Who's sorry now?

doesn’t seem to be a logical reason for that. But the painter must have had some strange ideas.”
    Lily never knew the answer, nor did Howard until later.
    On Monday, Walker drove Bernadette to the bank in Cold Spring. Monday was the heaviest mail day, and Mrs. Gasset couldn’t get away. Thank goodness the children were still in school and he didn’t have to fill the back of the police car with little kids. One was only in kindergarten, so they had to be back by noon and made it in plenty of time.
    Bernadette was very pleasant. ”It was so nice of Mr. Brewster to get my sister this job. She can be home in the evening with the children. And she’ll make a lot more money than she did at the theater, selling tickets. The owner had the nerve to ask me to fill in for her. Can you imagine?”
    ”You’d probably be good at it, wouldn’t you?” Howard asked. ”You have good math skills, I understand from Mrs. Gasset.”
    ”Yes, I do. But I wouldn’t want the job. Having to be busy every night, like my sister was. I’m taking a course by mail for becoming an accountant.”
    ”Good for you,” Howard said. ”Here we are at the bank. I’ll wait in front.”
    ”Oh, do come inside. I want the clerk to know I had a police escort.”
    As he opened the door of the bank for her, she turned and whispered, ”Just don’t draw your gun.”
    Howard laughed. He had had no warning that Bernadette had a sense of humor.
    On the way back to Voorburg, Walker asked Bernadette, ”Have you ever come across a man somewhere between forty-five and sixty, small stature, thinning reddish or brown hair?”
    ”Not that I remember. I seldom come to Voorburg except to ship off the rabbit furs when they’re clean and dry. Why do you want to know?”
    ”That’s how a bunch of librarians described the man who checked out the German books that were set on fire in front of Mr. Kurtz’s shop.”
    ”It’s a shame that he’s being singled out for all these awful things. I’ve never met him. I do my own sewing when I need to. But I’ve heard that he’s a nice man.”
    When Walker had dropped Bernadette off at her home, he went to his office at the jail and took up his thinking position, leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk. The description the librarians had come up with could describe half a dozen different men. But not Arnold Wood, unfortunately.
    And he was still puzzled over why the man took the paint can, neatly capped, back to Harry’s work area in his backyard. Why didn’t he just throw it away when he disposed of the paintbrush?
    Arnold Wood was right this time. Howard had taken far too long to unravel these crimes against Mr. Kurtz, and hadn’t even made any progress in the investigation regarding the murder of Edwin McBride.
    He’d asked questions of everyone who might know anything about either of the crimes and come up empty-handed. The fingerprint expert even had a whole set of the man’s prints in the case of Mr. Kurtz. The method with which Edwin was strangled had been identified, but Walker still didn’t know where the wire had been purchased. Maybe he should travel up and down the Hudson visiting hardware stores to see if he could get a description of who could have bought the wire.
    But what good would it do? Whoever bought it certainly hadn’t given a name. And if he had bought it at a hardware store—and he could have bought it elsewhere—like a company that sold cheese or bread, nobody would remember after all this time what the person looked like. Or care.
    He simply couldn’t leave Edwin’s death to be forever unsolved. There must have been some sort of clue in the elusive dream, which he was still unable to remember.
    Deputy Parker came into the jail building and asked,
    ”Anything I can do? I’m feeling useless. I don’t feel that I’m earning my salary.”
    ”Not right now. I’m still trying to figure out McBride’s murder. Where would you get a wire with small teeth like that? I’ve given it some thought. I don’t think hardware stores would carry such a specialized kind of wire.”
    ”Who would?”
    ”Jewelry stores, I assume, would know. And it could also be used for slicing bread or cheese.”
    Parker was impressed. ”I’d never have thought of that.”
    ”You would if you put your mind to it. Have you worked out something with Jack Summer about cars and motorcycles?”
    ”Almost. Jack’s found a car he likes. And as soon as he buys it, he’ll sell me the motorcycle. I