“Mrs. Freemont?”

“I was. It’s Taylor now.”

“Are you Esther Freemont’s mother?”

“What’s she done now?” she said with bored disgust. Without waiting for an answer, she turned her head and yelled angrily into the interior of the house.

“Esther, you get out here.”

A voice answered unintelligibly over the roar of applause on a TV game show.

“Turn that goddamn thing down and get out here,” Mrs. Taylor yelled.

The sound level did not diminish, but a young girl came around the corner of the living room. When she saw the two men in suits, she stopped, then continued toward them at a slower pace.

Shindler watched her walk across the room, the way a hunter watches his prey. Esther was tall for a girl. Shindler judged her to be about sixteen years old. She was wearing blue jeans and a white tee shirt that covered large, swaying breasts. Shindler realized that she was braless and the excitement generated by the police investigation blended subconsciously with an undercurrent of sexual desire.

Esther’s skin was smooth and dark. Her long, dark hair was as dirty and unkempt as her mother’s. Involuntarily, Shindler began to think of her in sexual terms.

“These men want to see you. They’re police. What have you done now?”

Esther’s large brown eyes moved from her mother to the detectives without answering. She appeared to be nervous, but no more than any other person confronted by the law.

“We have no reason to believe that your daughter has done anything wrong, Mrs. Taylor. This is just part of an investigation we’re conducting. We just want to ask your daughter a few questions.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Taylor said. Marcus thought she sounded disappointed.

“Is there someplace we could talk?” Shindler asked.

Mrs. Taylor looked around the cluttered living room. The couch was covered with unwashed laundry and the nearest chair was occupied by a cat. Mrs. Taylor headed toward the back of the house. They followed her into the kitchen. A portable TV was resting on the sink. A baby in a high chair stopped screaming when they entered.

Chairs were arranged on each side of a yellow formica-topped table. Marcus and Shindler motioned Esther into one and took two of the others. Mrs. Taylor hovered over her daughter.

“Could we?” Shindler asked, motioning toward the TV…Mrs. Taylor looked confused for a moment, then leaned over and turned the sound off. The picture remained on.

“Esther, this is Detective Marcus and I am Detective Shindler. We are investigating the murder of Richie Walters and the disappearance of Elaine Murray, who were students at Stuyvesant.”

Marcus was watching her. There was no trace of fear. If anything, she seemed relieved when they said that the investigation was not about her.

“Is…is she dead?”

“Pardon?”

“Elaine. You said disappeared. Is she dead?”

“We don’t know, Esther. We have men out searching, but we still haven’t found her.”

“Gee, that’s sad. I knew Richie from school. I didn’t know him real well. He was in different classes. But…you know, being from the same school and all, it’s like he was a friend. I cried when I read about it in the papers.”

“Do you know Elaine Murray?”

“Well, not to talk to, but I knew her. She was…is real pretty. I hope she’s okay.”

“We do too, Esther. Can you remember where you were on the Friday night that Richie was killed?”

Esther looked nervously at her mother, then back to the detectives.

“Why do you want to know where I was?”

“This is just routine, Esther. We have to check up on everyone,” Marcus said.

“You don’t think she had anything to do with that killing?” Mrs. Taylor asked incredulously.

“You ain’t going to take me to detention?”

Esther was panicky. She started to stand. Marcus laughed. It was a made-up laugh that Shindler had heard before. Esther looked confused.

“No one is going to detention and no one thinks you killed anybody. Now just relax and tell me where you were so I can fill out my report. Okay?”

To Shindler, Esther looked like a trapped animal. Her eyes shifted from face to face and her hands were slowly washing one another.

“You tell them where you were,” Mrs. Taylor said, suddenly angry. “I just remembered where she was.”

Esther hung her head and bit her lip.

“She was drunk, that’s where she was. She come home late and puked all over the bathroom.”

No one can look more dejected than an embarrassed adolescent girl, Shindler thought. Esther looked as if she wanted to crawl inside herself.

“How did you get drunk?” Marcus asked.

“You promise I won’t go to juvenile detention?”

Marcus smiled his best fatherly interrogation smile.

“Don’t worry about detention, Esther. We are only interested in Richie Walters’s murder. Look, I used to drink more than a wee bit myself when I was your age. So, why don’t you tell us what happened.”

“Well, to tell the truth,” Esther said sheepishly, “I can’t remember it all. I was pretty drunk and it’s kind of hazy.”

“Tell us what you can remember.”

“Roger, he’s my boyfriend, and me and Bobby and Billy Coolidge went to Hamburger Heaven. Then, we went to a party. It was after the party that we got drunk.” She stopped and looked pleadingly at Marcus. “Do I have to tell? I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

“Answer their questions,” Mrs. Taylor barked. “I told you I didn’t want you hanging around with that Hessey. He’s no good, like the rest of those hoodlums.”

“How did you get drunk, Esther? Don’t worry about getting anyone in trouble. We won’t tell anyone what happened,” Marcus said.

“It was Billy. He swiped some wine while the grocer wasn’t looking at one of these all-night places. He took a few bottles. We drank it in the car. That’s where it gets fuzzy. I guess I don’t drink so well and I must have had too much, because I really don’t remember after the wine. Except I remember we drank it in the car and I think we went cruising downtown after that.”

Shindler reached in his pocket.

“Do you wear glasses?”

Esther did not answer for a moment. She ran her tongue across her lips.

“Talk up. Yeah, she has glasses to read,” Mrs. Taylor said.

“Do you have your glasses, Esther?”

Esther did not say anything. She stared at the table.

“Esther, where are those glasses?” Mrs. Taylor asked menacingly. “Goddamn it, if you lost those glasses again, you ain’t getting new ones.”

“I’m sorry, Ma,” Esther blurted out. “They were stolen. It was three months ago. I was afraid to tell you.”

“Who stole them?” Mrs. Taylor demanded.

“I don’t know. I swear. I was afraid you would get mad, so I didn’t tell and I thought maybe they would turn up.”

“What was the exact day your glasses were stolen, Esther?” Shindler interrupted.

“It wasn’t just the glasses. It was some other stuff from my purse. And I can’t remember the exact day. I just know it was in early November.”

“Are these your glasses?” Shindler asked, placing an envelope on the table. Esther picked up the envelope and took out the glasses.

“They look like them, but I can’t tell until I put them on.”

“Go ahead.”

Esther fit them on her nose. She picked up a True Confession from the sink and scanned a page.

“These are mine. Can I have them back?”

“I’m afraid not right now. They’re evidence.”

“Evidence for what?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

“Did you also lose a lighter and a comb, Esther?”

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly.

“Where did you find those?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

“The comb, the lighter and the glasses were found near the scene of the Walters murder. It is possible that the person who stole your daughter’s glasses was involved in the murder.”

“So she can’t get them back?”

“Not for a while.”

“Well, that’s fine. And how am I supposed to get her new ones?”