A Flower in the Desert by Walter Satterthwait Read Free Book Online Page A

them had read the same manual. “Okay,” he said. “What you wanna know?”
    I got out my notebook, my pen. “Cathryn Bigelow. When was she killed?”
    â€œLast week. October the second. Wednesday.”
    â€œTime of day?”
    â€œCoroner figures between eight and nine in the morning.”
    â€œWhen was the body found?”
    â€œAround twelve. She didn’t show up for work, didn’t answer the phone. A friend came by from the library to check on her. That’s where Bigelow worked, the library. Friend saw the body through the kitchen window, called us.”
    â€œShe was strangled.”
    Bradley nodded.
    â€œAnd she was tortured.” I’d gotten that from Ed Norman.
    Bradley nodded.
    â€œHow, exactly?”
    â€œ Exactly? ” Bradley mimicked. “You get a kick out of that shit?”
    â€œWas it sexual torture, the kind that might be done by a psychopath? Or was it the kind of torture designed to make her talk?”
    Bradley smiled sourly. “And reveal the present whereabouts of her sister, Melissa Alonzo?”
    â€œFor example.”
    â€œAlonzo disappeared two months ago. Why would the guy, whoever he was, wait all this long?”
    â€œWas it sexual torture, Sergeant?”
    He shook his head. “No.” Then he grinned at me, evilly. “You want details?”
    â€œNo. But maybe, if you’re willing, I’d better get some.”
    â€œHe beat her. Then he tied her up. To a kitchen chair. Hands, feet, body. Gagged her with a kitchen towel. Then he started on her fingernails with a pair of pliers.” He said all this flatly, watching me for a reaction.
    I said, “Did she talk?”
    He shrugged. “She still had some fingernails left.”
    â€œHe strangled her with what?”
    â€œA belt, probably.”
    â€œIt wasn’t on the scene?”
    He shook his head.
    So, after using it to choke away her life, the killer had calmly slipped it back around his waist. Nice.
    â€œThere was a postcard found,” I said. “From her sister, postmarked in Albuquerque on September the twenty-fourth.”
    He nodded.
    â€œYou have it?” I asked him.
    â€œIt’s in the evidence locker.”
    â€œâ€˜ The flower in the desert lives. ’ Does that mean anything to you?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œAnd that was all that was written on the card?”
    He nodded. “That and her signature. Melissa.”
    â€œAny other kind of evidence? Prints? Fibers?”
    Bradford grinned. “Jeez, you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
    â€œWas there any?”
    â€œThat’s privileged information.”
    â€œAll right. Is Melissa Alonzo a suspect?”
    â€œEveryone’s a suspect until they prove they aren’t.” This is what most cops believe to be an unwritten amendment to the United States Constitution.
    â€œSo you’re actively looking for her?”
    â€œNot me.”
    â€œWho then?”
    â€œTalk to the FBI. Guy named Stamworth.”
    â€œI still don’t understand why the FBI is involved.”
    He shrugged. “Talk to Stamworth.”
    â€œYou don’t really think that Melissa Alonzo tied up her sister and ripped off her fingernails?”
    He shrugged. “Could of happened.”
    â€œYou believe that it did?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œSo what do you think happened?”
    â€œA crazy.”
    â€œWhy the fingernails? Why would a crazy want her to talk?”
    Another shrug. “Who can figure crazies. We had a guy here last month, took a hammer to his landlady because she was sending death beams at him. From her microwave.”
    â€œWhat about Bigelow’s associates? Boyfriends? Family?”
    â€œNo associates, no boyfriends. Worked as a librarian out in Brentwood. Never went out. Never did anything. Little Miss Muffet.”
    â€œHow old was she?”
    â€œThirty-four.”
    â€œAnd the family?”
    He