"And I'm sure he'll make an excellent one," Cora said sweetly. "In the meantime, I'd like to ask him some questions."

"I don't want you tampering with a prosecution witness!"

"What's the matter? Are you afraid I'll get him to lie?"

"Of course not!"

"Then you must be afraid I'll get him to tell the truth."

Henry Firth opened his mouth, closed it again. The Channel 8 News crew filmed him gleefully as he sat back down.

"Mr. Fishman, you have no problem answering a few questions, do you? Before you send me up the river, I mean."

"I'm sure I won't do that."

"I am too. Let's get right to it. You gave the police some photographs I took of the murder scene?"

"I explained that."

"Yes, you did. And very nicely too. It was your civic duty. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is not only handsome, he is a patriot. Or a Good Samaritan. Or whatever. At any rate, he had noble reasons for ratting me out."

Paul opened his mouth to speak.

Cora held up her hand. "Relax. We won't get into that. Here's the point. Paul was in the Photomat. He has a little TV under the counter he watches when business is slow, and he happened to see Rick Reed, of Channel 8 News, bringing live coverage of the motel.

"Well, that caught his attention, because he'd just developed a roll of film with the very same pictures. He grabbed the film, hopped in his car, drove out to the motel, and gave the photos to the police. They were my pictures, and that's why he thinks I hold a grudge. Since then, he has gone out of his way to make it up to me. He even supplied me with a duplicate set of snaps."

Cora reached in her purse. "I have those pictures here. I'd like to show them to you now." Cora held them up. "It's going to be a little tough for you in the back row. Perhaps the camera can zoom in. Just watch the monitors."

On the TV monitors, Cora's finger pointed to a photo. "See, here's what caught his eye. Here's the motel sign." She flipped to the next photo. "Here's the motel room door. With the number on it. That's the number of Benny Southstreet's unit. That's the same number Paul Fishman saw on TV."

Cora shuffled through the photos, held another up to the camera. "Here's a picture taken inside the room. It's not of a dead body. It's a bunch of chairs. The chairs belong to Harvey Beerbaum. Benny Southstreet stole them, in the hope of selling them to Mr. Wilbur, of Wilbur's Antiques. If you follow all of that, fine. If you don't, it's kind of incidental."

Cora grimaced. "That's the problem with this crime. Everything is kind of incidental. Anyway, these are the pictures. Here's another angle, and- Oh!"

A shot of Sherry Carter in a string bikini filled the screen.

"I'm sorry. That's not a crime scene. Though a figure like that ought to be a crime. That's my niece, Sherry. It's a picture I snapped of her sunbathing when she wasn't looking."

Sherry leaped to her feet, cried, "Aunt Cora!"

"You see my niece's distress. Clearly that's a picture she never expected to see on TV. Or in the town hall in front of a couple of hundred people. But I think we can agree it's a photo that immediately grabs your attention."

Cora turned, pointed her finger. "And yet Paul Fishman didn't see it. Isn't that amazing? This picture was on the roll he gave to the police. Paul developed the film, Paul printed the negatives, Paul put the photos in the envelope, and he didn't see the shot of my nearly nude niece." Cora smiled. "Nice alliteration. Why didn't he see that photo? Is he blind? Is he gay? Not at all. He's seen my niece before, even mentioned to me how attractive she is. Which means he's young, insensitive, and tactless, but not blind. And he's sure as hell the type of guy who'd notice a photo like that. And he didn't, because I asked him about it when he gave me the photos. So, my question, Mr. Fishman, is, how'd you miss a shot like this?"

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. It's been bothering me. It's one of the things I'd like to know."

"These are pictures of a murder scene. Why would I notice anything else?"

"Yeah, but when you developed the film, there hadn't been a murder."

"I wasn't paying particular attention."

"Yeah, but you saw the motel."

Paul frowned, said nothing.

"Well, you think about it, I'll give you another chance."

To Sherry's great relief, Cora put the photos away. Cora watched as Sherry sat down again. Aaron put his arm around her protectively.

Across the aisle, Dennis and Brenda were engaged in a rather animated whispered discussion.

Cora smiled, gestured to Barney Nathan. "Okay, Doc, your turn. Here's your chance to bawl me out. I understand you're upset about something?"

"That's putting it mildly." Barney Nathan stood up, adjusted his scarlet bow tie, and sniffed disdainfully. "You said on TV I botched the autopsy. That's slander. We're on TV now, and I'd like you to take it back."

"I said there were two shots, and there were two shots."

"There was one."

"I'm glad to hear it. Did you confirm that by reex-amining the body after I made that statement on TV?"

"Yes, I did. And it was absolutely false. There was only one bullet."

"Uh-huh. And did you discover anything else that you hadn't in your original autopsy?"

Henry Firth was on his feet. "I'm not going to let the doctor answer that! You said there were two shots. There weren't two shots. That's all that's important here. Anything else the doctor can testify to in court."

"You're not going to let him tell us what he found?"

"No, I'm not."

"Well, it doesn't matter. I'll get at it another way." Cora reached in her purse, pulled out a plastic evidence bag. "Mimi, here's a question you can answer from right where you are." She held up the bag. "Is this your ice pick?"

Mimi's mouth fell open. "Oh! You found it. Where did you find it?"

"Where did I find it, Mr. Fishman?" Cora asked cheerfully.

Paul Fishman's eyes were wide. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. I told you I'd ask you one more question. This is it. Answer it, and you can go." Cora's eyes burned into him. "Where did I get this ice pick?"

Paul Fishman turned, bolted up the aisle.

Chapter 63.

"SUPPOSE YOUR MARRIAGE went sour." Cora put up her hand. "No, not yours, kids. Yours is the perfect union, and if you don't get married straightaway I'm going to line you up and shoot you. Aaron, I'm only giving you this exclusive on the condition that you stop arguing with Sherry at once and get married immediately."

"What do you mean, exclusive?" Aaron said. "Chief Harper knows."

"Wrong answer!" Sherry cried in exasperation. "The right answer is, I don't need inducements, I'm marrying for love."

"Exactly," Aaron said. "Couldn't have put it better. Now, what is it that the police aren't talking about?"

"They're not talking about a thing, because they don't know anything, and they won't until the boys start ratting each other out. But I'll tell you what hap- pened and you can quote me on it, and then if I'm wrong they can sue me for slander. At least they won't sue me for plagiarism."

Cora settled back in her chair, lit a cigarette. Sherry didn't even bother with a token protest.

"We start with the marriage going bad. Mimi and Chuck's marriage. I should have had a huge hint to begin with when she asked me for that puzzle. When a wife needs a crossword puzzle to tell her husband she wrecked the car, this is not a marriage made in heaven. You gotta believe things were on the skids way before she drove into that pole.

"So what's the problem? Well, they're newlyweds, her husband's a young lawyer, he's not making too much money, they recently got married and had a kid, or vice versa, and moved to town. What happens but Chuck falls in with Paul Fishman, a rather unscrupulous young man with access to people's photos. Paul comes across vacation photos every now and then where the husbands don't match up with the wives. It's easy to run a simple con game. Chuck approaches the victim with photos a client has given him that he'd very much like to suppress. He's so apologetic, sweet, and sincere, the victims are actually grateful to him."

"How do you know that?" Aaron asked.

"I don't, but it's a good guess. And it accounts for the money."

"What money?"

"The hundred-dollar bills under the blotter. The way I see it, that loot is what got Benny Southstreet killed."

Aaron frowned. "You wanna back that up a little?"

"Sure. When Benny Southstreet breaks into the study looking to nail me for plagiarism, Chuck Dillinger has a small fortune in hundred-dollar bills under his blotter. Which, of course, is blackmail money he was hiding from his wife."

"And Benny Southstreet stole this money?"

"If only he had."

"What do you mean by that?"

"If he stole it, they'd have made him give it back, and none of this would have happened. But Benny didn't steal the money. He stole Harvey Beerbaum's chairs."

"Cora."

"I'm sorry, but that's what happened. Benny ripped off Harvey Beerbaum's chairs, he left a message for Wilbur saying he had 'em, and he's waiting for him in the motel. Who shows up instead but Paul Fishman, who wants his money back. Benny claims he doesn't have it, and Paul takes him for a ride. They go to Paul's place, where Benny is given another opportunity to recall where the money is. Benny can't, so Paul brings Chuck into the picture.

"Chuck is horrified at the turn things have taken. Blackmail is one thing. Kidnapping is another. And it's clear Fishman is intending murder."

"Why?"

Cora smiled. "If Benny says, 'Here's your money, sorry I ripped you off,' he's a thief, and he isn't going to talk. If he says he didn't do it, he's an innocent man. He'll go straight to the cops.

"So they have to kill him. If they're going to do that, they need a fall guy. Luckily, they have one. Mr. Wilbur has an appointment at two o'clock to buy his chairs. Easy enough to frame him. Paul and Chuck leave the motel room door open. They leave the gun in plain sight. Wilbur shows up, knocks on the door, gets no answer. Tries the knob and goes in.

"The first thing he sees is the chairs. The next thing he sees is the gun. He picks it up, checks out the unit. Finds it unoccupied. He leaves the gun, takes the chairs.

"They bring Benny Southstreet back, stick him in the bathtub, shoot him in the head with the gun Wilbur touched."

Aaron put up his hands. "Wait a minute. That didn't happen."

"Right. Because Wilbur didn't go in. If he had, he wouldn't have taken the chairs, because they were Harvey's, and not what he wanted at all. But he didn't go in. I did. I was the one who touched the gun, took the chairs, and got framed."

"But the gun hadn't been fired."

"That's right. It hadn't."

"How can that be?"

"Perfectly simple. When I went in that motel room, Fishman was outside in his car, waiting for someone to go in and leave fingerprints on the gun."

"What time was that?"

"Around three."

"Then Barney Nathan blew the time of death."

"Not at all. That's where the ice pick comes in."

Aaron's eyes widened. "You mean... ?"

"Benny Southstreet was killed by an ice pick shoved through the back of his neck into his brain. Right about the time the doc says he was. Only not in the motel. Benny was lying dead in the trunk of Paul Fishman's car while I was in his motel room playing with his gun. After I left, Fishman stuck him in the bathtub and shot him in the head. Which is why the body didn't bleed much. The guy was already dead.

"Anyway, the gun with my fingerprints was fired into the back of his head in just the same spot as the ice pick. That's why I made a fuss about two bullets. I was hoping Barney Nathan would make a pass at the bullet and discover the other wound."

"But he didn't?"

"No, he didn't. But Paul Fishman didn't know that. When I asked Barney if he found anything else besides the bullet wound, he acted uncomfortable and the prosecutor wouldn't let the doc answer. That was because Barney had found drugs in the body, and Ratface didn't want him to talk about it. But Paul was sure we'd discovered the other wound. That's why he freaked out when I produced the ice pick."

"Where did you find it?"

"Are you kidding? I bought it. I was waving it around in a plastic bag. You think Paul Fishman's gonna look close and say, 'Hey, that's not mine'?"

"He thought you found it in the motel trash?"

Cora shrugged. "I doubt if he threw it there. I have no idea what he did with it. But just the fact I was searching the trash was enough to make him think I was looking for it."

"So that was all a bluff?"

"Big-time. I was holding a pair of deuces."