“So…”
“There are laws, Joe,” Raif said. “I’m a public servant. I can’t just barge into people’s houses and search them without a warrant. I haven’t got a thing to hold anyone on.”
“What about the accident on the FDR?” Joe asked.
“What about it? That’s Traffic’s job. I can’t do a damned thing when there’s no one out there who can give me anything more than a dark sedan that was driving erratically. I can’t connect that accident—even if Sam Latham is still in the hospital—to Thorne Bigelow’s murder. And if we’re talking Poe…”
“Yeah, yeah. Poe had no vehicular homicides in his stories. Got ya,” Joe said.
“Of course, you’re a private investigator…” Raif reminded him, letting the words trail off suggestively.
“And your point is…?”
“You’re not subject to quite as much shit as I am.”
“Great. Are you going to get me out of jail when they lock me up for breaking and entering, or whatever it is you’re suggesting I do?” Joe asked.
“Joe, I’m not suggesting you do anything illegal,” Raif protested. “Not that you couldn’t push the boundaries a little if you needed to.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“The thing is…”
“What?”
“Well, if Bigelow was killed because of the Poe thing…”
“Then you think the killer will end up striking again before he’s caught, is that what you’re saying?” Joe asked.
“Sadly, yes,” Raif said.
Joe heard the woman’s voice calling out to Raif again. “Go eat your dinner before it gets cold,” Joe said.
“Yeah, thanks, I will. Don’t forget, Joe, if you get anything…”
“You know I’ll call you,” Joe promised, and hung up.
He pulled out a map of Manhattan and started going through alibis one by one. Brook Avery lived uptown; if he was where he said he’d been, getting down to Bigelow’s place would have taken a while. Joe put his name on one list. On the other hand, Larry Levine’s office was relatively close to Bigelow. He could have slipped out easily. His name went on a second list.
Joe kept going. Don Tracy. The theater was close enough, too. Don’s name went under Larry’s.
He put Jared Bigelow and Mary Vincenzo on that list, too.
Along with the butler.
Lou Sayles had the best alibi. He put her name on the list with Brook’s. Lila Hawkins, big, pushy Lila, had been uptown at the blood-donation center. Her name, too, went on the “improbable” list. He hesitated when he got to Barbara Hirshorn. She was afraid of her own shadow, but her home was near Bigelow’s. He didn’t really see her as a potential killer, but he put her name on the “follow up first” list anyway.
He drummed his fingers on the desk, then decided to start with Jared. Why not go for the obvious?
The butler had been an easy choice, but if the butler hadn’t done it…
Patricide was as old as history. And Jared Bigelow was the one who would profit the most from his father’s death.
Edgar Allan Poe, so they said, was the father of the detective story. And he and his Monsieur Dupin had used “ratiocination,” or rational deduction, as their method of investigation.
So, rationally, who benefitted? And who not only had motive but opportunity?
He skipped over Poe and thought about Sherlock Holmes, who always told Watson that you needed to get rid of the impossible, and then what was left, no matter how improbable, had to be the truth.
Joe groaned softly, looking at his notes.
So far, nothing seemed to be impossible.
Not even talking to dead people.
CHAPTER 8
Genevieve’s cell phone rang and she answered it absently. “Hello?”
“Oh, thank God!” It was her mother’s voice.
Gen smiled. “Mother, I’m fine.”
“I tried calling the apartment,” Eileen said, as if that were a perfectly acceptable explanation for sounding so worried.
“I’m with Joe.”
“Oh? That’s wonderful.” Her mother adored Joe, Gen knew.
Yes, and why not? Without him, she might not be here.
“Hey, I’m the one who should be calling, and panicking about you,” Genevieve reminded her mother. “Promise me that you won’t go anywhere alone. Or with any of the other Ravens,” Genevieve said sternly.
“Those people are my friends, you know. Most of them. Well, some of them,” Eileen said.
“One of them could be a killer.”
“And poor Thorne might have been killed for some other reason entirely,” Eileen reminded her. “But never mind, I didn’t call to argue with you.”
“No, you called to check up on me,” Genevieve said with a laugh.
“Do you blame me, dear?”
“Never,” Genevieve promised.
“Well, I’ll let you go, now that I know you’re all right. Enjoy the rest of your day with Joe.”
“Sure. And thanks,” Genevieve said, then rang off.
Enjoy her day with Joe?
He was in his office; she was here alone.