Monday Mourning читать онлайн

“What kind of bird?” I asked dismally.

“Cockatiel.”

Like Katy’s. Those were the sounds I’d tried to place over the phone.

“Who’s caring for it?”

Ryan gave me an odd look. “Bastillo.”

“Has the victim’s sister turned up?” LaManche asked.

“Rose Fisher. No.”

“What do you make of that?”

“Bastillo says her mother and aunt liked to take off on road trips, but normally gave her a heads-up.”"

"“So she could feed the bird,” I guessed.

Ryan nodded.

“These ladies, they went by car?” LaManche asked.

“Fisher’s. A ninety-four Pontiac Grand Prix.

”

“Is that vehicle now missing?”

“It’s not at Fisher’s house. I’ve put out an APB. If it’s out there, someone should spot the plate.”

“Who’s Alban Fisher?” I asked.

“Fisher’s husband. Tax accountant. Died in ninety-four. Rose never bothered to change the name on the phone.”

“Can Bastillo think of anyone who might have wanted to harm her mother or aunt?”

“The two had an ongoing beef with some neighbor about parking an SUV too close to their driveway. Bastillo insists we should check this guy out.

”

“Bastillo seem credible?” I asked.

“I doubt she’ll be recruited by the Berkeley Roundtable, but she comes off sincere enough.” Ryan did a head nod toward LaManche. “Doc says homicide, I’ll start digging on the lady’s background.”

LaManche and Ryan became disembodied voices as I continued down the row of photos.

A corridor. A bedroom. A bathroom. A second bedroom, slightly smaller than the first. Maple dresser, nightstand, four-poster.

Dead body.

Louise Parent was a child-sized bulge under pale pink bedding.

She lay facing the door, right arm thrown upward, head angled oddly on a rumpled pillow. Her eyes were black and empty crescents. Gray hair trailed limply across her face.

A pink floral quilt lay neatly drawn back across the foot of the bed. A second pillow sat atop the folded quilt. This one had no pillow slip.

“Bastillo moved the body?” I asked of no one in particular.

“Says she found her aunt unconscious and tried to rouse her.”

“Did she touch the pillow?”

“She doesn’t remember.

”

Beneath the bed, I could see two neatly aligned slippers. On the nightstand, a folded pair of eyeglasses, a mug, and a vial of prescription pills.

“That is the Ambien that was sent to us?” LaManche asked.

“Yes. Labeled for thirty, filled last Wednesday. Eight missing.”

“Do you know the contents of the mug?”

“Water. Bastillo filled it when she couldn’t rouse her aunt. Says she got rattled. Didn’t know what to do.