The Purrfect Murder

him.
    Cooper said, “Your closed office or the big room?”
    “Office.”
    “Too bad you don’t have a floral display. She’d feel more at home.”
    Rick growled, “Big Mim would be at home in a flooded house in New Orleans or the Taj Mahal. Woman is remarkable.”
    The two met Big Mim and Little Mim as though this was the highlight of their day.
    The cops ushered them into the private office, which Rick kept scrupulously clean mostly because he usually sat outside at a desk in the bullpen. He liked being among his “men”—even though one was a woman—and this way, his glassed-in sheriff’s office was tidy.
    The sheriff did not sit behind his desk. Mother and daughter sat in two worn but comfortable leather chairs, Rick leaned against his desk facing them, and Cooper sat on a stool.
    Wordlessly, Little Mim produced the airmail envelope, handing it to Rick.
    As he read, his face betrayed a hint of questioning. He passed it to Cooper.
    “Arrived in today’s mail.” Little Mim started the ball rolling.
    Cooper handed the letter and envelope back to Little Mim. “What a scam.”
    “Exactly,” Big Mim spoke at last.
    “I’ve received three letters before this, all before Will was killed. Each asked for ten thousand dollars in a postal order made out to Jonathan Bechtal.”
    “You paid.” Rick knew she had; it was a given.
    “I did.”
    Cooper put her hands on her knees. “What I want to know is, how did he get this letter out of jail? We’d know. He’s allowed to write, this isn’t a hellhole in the Sudan.”
    “No hellholes. They’re too busy killing one another to bother with incarceration,” Big Mim said without sarcasm. “Do you read the letters?”
    “I don’t, but there is censorship. There has to be, because some of these creeps would write vile stuff to the people they hold responsible for their plight and they’d go right onto someone’s blog. So, yes, the letters are read.”
    “Paid someone off?” Cooper hated the idea.
    “I don’t think so.” Big Mim repeated what she had said to her daughter earlier. “There’s someone on the outside.”
    “Then why send the money orders to Love of Life?” Cooper wasn’t discounting the idea, just pondering, as well as realizing Big Mim was one step ahead of her.
    “I don’t know,” Big Mim replied. “It’s more than possible that his accomplice is an officer or member of Love of Life. Someone who can access the treasury or bogus accounts. Most charities have a variety of very imaginative slush funds.”
    Rick and Cooper glanced at each other. They had questioned the officers of the organization as well as those of other right-to-life groups.
    Rick spoke. “Who else knows about this?”
    “No one. Not even my husband.” Little Mim, finding her courage, spilled her story in an abbreviated fashion. “I had an abortion in college. Will was my doctor. The other letters threatened to expose me. So I paid like a stupid—cow.”
    “For a woman being blackmailed, you’ve remained sensible.” Cooper smiled.
    “Coop, I should have come to you right away, but I was ashamed and, even more embarrassing, I put my career first.”
    Rick exhaled from his nostrils. “Most people who find themselves in your situation pay if they can and hope their tormentor will go away. Naturally, it emboldens the blackmailer.” He shifted his weight while he leaned against his desk.
    “Mother knew nothing. She didn’t even know I’d had an abortion.” Little Mim wanted the two officers to know that her mother hadn’t helped her make the payoff. “I’m done with it. I don’t look forward to what happens next.”
    “What do you mean?” Cooper spoke as though this were an ordinary conversation, no hard edge to the questioning.
    “They go public and try to ruin me. How they’ll do this, I don’t know, but the deadline for payment is this Friday.”
    Cooper reached for the letter again, which Little Mim gave her. “P.O. Box Fifteen, 22905.”
    “I noticed that, too,” Rick mentioned. “We’ll have this dusted for fingerprints, test the seal on the envelope to see if whoever did this licked it. You’d think by now people would wear rubber gloves and sponge envelopes shut, but there are still a lot of stupid people out there, thank God.”
    “I hope so.” Little Mim sighed, knowing the hard task would be finding whoever did lick the envelope, DNA notwithstanding.
    “I’ll keep this, then?” Rick’s tone of voice asked more than