Goldilocks (Matthew Hope) Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE MATTHEW HOPE SERIES

  “A master. He is a superior stylist, a spinner of artfully designed and sometimes macabre plots.” —Newsweek

  “He is, by far, the best at what he does. Case closed.” —People

  “McBain has a great approach, great attitude, terrific style, strong plots, excellent dialogue, sense of place, and sense of reality.” —Elmore Leonard

  “It’s hard to think of anyone better at what he does. In fact, it’s impossible.” —Robert B. Parker

  “The Matthew Hope novels do for the world of Florida sleaze what the 87th Precinct books do for big-city vice. The reader is hooked and given not a moment’s letup.” —New York Times Book Review

  Jack & The Beanstalk

  “A cracking good read…a solid, suspenseful, swiftly-paced story.” —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

  The House That Jack Built

  “Deft plotting, crisp dialogue, and intriguing characters rack up solid entertainment.” —San Diego Union

  “When McBain sets his tale to wagging, he commands close attention.” —Los Angeles Times

  Three Blind Mice

  “Matthew Hope, the suave Florida lawyer, is back in the latest of McBain’s series of cynically titled nursery-rhyme and fairy-tale themed novels….McBain is an undisputed master of the genre – slick, wry, and satisfying.” —Booklist

  There Was a Little Girl

  “McBain does it again! A brilliant piece of writing…and you won’t put it down.” —Larry King, USA Today

  Cinderella

  “The first page of a McBain novel is like the first potato chip: It whets the appetite for more.” —Newsday

  Snow White & Rose Red

  “Guaranteed to raise the hackles you didn’t know you had.“ —Kansas City Star

  ALSO BY ED McBAIN…

  THE 87TH PRECINCT NOVELS

  Cop Hater (1956), The Mugger (1956), The Pusher (1956), The Con Man (1957), Killer's Choice (1957), Killer’s Payoff (1958), Lady Killer (1958), Killer’s Wedge (1959), 'Til Death (1959), King’s Ransom (1959), Give the Boys a Great Big Hand (1960), The Heckler (1960), See Them Die (1960), Lady, Lady, I Did It (1961), The Empty Hours (1962), Like Love (1962), Ten Plus One (1963), Ax (1964), He Who Hesitates (1964), Doll (1965), Eighty Million Eyes (1966), Fuzz (1968), Shotgun (1969), Jigsaw (1970), Hail, Hail the Gang’s All Here! (1971), Sadie When She Died (1972), Let's Hear It for the Deaf Man (1972), Hail to the Chief (1973), Bread (1974), Blood Relatives (1975), So Long As You Both Shall Live (1976), Long Time No See (1977), Calypso (1979), Ghosts (1980), Heat (1981), Ice (1983), Lightning (1984), Eight Black Horses (1985), Poison (1987), Tricks (1987), Lullaby (1989), Vespers (1990), Widows (1991), Kiss (1992), Mischief (1993), And All Through the House (1994), Romance (1995), Nocturne (1997), The Big Bad City (1999), The Last Dance (2000), Money, Money, Money (2001), Fat Ollie’s Book (2002), The Frumious Bandersnatch (2004), Hark! (2004), Fiddlers (2005)

  THE MATTHEW HOPE NOVELS

  Goldilocks (1977), Rumpelstiltskin (1981), Beauty and the Beast (1982), Jack and the Beanstalk (1984), Snow White and Rose Red (1985), Cinderella (1986), Puss in Boots (1987), The House That Jack Built (1988), Three Blind Mice (1990), Mary, Mary (1992), There Was a Little Girl (1994), Gladly the Cross-Eyed Bear (1996), The Last Best Hope (1998)

  OTHER NOVELS

  The April Robin Murders (with Craig Rice) (1958), The Sentries (1965), Where There’s Smoke (1975), Doors (1975), Guns (1976), Another Part of the City (1986), Downtown (1991), Driving Lessons (2000), Learning to Kill (2005), Transgressions (2005)

  AND BY EVAN HUNTER…

  The Evil Sleep! (1952), Don’t Crowd Me (1953), The Blackboard Jungle (1954), Second Ending (1956), Strangers When We Meet (1958), A Matter of Conviction (1959), Mothers and Daughters (1961), Buddwing (1964), The Paper Dragon (1966), A Horse’s Head (1967), Last Summer (1968), Sons (1969), Nobody Knew They Were There (1971), Every Little Crook and Nanny (1972), Come Winter (1973), Streets of Gold (1974), The Chisholms: A Novel of the Journey West (1976), Walk Proud (1979), Love, Dad (1981), Far from the Sea (1983), Lizzie (1984), Criminal Conversation (1994), Privileged Conversation (1996), Candyland (2001)

  PLAYS

  The Easter Man (1964), The Conjuror (1969)

  SCREENPLAYS

  Strangers When We Meet (1960), The Birds (1963), Fuzz (1972), Walk Proud (1979)

  TELEPLAYS

  The Chisholms (1979), The Legend of Walks Far Woman (1980), Dream West (1986)

  CHILDREN'S BOOKS

  Find the Feathered Serpent (1952), The Remarkable Harry (1959), The Wonderful Button (1961), Me and Mr. Stenner (1976)

  SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

  The Jungle Kids (1956), The Last Spin & Other Stories (1960), Happy New Year, Herbie (1963), The Easter Man (a Play) and Six Stories (1972), The McBain Brief (1982), McBain’s Ladies: The Women Of The 87th (1988), McBain’s Ladies, Too (1989), The Best American Mystery Stories (2000), Running from Legs (2000), Barking at Butterflies (2000)

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright ©1976, 1977 HUI Corporation

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system,

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written

  permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  eISBN: 9781612189826

  CONTENTS

  * * *

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  About the Author

  1

  * * *

  THERE WAS a white patrol car parked at the curb outside the house. Its dome lights and headlights were out. The street at one A.M. was silent, the neighbors asleep. I pulled in behind the car, cut the engine, and started walking to where Jamie stood in the moonlight, talking to a uniformed policeman. The jacaranda tree behind him was leafless, blossomless. Out on the bayou behind the house, I could hear the chugging of the fishing boat I’d seen while crossing the bridge from Lucy’s Circle. There were only saltwater mullet in the shallow waters on this side of the bridge, and they would not strike a hook; the commercial fishermen were spreading their nets, circling, circling.

  Jamie looked drawn and pale. He was forty-six years old—ten years older than I—but in the pale moonlight he seemed much younger, or perhaps only more vulnerable. He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt, white trousers, and blue sneakers. The patrolman was visibly perspiring. Sweat stained the armholes of his blue shirt, stood out in beads on his forehead. I did not know whether he had yet been inside the house. He watched me as I approached.

  “I’m Matthew Hope,” I said. “Dr. Purchase’s attorney.” I don’t know why I immediately addressed myself to the patrolman, rather than to Jamie. I guess I was trying to protect Jamie from the very beginning, letting it be known to the Law that I myself was a lawyer who expected no hanky-panky with a client’s rights.

  “He call you then?” the patrolman asked.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “When was that, sir?”

  “At about a quarter to one. Ten minutes ago.”

  “I didn’t get the radio dispatch till five minutes ago,” the patrolman said. H
e made it sound like an accusation.

  “That’s right,” I said, “he called me first. I advised him to notify the police.”

  “Would it be all right if I went inside the house now?” the patrolman asked.

  “Yes,” Jamie said dully.

  “You don’t have to come with me, you don’t want to.”

  “I would…rather not,” Jamie said.

  “That’s all right, sir,” the patrolman said, and touched Jamie’s shoulder briefly and surprisingly. He flashed his torch over the lawn then, and walked swiftly to the front door, weaving his way through the sprinkler heads like a broken-field runner. The circle of light illuminated the brass doorknob. He twisted it tentatively, as if expecting the door to be locked, and then he opened the door and went inside.

  Alone with Jamie, I said, “I’m going to ask you again what I asked you on the phone…”

  “I didn’t do it,” he said at once.

  “Tell me the truth, Jamie.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Because if you did, I want to know right this minute.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “All right, do you have any idea who might have done it?”

  “No, Matt, I don’t.”

  “Why’d you call me instead of the police?”

  “I don’t know why. I guess…you’re my lawyer, Matt, I guess I thought…something like this. I don’t know.”

  Another patrol car was pulling in toward the curb. No siren, no dome lights. The man inside cut the engine and got out. Hitching up his trousers, he walked to where Jamie and I were standing near the naked jacaranda. He was a huge man. I’m six feet two inches tall and weigh a hundred and ninety pounds, but I felt dwarfed beside him. There were sergeant’s stripes on the sleeve of his blue uniform. He was perspiring even more profusely than the patrolman—the temperature that day had hit ninety-nine degrees, and it was now eighty-six and oppressively humid. This was weather more suited to August than the last day of February.

  “Sergeant Hascomb,” he said, and politely touched the peak of his hat. “I’m looking for whoever called the police.”

  “I did,” Jamie said.

  “Could you tell me your name, sir?”

  “James Purchase.”

  “I ran over the minute I caught it on the radio,” Hascomb said. “I knew Furley’d be calling me, anyway—this is a signal five. I’m his supervisor.” I had the impression his size made him feel awkward with men smaller than himself. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket, removed the hat from his head, and wiped his brow. “Is he inside now, is that it?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, you’re…?”

  “Matthew Hope. I’m Dr. Purchase’s attorney.”

  “I see,” he said. “Well, excuse me,” he said, and walked toward the front door. Before he went into the house, he wiped the sweatband of the hat with his handkerchief. He came out again a few moments later and walked swiftly past us to the car. Black batwing blots of perspiration covered the back of his shirt. I saw him reaching for the car radio. His face was ashen.

  I am not a criminal lawyer.

  I’d practiced law for seven years in Illinois before moving to Calusa, and I’d been practicing law here in the state of Florida for the past three years, but I’d never represented anyone involved in a crime. The first thing I’d asked Jamie on the telephone was whether or not he wanted me to contact a criminal lawyer. Wait, that’s not quite true. I first asked him if he’d committed the murders. When he assured me he hadn’t, I then reminded him that I was not a criminal lawyer and asked if he wanted me to call a good one. Jamie replied, “If I didn’t kill them, why do I need a criminal lawyer?” I had no answer for him at the time. I’d simply advised him to call the police at once, and told him I’d be there as soon as I was dressed. Now, at one-thirty in the morning, with law enforcement officers and related personnel swarming all over the house and the grounds, I felt completely out of my element and wished I had insisted on expert help.

  There were three marked patrol cars at the curb, and the patrolmen from those cars had set up barricades at either end of Jacaranda Drive. Inside the barricades, there were four vehicles belonging to the captain in command of the Detective Bureau, the two plainclothes detectives he’d assigned to the case, and the assistant medical examiner. The man from the State’s Attorney’s office had parked his car across the street, behind the Ford Econoline van from the Criminalistics Unit. The ambulance from Southern Medical was backed into the driveway, its rear doors open. The activity had wakened neighbors all up and down the street. They stood just outside the barricades, whispering, speculating, stopping one or another of the patrolmen to ask what had happened. Most of the neighbors were still in pajamas and robes. The moonlight illuminated the lawn and the street and the house.

  “Who’s in charge here?” the medical examiner asked.

  “I am.”

  The detective’s name was George Ehrenberg. He looked to be about my age, maybe a year or so younger, thirty-four or -five. He had red hair that fell onto his forehead like a rust stain. His beetling brows were red, too, and his eyes were a brown so dark as to be almost black. There were freckles on the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. He was wearing a loud plaid summer-weight jacket and dark blue trousers, blue socks and brown loafers. Under the jacket, a wine-colored polo shirt was open at the throat. He was a big man, like most of the other policemen who were now at the house.

  “I’m finished in there, you can have them now,” the ME said. He was referring to the corpses of Jamie’s wife and children. “Your cause of death is multiple stab wounds,” he said. “Hard to say which of them was the fatal cut. Whoever done it…”

  “This here’s the husband here,” Ehrenberg said.

  “Sorry,” the ME said. “Anyway, the coroner’ll pinpoint it for you. Sorry,” he said again, and walked to where a blue Chevrolet was parked at the curb.

  Ehrenberg went over to where his partner was standing with the technician from Criminalistics. I hadn’t caught the partner’s name. He was a small dark man with intensely blue eyes. Ehrenberg said a few words to him, and he nodded and then went into the house with the technician. Ehrenberg came back to Jamie and me.

  “Would it be all right to ask Dr. Purchase some questions?” he said.

  “He’s not a suspect here, is he?”

  “No, sir, he’s not. I can read him his rights if you want me to, sir, but this is just a normal field investigation, and I’m really not required to. If you want me to, though, I’d be happy…”

  “No, no, that’s all right,” I said.

  “Well then, is it all right, sir? To ask him some questions?”

  “Yes, go ahead,” I said.

  “Dr. Purchase, I’m assuming you didn’t kill your own wife and kids, am I right in assuming that?”

  His voice was only mildly southern, with scarcely a trace of dialect. You had to listen very closely to catch the occasional softened vowel or missing final consonant. His manner was friendly and pleasant, even though he was here to ask about bloody murder.

  “I didn’t kill them,” Jamie said.

  “Good, and I’m further assuming you want to help us find whoever did kill them, am I right in assuming that, Dr. Purchase?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have done a thing like this?”

  “No,” Jamie said.

  “Have you had any threatening letters or phone calls recently?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “You’re a physician, is that right, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you practice here in Calusa?”

  “Yes, I have an office in Belvedere Medical.”

  “Would any of your patients have had reason to be angry at you, or to…?”

  “No, none that I can think of.”

  “How about your nurses? Any arguments with them recently?”

  “No.”


  “Do you pay them good salaries?”

  “I do.”

  “Any of them ask for a raise recently?”

  “I gave them both raises only last month.”

  “What about your associates?”

  “I’m in practice alone, I have no associates.”

  “Do you have any professional rivals who might want to harm you or your family?”

  “None that I can think of.”

  “How about any recent disputes with the families of patients you’ve treated? Anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been dunning anyone for nonpayment of bills?”

  “No.”

  “Dr. Purchase, I’m going to ask you something personal now, but I need to know the answer because it’s important. Were either you or your wife fooling around outside the marriage?”

  “We were very happily married.”

  “How long have you been married, Dr. Purchase?”

  “Eight years.”

  “This your first marriage?”

  “No.”

  “Is your first wife still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “She live here in Calusa?”

  “Yes”

  “Any children by the first marriage?”

  “Two.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “My daughter’s been living in New York for the past three years. My son’s here in Calusa.”

  “How old are they?”

  “My daughter’s twenty-two. My son is twenty.”

  “Had any family arguments with them lately?”