Behind me, April was crying.
“She shouldn’t have left her to die like that—burning—” The rest was muffled in sobs.
I lit a cigarette and waited for Monks.
TWENTY-FOUR
Monks’ face was worried. I gave it to him fast. I was tired and disgusted. All the twins and all the money in the world left me cold now.
He couldn’t take his eyes off April. He was bug-eyed with wonder. He had looked at May, what was left of May, just once. Once was enough in any lifetime.
“The full clip,” I said. “Point-blank. Not much left to look at.”
He grunted, still watching April.
“I’m not sorry, Ed. My stake-out man was found two blocks away from the Wexler dump. Somebody knifed him. That wasn’t pretty either.” He shrugged. “Well, I polished off the Radkin kill. And now you’ve settled yours. Gotta say one thing for you, Ed. You sure pick your girl friends.”
“Don’t I though? How can you marry a dame worth two million bucks? One consolation, though, Michael.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
I managed a grin as tired as I was.
“Triplets are bad enough. Suppose it had been something like the Dionne Quints?”
The Spitting Image Page 15