Investigation Read Free

went to sleep; the older boy, Terry, had supper with his mother, stayed up to watch TV until about ten and then was put to bed.
    “Did either of the boys get up again during the night?”
    Instead of answering me, Kitty Keeler flicked her thumbnail against her front teeth and narrowed her eyes. She finally pulled her thumb away from her mouth and said, “Look. Did George tell you about how he did this to me before? Did he tell you about the last time he took the kids on me?”
    “Yes, he did. He also told me that he didn’t take the boys last night.”
    “And you believe him?” Her moist mouth twisted downward in an expression of contempt. She moved her head so that the long silky hair swished around her shoulders. “You really believe him, after what he did the last time?”
    “Yeah, but this is this time.”
    She stopped shaking her head, leaned back against the couch, reached for a loose pillow and hugged it to her body, all the time biting down on her lower lip, holding it between her teeth, then letting it roll back into place.
    “All right,” she said, doing me a favor. “Georgie woke up when Terry went to bed. His fever was up again, so I gave him a baby aspirin, rubbed him with alcohol and took him to the bathroom.” She stood up, crossed the room to the window, stood motionless, then spun around with a dancer’s ease. “There’s no point to any of this. George has the kids.”
    It was hard to figure if the hostility was directed at me or through me to her husband. Kitty seemed to have chosen sides: her and Catalano against me and George. Matching her stare, I said, “George, do you have the kids?”
    Keeler went to his wife, hands reaching for her shoulders. “I swear to God, no. Kitty, I don’t have them, God is my witness.”
    She shoved George away, folded her arms across her body, threw her head back and studied the ceiling. She gave a loud, irritated sigh.
    Kitty had been dealing with George for too long. I figured, the hell with this. I snapped my notebook closed, put it into a rear pocket. “Look, lady, if this whole thing is just too boring for you, that’s all right with me. They’re your kids.”
    We both ignored George’s sudden gasping panic. She said, “ I didn’t send for you.”
    Catalano jumped up. “Kitty, hey, we’re just trying to help.” Then, impartial referee, “She’s just upset, Joe.”
    He gave her the benefit of his complete attention; his voice hummed around her, soothed her, convinced her to “put up with” me. She crossed one leg over the other, nibbled on her pinky and asked, “What was the question?”
    “When was the last time you saw your sons last night? And under what circumstances?”
    She thought it over, then shrugged. “Terry got up later in the night for a drink of water. He dropped the plastic cup and that woke Georgie. So I took Georgie to the bathroom, then had to change him and his sheet because he was soaked with sweat. Then I took a coupla sleeping pills and a hot shower and went to bed.”
    “Those things aren’t good for you, Kitty,” George told her; she ignored him.
    “What time was that?”
    “What time was what?”
    Catalano interpreted for me. “What time was it, Kitty, that you last saw the boys last night?”
    She examined her pinky carefully, then nibbled on it some more. “One o’clock. That’s when Terry got up. About that time. And it was about one-thirty when I took the sleeping pills and my shower and went to bed.”
    “Did you see your sons at all after one-thirty this morning?”
    She shifted some hair from her shoulders to her back. “Nope.”
    “From the time you went to bed until you woke up this morning, did you hear anything, anything at all, unusual in the apartment?”
    She smiled at Catalano, awarding him points. “That’s just what you asked me, Sam.” Then, blank-faced, to me, “No, nothing at all. No noise, no nothing.”
    “Did you leave your sons alone in the apartment at any time last