and I'll tell her what's going on. She might have something to add."
    He moved down the hall to the door, tapping once before he entered. As he eased through the