“Yep.”
“So maybe she goes out there to shoot up, not realizing her husband is meeting Richards out there. Maybe she finds out then about the affair. There’s an argument, it gets heated—”
“And Cleaves has the shotgun,” Bird interjected.
“Right. Hell, maybe he always planned to kill her, take Richards’s money, and run.”
“That’s a pretty stupid plan,” Bird said.
“Correct,” Brady said. “But it’s the kind of stupid plan that a stupid person thinks is smart.”
“All right, yeah,” Bird said. “If Cleaves wanted out of his life, and the opportunity presented itself . . . and don’t forget the nose. Whoever did that, it was personal.”
“True,” said Brady. “But if he hated his wife enough to kill her . . .”
A few moments passed, Bird sipping coffee in silence, thinking. On the other end of the line, Brady stayed quiet. When Bird spoke again, his tone was contemplative.
“Man, the nose. I guess there’s no way to know—”
“If it was postmortem or not?” Brady finished for him. “Nope. Especially with the overall damage to the face. But for her sake, let’s hope it happened after.” He paused. “Actually, hang on. I just realized . . .”
There was a clatter again as the phone was set down. Bird heard the scrape of a drawer opening, the rustle of paper, and then Brady was back.
“Initial report from Boston PD says they found a hunting knife at the scene. The Richards woman said Cleaves threatened her with it.”
“Oh,” Bird said. “If it’s the same one he used to . . .”
“Yeah, exactly,” Brady said. “I’ll put in the request. Maybe they’ll even test it for us, save us a little money on labs. Bet you anything they pull some blood off it that matches our deceased. Between that and the shotgun in Cleaves’s truck, I’d say you have all your weapons. You can clear this; no loose ends. Congrats, Detective.”
“Yeah. That was fast.” Bird sighed. “I’ll tell you, though, I’d still like to know what exactly happened out there. Cleaves kills two people, then Cleaves’s mistress shoots him, and now it’s all tied up, nice and neat. And she’s the only one left.”
“The cheese stands alone,” Brady said, with mock solemnity.
“And speaking of cheese,” Bird said, sitting up straighter, “how much do you think she inherits now that the husband is out of the picture?”
Brady guffawed. “This took a turn. What, you think she planned it somehow?”
“No,” said Bird. Then: “Maybe. I don’t know.” The catnap hadn’t been long enough, and the caffeine wasn’t working to sharpen his thoughts.
“I’m just trying to put it together. Say you’re Adrienne Richards. You want your husband dead. So you fuck the handyman at your vacation house, and then once you’ve got your hooks in, you ask him to kill your husband. Maybe you promise to run away together when it’s done. Then when the deed is done, you welsh on the deal, and shoot him to death instead, and you’re left all alone with a giant pile of money.” Brady paused. “I mean, sure. I guess? Pretty cold.”
“Yeah,” said Bird, but his mind was already several steps ahead, saying, Yeah, but no. Brady was right: it was pretty cold. It was also pretty stupid—to trust someone like Cleaves with a job that could go wrong in so many ways. And Adrienne Richards, annoying and conniving as she might be, was definitely not a stupid person.
“Okay,” Bird said, “so hearing you say it out loud like that, it doesn’t really sound that plausible.”
Brady laughed and said, “Look, I understand. Loose ends are part of the job, but that doesn’t mean they’re not gonna nag at you. If you really think there’s something here to pursue, you’ve got my support.”
“But,” Bird said.
“But,” Brady said, “sometimes knowing the who, what, and when is as good as it gets, and it doesn’t make sense to get hung up on the why. Not to mention, the people who care about clearance rates are gonna wonder why you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth on this, when you could put a bow on it right now and be done. There’s not exactly a shortage of work here, you know. I was waiting to mention it until you were out of the weeds on this case, but you got a callback day before last on one of your cold cases. That witness you were looking for on the Richter thing? Pullman or some such?”