But He Was Already Dead When I Got There (24 page)

Toomey nodded. “Why now?”

“Oh, she threatened to leave if we didn't.”

Toomey was sure Nicole had threatened something. Godfrey Daniel finished his cheese and leaped back up to the Lieutenant's lap, sniffing for more. “That's all there is, kitty.” Godfrey lay down, stretching out the length of Toomey's thighs to stare at Lionel. “So what happened in London?”

Lionel groaned. “It was a fiasco. They said Ellandy's wasn't financially stable enough. And the
way
they said it—they made it painfully clear I was out of my league. Hell. I felt like a country singer auditioning at the Metropolitan Opera. The whole thing was a mistake—we should never have done it.”

“So is this a setback for Simon Murdoch as well as for you?”

“It's not really a setback for Ellandy's—more like a failed opportunity. We still have the equipment and that's worth a lot, whether we sell it or use it. As for Simon—I can't tell about Simon. He's hard to figure sometimes.”

“In what way?”

“Well, he's not like most of the men in the business I've met. Diamond merchants are a queer breed, Lieutenant. They're all intense, competitive men whose whole life is made up of the buying and selling of diamonds. They're not interested in anything at all except trading those stones … and maybe sex. But they don't do anything else—they don't read, they don't go to the theater, nothing. The only thing in life that matters to them is diamonds. But Simon's not like that. He's not obsessed the way the rest of them are; his life is more balanced. He has other interests.”

“Like buying real estate.”

“Yeah, like that. And like leaving himself time to have some fun. He and Dorrie play a lot. But the successful men in the business are diamond merchants twenty-four hours a day. No time off, for anything.”

“Do you think that could be part of the reason De Beers turned you down?” Toomey asked. “Maybe they sensed that same lack of obsession in you.”

“Oh, I'm sure of it,” Lionel grinned wryly. “They know I'm not one of the clan.”

Just then Mrs. Polk appeared at the terrace door. “Mr. Lionel—telephone. It's Miss Dorrie.”

“Probably wants to know when I'm going to get back to work,” Lionel sighed. “Excuse me, Lieutenant.”

Toomey watched him go indoors. According to what the Murdochs told him yesterday about Uncle Vincent's body, rigor mortis had already started by the time they returned to the library. By five o'clock, when Lionel got there, it was well advanced. That put the time of death back to ten-thirty or eleven, just as the medical examiner had estimated. That meant Lionel Knox had to be innocent.

Toomey was glad. All six of his suspects were attractive people who were very much products of their times: they were over-kempt, they drove BMWs or Saabs or Mercedeses (what an awkward word in the plural) and they had the kind of energy successful people of the eighties were supposed to have. Too, they were all narcissistic to some degree. But Lionel … Lionel was a little less beautiful than the other five. He worked harder, he worried more. And he sweat. Not fashionable workout sweat, but
sweat
sweat. Lionel was the one Toomey could feel a kinship to.

Godfrey Daniel was purring contentedly in his lap. Toomey closed his eyes and tilted his head back, enjoying the warm sun on his face. Lionel and Nicole and Dorrie had alibis. Mrs. Polk and Barney had no motive. The field was definitely down to three. Sergeant Rizzuto still suspected Gretchen, but Toomey thought it had to be one of the two men.

“There you are, Lieutenant—I been lookin' ever'where for you.” Toomey opened his eyes to see Rizzuto looming over him. “I finished puttin' the file back in order, like you said,” the Sergeant told him, “but there ain't no private investigator's report in those papers. Not a sign of it.”

Toomey sat up straight, unbalancing Godfrey Daniel, who dropped complaining to the terrace floor. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I checked twice. There's a letter from Paul Bernstein confirmin' financial details of their arrangement, but no report on what he found out.”

“Hm. Since Uncle Vincent had it earlier in the evening—”

“That means one of 'em took it. One of the Knoxes or the Murdochs, when they went back and messed things up.”

“Or Mrs. Polk,” Toomey sighed, “who doesn't seem to balk at tampering with evidence either.”

“Naw, not Mrs. Polk. There wasn't nothin' about her in that report. And ever'body knew about Nicole and Lionel's affair, 'cause Uncle Vincent told 'em about it. So why would anybody bother stealin' Bernstein's report? What was in there that they didn't all know about anyway?”

Lionel's surreptitious visit to De Beers
, Toomey thought immediately. Only Simon Murdoch had known about that, and he and Lionel had agreed to keep quiet about it.

And Simon was the one who didn't have an alibi.

12

Oh gawd
, Simon Murdoch moaned inwardly when he saw Gretchen Knox standing in the doorway. He'd thought he was safe in his own office.

But it seemed Gretchen hadn't come to flirt or suggest lunch or anything potentially awkward like that. She had a sporty look, white trousers and yellow top, but somehow she didn't seem out of place in Simon's rather formal office. “I want to know,” she said, sitting down in the chair Simon offered her, “whether Ellandy's buys diamonds from De Beers in London.”

Simon wondered why she hadn't asked her husband. “Not directly, no. I sometimes buy De Beers diamonds from other merchants and resell them to Ellandy's. The stones may have changed hands a dozen times before they get to me.”

Gretchen thought a minute. “And every time the diamonds change hands, the price goes up?”

Simon smiled at her sudden interest in business. “That's the way it works.”

“Then wouldn't it make more sense to buy directly from De Beers?”

“A great deal more sense.” Simon explained to her why that wasn't possible, why only sightholders were permitted to buy directly from De Beers. “That's why I make so many trips to Antwerp,” he finished. “To get hold of as many diamonds as I can that De Beers doesn't control.”

“I see.” Gretchen asked a few more questions, until she had at least a good surface understanding of how the traffic in diamonds flowed.

All the time he was answering her, Simon kept thinking there was something different about Gretchen, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. She'd never shown any concern for business affairs before, so her visit caught him by surprise. “Why this extraordinary interest in diamonds, Gretchen?” he asked.

“Lionel went to the De Beers place in London,” she said. “That time he told everybody he wanted to check on some relative or other. Now why would he do that if he's not a sightholder?”

Simon's face darkened. After a moment, he said, “Because he has aspirations toward
becoming
a sightholder, obviously. Well, well … isn't this an interesting development? Our Lionel, a De Beers sightholder. Who'd have thought an ex-florist would set his sights so high?”

There was no missing the sarcasm in his voice. “It would be good for Ellandy's, though, wouldn't it?” Gretchen asked.

“It would be a
disaster
for Ellandy's, and almost a disaster for me. Lionel doesn't know doodleysquat about diamonds—I always deal directly with Dorrie or Nicole. Lionel's forte is juggling debits and credits and getting loans and finding tax write-offs and other undoubtedly fascinating endeavors in a similar vein. But he's no expert in diamonds.”

“Why would it be almost a disaster for you?”

“Ellandy's is one of my biggest customers, remember. Your dearly beloved husband is doing his damnedest to cut me out.”

“Well, that answers one question,” Gretchen said matter-of-factly. “Why he lied to everybody about his reason for going to England.”

“Just a moment—how do you know Lionel visited De Beers? Did he tell you?”

“No, Paul Bernstein told me.” She explained about the private investigator's report and how he'd provided her with a copy—at her request. “He'll be reporting to me from now on.”

Simon suddenly realized what it was about Gretchen that seemed different; she was sounding more and more like dear dead Uncle Vincent. “Have you confronted Lionel with it yet?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Don't, then—not for a while. Let me ask around first, see if my contacts know anything.”

“Why? What good will that do?”

Simon spread his hands. “All we know for certain is that Lionel called on De Beers. We don't know whether De Beers said yes or no.”

“It must have been no. It's been four months—”

“Means nothing, Gretchen. De Beers thrives on keeping its supplicants waiting. They may still be considering his application. Let me see what I can find out.”

Gretchen thought about it a minute, and then agreed. She stood up. “I don't know what all this means, but the underhanded way Lionel's gone about it makes me suspect he's up to no good. I'll leave it in your hands for the time being. Right now, you may take me to lunch.” She walked out of the office.

Startled, Simon had no choice but to follow.

Malcolm Conner was placing papers neatly across Lionel Knox's desk. “These are the same Articles of Partnership I drew up the first time,” Malcolm explained, “except that now three partners are listed instead of two. Concomitant changes have been implemented throughout, such as three-way liability and tax responsibility, and of course the division of profits into thirds. Everything else remains the same,” he glanced at Nicole, “including the fictitious name of the business.”

“
One
letter,” Nicole grumbled.

“One letter or a dozen, the cost of changing the name is the same,” Malcolm said, “and it's exorbitant. I advised Nicole and I advise you two,” looking at Dorrie and Lionel, “to wait until you are free of debt before indulging in luxuries such as name-changing. Also, I question the wisdom of changing an established name at all. Besides which, the consent of all three partners is—”

“What
is
all this?” Lionel complained. “Who said anything about changing the name?”

“I just wanted to change one letter,” Nicole sighed heavily. “I didn't know it would be such a big deal.”

“Which letter?” Dorrie asked, curious. “What do you want the name to be?”

“Ell
en
dy Jewels, instead of Ell
an
dy—
e
in place of the
a
. That way instead of standing for L and D, Lionel and Dorrie, it would be L, N, D—the
N
for Nicole.”

Lionel rolled his eyes heavenward. “Jeez.”

But Dorrie inclined to agree with Nicole. “It seems only fair, Lionel. There are three of us now—”

“I do not agree to a name change,” Lionel said flatly. “Especially not if it's going to cost us more money.”

“And it would,” Malcolm nodded. “In addition to being a questionable business practice, you'd have to change all your legal papers—your lease, your insurance, your tax reports.…”

“All right, all right!” Nicole said testily. “You said all that last night, at extraordinary length and in excruciating detail! Let's just drop it, shall we?”

“Perhaps it would be better to wait,” Dorrie said in a conciliatory tone.

“For god's sake, let's get on with it!” Lionel snapped, not in the best of moods for the legal forming of a new partnership.

Malcolm showed them where to sign, and the three new partners sat at Lionel's desk in turn and affixed their signatures. Nicole was the last. “That's it?” she asked. “It's legal now?”

“I have to file an amendment to the original registry statement,” Malcolm said, “but we don't have to go through Common Pleas court again—that's the slow part. The amendment will take care of everything.”

“This amendment,” Nicole said, “what does it involve?”

Malcolm slipped one set of the papers they'd signed into a mailing envelope and held it up. “It involves my dropping this envelope into the mail. Approval is virtually automatic. Don't worry, Nicole,” he smiled, “you are a legal partner, as of this moment.”

Nicole smiled back, decided that wasn't enough, and gave him a kiss. “Thank you, Malcolm.”

“Hey—how about the rest of us?” Lionel grinned, belatedly determining to be a good sport about the sword's-point partnership.

Nicole kissed him lightly, exchanged hugs with Dorrie, and turned back to Malcolm. “Now it's time to celebrate! Didn't somebody say something about champagne?”

“I wish I could join you,” Malcolm said, “but I have an appointment I can't break. Have a good time.”

Nicole's face fell. “You aren't staying? I thought you'd be staying.”

“Sorry, I can't. I have a case going to court tomorrow morning, and this is my last chance to consult with my client. He's suing his insurance company and I have to be sure he understands our strategy. You three celebrate.”

“But—”

Dorrie laid a hand on Nicole's arm. “If he can't stay, he can't stay. Thanks for your help, Malcolm, and for getting it done so fast.”

“Yeah, we appreciate it, Malcolm,” Lionel said, opening the office door for him. Malcolm waved goodbye and left.

The minute Malcolm was gone, Dorrie and Lionel pounced on their new partner. “Where is it? Do you have it with you?”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Nicole laughed artificially, “what's the rush?”

“Nicole,” Dorrie said in a no-nonsense voice, “
where is the note for the loan?
”

Nicole licked her lips and swallowed. “I, I don't have it.” The other two stared at her. “I never had it. I lied.” The others kept on staring at her, open-mouthed. “Somebody say something,” she finished nervously.