The Last Dance Read Free

here?” Carella asked.
    â€œI have a key.”
    â€œThen it was locked.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid you knock?”
    â€œI knocked, but there was no answer. So I let myself in.”
    â€œAnd found your father in bed.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWere his shoes and socks where they are now?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOn the floor there? Near the easy chair?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo you called the police,” Meyer said for the third time.
    â€œYes,” Cynthia said, and looked at him.
    â€œDid you suspect foul play of any sort?” Carella asked.
    â€œNo. Of course not.”
    â€œBut you called the police,” Meyer said.
    â€œWhy is that important?” she snapped, suddenly tipping to what was going on here, Good Cop becoming Bad Cop in the wink of an eye.
    â€œHe’s merely asking,” Carella said.
    â€œNo, he’s not merely asking, he seems to think it’s important. He keeps asking me over and over again did I call the police, did I call the police, when you
know
I called the police, otherwise you wouldn’t
be
here!”
    â€œWe have to ask certain questions,” Carella said gently.
    â€œBut why that particular question?”
    â€œBecause some people wouldn’t necessarily call the police if they found someone dead from apparent natural causes.”
    â€œWho would they call? Necessarily?”
    â€œRelatives, friends, even a lawyer. Not necessarily the police, is all my partner’s saying,” Carella explained gently.
    â€œThen why doesn’t he say it?” Cynthia snapped. “Instead of asking me all the time did I call the
police?”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am,” Meyer said in his most abject voice. “I didn’t mean to suggest there was anything peculiar about your calling the police.”
    â€œWell, your
partner
here seems to think it was peculiar,” Cynthia said, thoroughly confused now. “
He
seems to think I should have called my husband or my girlfriend or my priest or anybody
but
the police, what
is
it with you two?”
    â€œWe simply have to investigate every possibility,” Carella said, more convinced than ever that she was lying. “By all appearances, your father died in bed, possibly from a heart attack, possibly from some other cause, we won’t know that until the autopsy results are …”
    â€œHe was an old man who’d suffered two previous heart attacks,” Cynthia said. “What do you
think
he died of?”
    â€œI don’t know, ma’am,” Carella said. “Do you?”
    Cynthia looked him dead in the eye.
    â€œMy husband’s a lawyer, you know,” she said.
    â€œIs your mother still alive?” Meyer asked, ducking the question and its implied threat.
    â€œHe’s on the way here now,” she said, not turning to look at Meyer, her gaze still fastened on Carella, as if willing him to melt before her very eyes. Green, he noticed. A person could easily melt under a green-eyed laser beam.
    â€œIs she?” Meyer asked.
    â€œShe’s alive,” Cynthia said. “But they’re divorced.”
    â€œAny other children besides you?”
    She glared at Carella a moment longer, and then turned to Meyer, seemingly calmer now. “Just me,” she said.
    â€œHow long have they been divorced?” Meyer asked.
    â€œFive years.”
    â€œWhat was his current situation?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYour father. Was he living with anyone?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œSeeing anyone?”
    â€œHis private life was his own business.”
    â€œHow often did you see your father, Mrs. Keating?”
    â€œAround once a month.”
    â€œHad he been complaining about his heart lately?” Carella asked.
    â€œNot to me, no. But you know how old men are. They don’t take care of themselves.”
    â€œWas he complaining about his heart to anyone