Investigation by Dorothy Uhnak

a bit, Tim? Before their stories have a chance to harden. Given what I would assume to be their emotional state at the moment, regardless of their involvement or non-involvement, might not this be the time to question them—especially the mother—a bit more closely? Or do you think they were in on it together?”
    Jerry’s eyes were clear blue marbles, staring directly at Tim. He didn’t blink once while Tim spoke. For that matter, neither did Tim.
    “Anything they might possibly say at this time wouldn’t be admissible, as I’m sure you know, Jerry. I wouldn’t think of questioning them intensely without recommending that they have an attorney present. Any attorney would advise them against cooperating at this particular time. As I’m sure you would agree.”
    “I don’t need you to teach me my law, Tim.” They held the stare for a long count, then Jerry glanced down at his hands. When he looked back at Tim, his whole expression had changed; his voice sounded reasonable, helpful. “I would think if your investigation is thorough and properly done, as I naturally expect it to be, you’ll have enough, soon enough, to persuade them, lawyer and all, to come forward to corroborate all you know, wouldn’t you say?”
    “As of now, all we know is that there are two murdered children.”
    “Well, you know a bit more than that, Tim.” Kelleher considered his fingernails for a moment, then picked at a cuticle as he spoke. “You know that the mother, this Kitty Keeler, seems to have a very active extracurricular love life.” He gnawed at the loose sliver of skin, then wiped his lips. He picked up the newspaper and held it in front of us as though it was an exhibit. “Why, it says so right here in this news story, Tim. Seems to be common knowledge, if the newspaper reporters already have it.”
    “I’m not sure that was a particularly wise thing to do, Jerry. For that information to have been leaked to the papers.”
    “Then why the hell was it leaked?” Kelleher demanded.
    “I wouldn’t know, Jerry. Would you?”
    Not even a casual, uninformed spectator would think these two were anything but opponents. They went into another staring match.
    The D.A. slowly shook his head from side to side. The lock of hair floated over his eyebrows. He shrugged his shoulders to express his innocence and bewilderment in the matter. Then he said softly, “A terrible thing, Tim. Terrible.” He sucked in his lower lip, then said, as if to cue Tim on his response, “It does look like this whole thing, this terrible tragedy, is very close to home, though, doesn’t it?”
    “I wouldn’t say that at this point, Jerry. I especially wouldn’t say it to the media.”
    Kelleher tossed it right back at Tim without missing a beat. “I’m saying it to you, Tim, and you’re not the media.” He widened his eyes, gave a slow innocent blink, then: “At least, as far as I know, you’re not.”
    Tim was both cracking his knuckles and whistling softly through his stretched lips. It sounded like a soft hiss of steam.
    Jerry tapped his fingers in a little dance step along the edge of his desk and studied them with grave interest as he spoke. “I would say, Tim, from my experience with the human situation, and the nature of things, barring some really unlikely happenstance, that this entire matter would probably be cleared up within the walls of the Keelers’ apartment.” He looked up, first at me, then at Tim, then he hunched over his desk and said in a friendly one-of-the-guys voice, “This is unofficial, of course, Tim. Just so I can assure my wife that our three little grandchildren are safe on the streets of Forest Hills and she can call our daughter and tell her there’s no real worry that some mad murderer is stalking for children in the dead of night.”
    Even though it was as important to Tim as it was to Kelleher that what the D.A. assumed was accurate, Tim got back a little of his own by not agreeing.
    “We’re not