I just let her cry. As she had no words for my pain, I found none for hers.

“Micky,” she finally said, her voice cracked and broken.

“I’m here.”

“It has to stop. You must help me.”

“Help you how?”

She caught a breath, steadying her voice. “I’m not God to judge. Dear Lord, forgive me for what I might have done.”

“What have you done?” I asked gently.

“Cordelia performs abortions. I know that.”

“She didn’t perform the abortions that killed those women.”

“I wasn’t sure. I…thought perhaps she had, perhaps she had…made a mistake. But when you told me their names, I knew Victoria Williams wasn’t a patient at the clinic. I remember reading about her murder in the paper. Cordelia couldn’t have been responsible for her death.”

“Did you leave her file for the police to find?”

“No. I got Cordelia to sign a few blank forms. And…I wasn’t always careful where my keys to the clinic were. And I didn’t ask the right questions. I won’t let that happen again. I will take whatever consequences come my way. But I can’t allow…”

“What can I do to help you?”

“I wanted to believe that it was God’s will that those women died. ‘An eye for an eye.’ For killing their children.”

“Fay Zimmer, the last woman, a fifteen-year-old girl, wasn’t pregnant,” I told her.

For a moment Betty didn’t say anything, then very softly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“The thought is horrible. It wasn’t God who killed them,” she said very slowly.

“Who did kill them?” I asked.

Betty hesitated before replying. “I don’t know. Not for sure. And I must be sure before I do anything else. I could be making another horrible mistake.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Pray. Pray that this will soon be over. When I know for certain, then I will need your help. Will you help me?”

“Of course, I will. But, Betty, I don’t like this. Could the man who pushed me down the stairs be the murderer?”

“It’s…not a thought I like.”

“Nor I. Are you with him now?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then a quiet, “Yes.”

“You’re in danger. Call the police.”

“I can’t call the police. Not yet.”

“I’ll come and get you. If he’s already murdered four women, you’re in—”

“I’m in no danger,” she cut me off. “I don’t know that he’s killed anyone. And…and if he has, it was only those who he thought had already murdered.”

“Like Faye Zimmer,” I reminded her.

“I don’t condone it. Some part of me deeply believes that he didn’t, couldn’t have hurt those women, no matter what he suspected them to be guilty of.”

“Let the police work it out,” I argued.

“Atonement. We all deserve a chance for it. I will call you soon.”

“Twenty-four hours. If I don’t hear from you in…”

“I’ll call you by then.”

“Tell me where you are.”

“In twenty-four hours.”

“Okay, in twenty-four hours, I want to know where you are and that you’re all right. Leave a message on my machine if I’m not here. Is that a deal?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you everything then. Good-bye, Micky.” The phone clicked off.

I stared for a long time at the green minutes ticking off on my clock before I finally fell asleep.

Chapter 16

I was awakened by the dissonance of the phone ringing and a cat meowing. Somehow I had slept through the alarm clock. Or woken up just enough to turn it off (always a possibility).

I jumped up and went for the phone.

“Hello?” I mumbled, too sleepy to enunciate properly.

“Do you have a pair of black fuck-me pumps?” Torbin asked.

“Me?” I started to laugh at the ludicrousness of the question.

“Then we are going shopping,” Torbin sternly informed me. “How you survive without the necessities of life is beyond me.”

“I am not spending my hard-earned money on torturous feminine devices.”

“Just tortuous feminist devices,” he shot back. “I didn’t expect that you would. However, I could not forgive myself if I sent you out on a gala evening improperly dressed. My reputation is at stake.”

Torbin could not be put off. We finally agreed on a meeting time and hung up.

Then I called O’Connor, but it being Saturday, he wasn’t around. The person I talked to couldn’t tell me much. No sign of Betty or Frankenstein. She still hadn’t called me. Twenty-four hours seemed like a very long stretch of time.

I drove back out to her place. Still the same. No car, the rooms as I had spied them the day before. No one had come back here last night. I scanned the lot, no one was about. Taking one last look, I circled behind the cottage. There were two windows in back, facing into a dense tangle of trees and the remains of a dilapidated wooden fence. I pushed on both the windows, hoping that one of them might be unlocked. No such luck. I should have known Betty Peterson would have been too careful for that. The front door, of course, had a dead bolt on it. I could see that from here. I glanced again at the neat interior. Was it worth breaking a window over?

Doing nothing but waiting for her call was wearing on me. I could probably pick the lock if I went back to my car and got my lock picks. Of course, lock picking is not best practiced in broad daylight at a door visible to any car or passerby on the block. I looked back at the windows.

That she could be in danger decided me. I’d pay for the window later, when Betty was safely back home.

I took off my shoe, using it to shield my hand. Selecting a corner of the pane just under the window lock, I tapped it experimentally. Then I gave it a good solid whack, shattering half of the pane. I put my shoe back on, then carefully slide my hand through to the lock. The window easily slid open. How like Betty to keep her windows well oiled. I quickly, though gracelessly, pulled myself into her living room. It was a compact one-bedroom with a kitchenette in one corner of the living room. Everything was neat and tidy, bed made, dishes done. Garbage, unfortunately, taken out. I borrowed her kitchen gloves to do a search, and, also carefully wiped off the window lock. Micky Knight’s fingerprints had no business being here.

The neatness carried through, her drawers carefully organized, her few magazines meticulously stacked by date, everything in her freezer labeled. Only the crumpled nurse’s uniform in her laundry basket hinted that someone actually lived a daily life here.

She had an inexpensive answering machine next to her bed. There were no messages on it. I couldn’t get it to run back old messages. I took the tape out to a small cassette player Betty had in her living room.

The first message was from her dentist reminding her of an appointment. The second was Millie asking about trading a Thursday evening for a Saturday morning, a hang-up, then tape hiss.

I started to rewind it, but Betty’s voice came on, “Sometimes, Bill, you seem so young. The other one bothers me. He has such an odd voice. I’ve only spoken…” then her voice was recorded over by one of those annoying telephone ads. There was nothing else of interest on the tape.

If I picked up my phone while someone was leaving a message, the answering machine would record our conversation. Betty’s obviously worked the same way.

I wondered who Betty had been talking to.

Bill. She had referred to the man she was with earlier as Bill. He didn’t strike me as “so young.” I also wondered who the “other one” was. And if that brief snatch of conversation had anything to do with this.

I rewound the tape and put it back in her answering machine. I looked at my watch. It was time to go.

But instead of turning to leave, I picked up the Bible that she kept next to her bed.

And found it. Tucked neatly in Revelations, it was a partially filled-out insurance form, the ink blotted and smeared on part of the address line. It was signed by Dr. C. James and the patient’s name was Victoria Williams.

I tucked it back into its Bible home. I couldn’t take it. There was no way of explaining how I got it. Particularly to O’Connor. Betty would have to turn it over to the police herself.

They had messed up one of their fake insurance forms. It troubled me that Betty didn’t seem to know how damming this piece of evidence was. I wouldn’t be asking questions of anyone who left this sort of evidence about.

I had promised Betty twenty-four hours. But that was all I was going to give her. If she wasn’t on her way to the police at the end of those twenty-four hours, O’Connor was going to get a call from me, strongly suggesting he search Betty’s cottage.

I taped old newspaper over the broken window, then exited. I peered around the cottage before heading to where my car was parked.

The old lady who had first directed me to Betty’s cottage was sitting on her stoop talking to a young man. They seemed in no hurry to finish their conversation. The young man gave her a friendly wave and then started walking in my direction. I didn’t think he’d seen me yet, but if he got close enough he would. I started slowly backing into the bushes. He was going to Betty’s cottage, I realized. Then he got close enough for me to recognize him. He had been one of the people picketing Cordelia’s clinic, the one who had asked me if I was going to get an abortion. He pulled a key out of his pocket and headed up Betty’s steps.

I didn’t want to be lurking in the bushes in case he noticed that broken window. I wondered if this was the boyfriend Betty had mentioned. The one she wasn’t sure she even liked. I knew I didn’t like him. I forced myself to bushwhack through the brush behind Betty’s. I then cut across some back yards to get to a side street, then walked back to my car, approaching it from the street rather than from behind Betty’s cottage.

Neither the old woman nor the young man were there when I finally got to my car.

I put a note for Betty in an envelope and left it in the mailbox for number eleven. The mail was still there. It was time to meet Torbin.

Buying shoes with Torbin is an experience to be missed. Andy had crashed his hard drive to get out of it. Or so he said.

Even though Torbin was paying, I adamantly refused spike heels. My mood wasn’t helped by the salesgirl suckering up to my “boyfriend” and telling him what exquisite taste he had in women’s shoes. Torbin, in and out of makeup, is a tall, gorgeous blond.

“He should, he wears them more often than I do,” I retorted.

We ended up buying shoes in another store. Basic black, with a higher heel than I would have liked, but not the skyscrapers Torbin had been holding out for.

When we got back to his place, he displayed the dress he had chosen for me to wear.

“That’s not a dress,” I commented. “That’s a fabric swatch.”

“What are you? A member of the Lesbian Sexual Temperance League?”

“Torbin, I don’t see how that dress can cover both my tits and my crotch.”

“Trust me, it does. But who needs them both covered anyway? Besides this is an all-girl party, isn’t it? What do you have that they haven’t seen before?”

“Not much,” I had to admit. And most of them mine specifically, I thought, since I had slept with Danny, Joanne, and, once, Cordelia.

The dress was deep scarlet, basically a simple tube, held up with spaghetti straps. It began a few bare inches above my nipples and ended at a point that left more of my thighs seen than hidden.

I hope it’s red and outrageous enough for you, Alex, I thought as I drove over to her place. I patted the two bottles of quite good champagne in the passenger seat. I had certainly earned them.

Alex lived in an area on the edge of the Garden District. Her apartment was easy to find. I recognized several other cars parked in front: Joanne’s, of course, Danny’s (presumably with Elly), Cordelia’s, and others I didn’t know.

Oh, great, I thought, as I got out of my car, I get to make an entrance in this dress. Hell, you can’t wear a scarlet postage stamp and be demure. I rang the bell. Alex opened the door.

“Hi, Alex,” I greeted. “Well, the best woman certainly won.”

I handed her the champagne. Alex looked me over. I would win no decorous awards tonight.

“Micky,” she said slowly, “I’m not sure whether to laugh or be offended.”

“Laugh, Alex, please laugh,” I replied. Oh, God, I thought, have I finally gone too far?

Then Alex burst out laughing. She put an arm around my waist and ushered me into the living room.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re cute when you’re guilty?” she said.

“No. Probably because I’m not.”

Alex introduced me to the other people in the room I didn’t know. Including, to my embarrassment, her parents. Joanne came out of the kitchen, took a look at me, shook her head, then went back into the kitchen. But I did catch her grinning.

“The ‘in’ crowd is in the kitchen.” Alex pointed me in their direction, giving me the champagne to pass on to Joanne.

Danny, Elly, Cordelia, as well as Joanne were there.

“The traditional other woman gift,” I said when Joanne raised her eyebrows at my bringing liquor, “via Torbin.”

“Mick,” Danny said, giving me a hard appraisal, “you look like you’re planning to work the Quarter after the party.”

“Truth in advertising, dear Danno,” I replied.

Elly started asking about current movies, derailing us from my moral conduct. Or maybe by now she had heard enough of Danny’s comments on my infidelity.

“Here.” Joanne handed me what looked like a gin and tonic. “Club soda. Or do you object?” she added quietly.

“No. Thanks,” I replied, taking a sip.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“You sure?”

“You disappointed that I’ll recover? Would you prefer I throw myself over a cliff, à la Sappho?”

“No, stay away from cliffs. I’m just doing damage control. I’m very sorry for what happened.”

I shrugged it off. “Ah, hell, Joanne, it was about time I had an affair with someone I cared to be with in the morning. Part of growing up, right?”

“Probably.”

“Next time I might even get entangled with someone I can’t dump back with her real lover.”

“I’d like to see that.”

I looked at her to see if she was being sarcastic. She continued, “You think you’re a hard person to love. You’re not. You just need to let someone hang around long enough to prove it,” she said quietly.

“Yeah…well,” I mumbled, then, “Thanks. Thank you for that.”

“Hey, what are you two being so somber about?” Danny called to us.

“Police work,” Joanne lied.

Which got us started about the murders, since we all, in varying degrees, had a stake in it. I thought about mentioning Betty Peterson, but decided against it. If, as was likely, she was okay, I’d only be worrying Cordelia and Elly needlessly.

After a while, Alex broke in and demanded we be civilized and mingle with the other guests.

Dave, Alex’s brother, and I engaged in a mock battle of the sexes that ended with him mentioning how he always beat Alex in chess. Ever so innocently, I challenged him to a game. Heh-heh. And beat him in ten minutes. The next time I toyed with him and let it drag out to twenty minutes. Poor boy. He didn’t have Emma Auerbach for a teacher.

During the second game, I noticed that Cordelia had pulled up a chair beside me and was watching.

“Could you teach me to play like that?” she asked after I had trounced Dave the second time.

“If you really want to learn, get Emma.”

“I’d prefer you,” she replied.

Danny joined us. “God, I wish I had a family like that,” she said, indicating Alex’s parents calmly talking to Joanne. “Whenever I mention Elly, my parents get a pained expression on their faces.”

“Maybe we should introduce your parents to my parents,” Elly remarked, putting her arm around Danny’s waist. “They get a very similar expression whenever I talk about you.”

“But worth putting up with for you,” Danny replied. She kissed Elly.

“Loving couples, how disgusting,” I commented.

“They’re a cute loving couple,” Cordelia said.

“They’re an absolutely stunning loving couple, but don’t tell them that,” I remarked.

“You’re right,” she replied. Then looked at me and smiled.