Spiral

under.”
    Cascadden grinned. ”Maybe old Ford reckoned you’d be more trouble than a ninety-eight-pound whore.”
    Pintana blinked, but kept the lids down for longer than the level of light in the room required. ”And Walton himself was killed by somebody who knew where to stick a man from behind.”
    ”Or by somebody who wanted to give you that impression.”
    More tapping of her forefinger. ”Let’s hear it.”
    I came forward in the chair, resting my elbows on my knees. ”There’s no reason Ford Walton would attack me last night saying it was ‘for Sundy.’ I didn’t know him from Adam, or him me. And I wasn’t even in Florida when she was killed.”
    Cascadden said, ”Lourdes, I—,” but stopped when Pintana shook her head.
    I stayed with her. ”On the other hand, whoever did slash Moran maybe knew something about her life, and therefore could have known Walton, too.”
    ”Or at least that he was Moran’s lover.”
    Cascadden grunted. ”Seems old Ford was rutting through the whole goddamned fam—”
    ”Kyle,” said Pintana, in her ”knock-it-off” tone.
    I didn’t bother to glance at him. ”And our killer also could have known Walton liked to use a knife, and might even be blamed for both deaths.”
    Cascadden looked genuinely confused. ”Both?”
    I said, ”Sundy Moran’s and mine.”
    He didn’t seem to appreciate my help.
    Pintana said, ”We got back the lab results on the residue from that knife you say Walton used on you.”
    ”Moran’s blood, too?”
    ”Don’t worry, Beantown. You can’t get AIDS from a goddamned blade.”
    Neither Pintana nor I bothered with Cascadden now. She said, ”Moran’s blood, too.”
    ”So whoever killed her went to the trouble of keeping the murder weapon ..
    ”...to plant on somebody else, let us close the case.”
    I worked it through the other things I’d found out. ”I think I know who played the role of prospective client in that telephone call Malinda Dujong received.”
    Cascadden said, ”What call?”
    I stayed with the sergeant. ”‘Sundy’ is a contraction of Sunday.”
    Pintana’s eyes widened. ”And ‘Wendy’ of Wednesday.”
    ”Contractions?” said Cascadden.
    I leaned back in my chair. ”And after Sundy Moran did that little favor for someone, the person killed her, and then used Walton, figuring he’d be mad enough to take out whoever the real killer said had slashed his girlfriend.”
    ”What call and what contractions?” said Cascadden again. Pintana let her hand fall to the desktop. ”Which meant Walton had to be killed—”
    ”—whether he finished me or not, because Walton could somehow link Moran’s killer to her and me both.” Cascadden came off his wall now. ”The hell are you two talking about?”
    Pintana said, ”Then why didn’t our killer take out Walton right away?”
    ”Because maybe Walton couldn’t link Moran’s killer to her until the killer approached Walton to knife me.” Cascadden said, ”Beantown, if you don’t fucking answer my—”
    ”Kyle, shut up or get out.”
    Pintana didn’t say it very loudly, but the edge in her voice would have cut cold steel.
    Cascadden turned red as a beet just before stomping from the room and slamming the door behind him.
    I looked back at Lourdes Pintana.
    She said, ”I think maybe we should go hear Malinda Dujong’s telephone tape messages now.”

    From the shadow of her front door, Shirley Nole shaded bleary eyes with a hand.
    I said, ”We’re sorry to bother you, Shirley, but this is Sergeant Pintana from the Fort Lauderdale Police, and she needs your key to Ms. Dujong’s unit.”
    Nole drew in a breath. ”Is Malinda... okay?”
    Pintana said, ”We don’t know.”
    Head bowed, Nole said, ”Just a second, please.”

    Everything looked the same as it had early that afternoon, except that the plants on Dujong’s porch seemed to be faring a little better.
    Nole had left us in favor of sleeping. Pintana said to me, ”All right, where’s this tape machine?”
    I started walking toward the entertainment center. ”Over here.”
    Pintana joined me, taking a pen and notepad from her big handbag. ”Push play.”
    I did.
    There were about twenty messages. I didn’t pay much attention to the specifics on any of them, though Pintana looked up at me each time my voice came over the tiny speaker. Jeanette Held accounted for half a dozen herself, each time sounding a little more frenzied. Another woman—Mi Soo, Dujong’s tennis