Read Online Spider’s Cage by Jim Nisbet - Free Book Online Page A

notebook. Bdeniowitz didn’t wait. “Twenty-nine, thirty. So how old’s the daughter, Windrow? Fourteen? Twelve?”
    â€œThe Mann Act,” Gleason chuckled, still thumbing through the narrow pages. “Breaking and entering, willful destruction of private property,
the Mann Act
…”
    â€œAbout the same,” Windrow sighed.
    The two cops looked at him.
    â€œShe’s twenty-seven, for chrissake.”
    â€œOld enough to bite,” Gleason observed.
    â€œShe’s a friend of mine,” said Windrow. “She travels when she works, which is all the time, so she doesn’t maintain an apartment anywhere. When she’s in town, she stays with her stepmother.”
    â€œSo you went over there to see her.”
    â€œYeah. Only there was some kind of foul up. She wasn’t home. She got hung up working. So I sat down and had a drink with Mrs. Neil and the aesthete she lives with.”
    â€œTwenty-nine,” Gleason announced, reading from his notebook.
    â€œAss-theet?” said Bdeniowitz.
    â€œRight,” said Windrow. “Name of Woodruff. Collects art.” Gleason raised an eyebrow and begun thumbing through his notebook again. “I had a scotch,” Windrow recalled. Gleason paused, then reversed his way through the pages and stopped. “Scotch,” he said. “Woodruff,” Windrow said. Gleason began to go the other way through his notebook. “Talked about the weather for a while. Mrs. Neil’s nose was running,seems she’s had sinus since they left Palm Springs. It’s the fog. Like that. While we were talking Jodie called and said she’d be delayed. You might check on that call, as a matter of fact, if you can. I’d be interested in that.”
    â€œOh, we might check on that call for you, eh?” snarled Bdeniowitz. “What else happened?”
    â€œWhat else? Nothing else. I finished my drink and left.”
    â€œWhat did you talk about? The maid said you stayed for the better part of an hour.”
    â€œWell, that’s her story. They kept me waiting fifteen minutes after I got there. Then there was some business about a painting they were hanging. You probably saw a sailboat over the mantlepiece when you got there? That—”
    â€œWait a minute,” Bdeniowitz frowned. “Hold it. Gleason.”
    â€œWoodruff,” Gleason said, holding a finger in the air and looking at his notebook.
    Bdeniowitz shook his head.
    â€œGoddam it Gleason,” he said quietly. “Go call O’Shaunessy at the Neil house. Get him to describe the painting that’s hanging over the fireplace in the living room.”
    â€œRight back, chief,” Gleason said. He waved the notebook. “I got the number right here.” He left the room.
    Bdeniowitz turned back to Windrow. A puzzled frown lingered on his face. “Sailboat,” he muttered. “So what else?”
    Windrow shrugged and partially closed up his left eye, screwing up the outside corner of it, so that the bruise stung around it. But the competition for his nervous system’s attention was fierce. “Let’s see. There was a kid there, helping to move the painting. Name of Jason. Young guy, wore coveralls and carried a hammer. His hair was in his face all the time.”
    â€œWe talked to him. Dumb as a post.”
    â€œDumb as a—”
    â€œCan’t talk and, he’s deaf, too. Reads lips and speaks in sign language. Claims he didn’t notice anything unusual yesterday, outside the ordinary squabbling.”
    Windrow remembered how the kid had watched Woodruff. It annoyed him that he hadn’t noticed why.
    â€œThey scrapped a lot?”
    â€œAll the time, according to the kid. The maid confirmed it. He didn’t mention anything about a painting, though. What else?”
    â€œWell, about the time we’re through with the pleasantries the maid comes in and says there’s a phone