But He Was Already Dead When I Got There (27 page)

“No, they're all right,” Dorrie assured him. “And they're all accounted for—I checked the inventory list.”

“Perhaps it strayed over from a different tray?” Gretchen suggested.

Dorrie shook her head. “I checked the trays on both sides of this one. This fake hasn't been substituted for a real one. We've simply
acquired
a phony diamond!”

Lionel rolled the fake diamond around on the palm of his hand. “That's weird,” he said. “Could Nicole know anything about it?”

“I don't know—she's not here.”

“I think I'll hold on to this a while.” Lionel dropped the fake diamond into his jacket pocket. “We'll ask Nicole about it later. Right now, Gretchen wants to talk to us.”

Center stage at last, Gretchen took a paper out of her shoulder bag, unfolded it, and laid it on the small table next to the tray of diamonds. “That's a photocopy,” she said in her new loud voice. “The original is in a safe deposit box.”

Dorrie picked up the paper. When she saw what it was, she gasped. “The promissory note!” She looked at Gretchen. “You have it?”

“Let me see that.” Lionel snatched the paper out of Dorrie's hand. As he read, his face first went white and then turned red. “You had it all along?
You
?”

Gretchen shook her head. “I just got it today. Mrs. Polk took it out of Uncle Vincent's safe.” She smiled smugly. “For safekeeping. Right before Dorrie made her little attempt at burglary.”

Dorrie dropped her head on one hand and groaned. “Mrs. Polk. I didn't even think of Mrs. Polk.”

“No one did, fortunately for me.” Gretchen took a deep breath. “Now. It's time we talked a little business. That piece of paper is worth one and a half million dollars. I am willing to tear it up, on one condition. And that is that you make me a full partner in Ellandy Jewels. That's all.”

“That's
all
!” Lionel exclaimed, horrified.

“That's all. I won't even insist you get rid of Nicole. But from now on I get one-fourth of Ellandy's profits, or I will collect the full amount of the loan, and I'm going to collect it under the same conditions Uncle Vincent laid down. I mean no time extension.”

“Gretchen!” Dorrie cried. “How can you—”

“That's your choice,” Gretchen plowed on. “Take me in as a partner, or come up with one and a half million dollars right now. Plus interest, of course.”

Lionel was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. “Gretchen—what's happened to you? I don't even know you! You come in here and try to bulldoze us into—”

“Lionel, don't argue with me about this, please. I've made up my mind to be strong and you're not going to talk me out of it.”

“Grettttchennnn,” Lionel said in exasperation, “
bullying
people isn't the way to be strong! I don't know where you got your notions, but we can't just let you force your way in!”

“Why not? That's what Nicole did, didn't she?”

“Yeah, and that was bad enough, but at least Nicole contributes something to the business. She contributes a hell of a lot.”

“What do you call a million and a half dollars?”

“I call it a lot of money,” Lionel said earnestly, “but eventually it will be used up, Gretchen. Dorrie and Nicole and I are going to keep on giving to this business until we drop. What can you contribute?”

Gretchen got a gleam in her eye. “I thought I'd concentrate on marketing.” She knew that word.

Lionel snorted. “What do you know about marketing?”

“Nothing, so I'll have to learn. That will give the rest of you a grace period of sorts. But I'm going to be involved—and the sooner you make up your minds to that the better.”

Lionel threw up his hands. “You talk to her,” he said to Dorrie. He was surprised that Dorrie hadn't blown up at Gretchen the way she had at Nicole. But this time Dorrie just looked depressed.

Dorrie played with the diamonds on the table for a moment or two, and then stood up and replaced the tray in its slot in the vault. “Gretchen, running Ellandy's involves more than playing at being a businesswoman. You can't even just sit at home and collect your share of the profits. If something happens and we go into debt, you'd be responsible for a fourth of everything we owe. If somebody sued us, you'd have to—”

“I don't care about any of that,” Gretchen said loudly. “I'm tired of being shut out of everything! You all think I'm some kind of softie you can ignore whenever you feel like it. Well, I'm not! Not any more.”

Lionel stared at her. “I think I liked Lou Ann Poovey better.”

“Well, she's not here any more.
I'm
here. It's time for me to grow and explore my own self and learn about me. I'm going to identify my life goals and focus my energies toward achieving them. I can do it—I believe in
me
.”

Lionel looked positively ill. “Where do you
get
this stuff?”

“Ellandy's is the first step,” Gretchen went on, unhearing. “I'm coming in, Lionel, whether you like it or not.”

“Gretchen,” Dorrie said, her distaste showing on her face, “do you realize what's happening? You're acting just like Uncle Vincent! This is the sort of thing he used to do all the time—he
loved
forcing people to their knees! You don't want to end up like Uncle Vincent, do you?”

“She's even starting to look like him,” Lionel muttered.

“Lionel,” Dorrie reprimanded, although secretly she half agreed with him. “Gretchen, I want you to take some time and think about what you're doing—”

“No!” Gretchen covered both ears with her hands. “I don't want to hear about it. I'm tired of being told what to do. I've made up my mind, and that's all there is to it.” She took her hands down. “I suppose you'll get Malcolm to handle it, but I'm going to want Mr. Dann to look over the papers before I sign anything. But take care of it soon. This week.”

Dorrie and Lionel went on arguing with her a while longer, all three of them frequently losing their tempers, but Gretchen wouldn't budge. When Dorrie said Gretchen was mule-headed, the latter retaliated by calling Dorrie “Little Miss Perfect”. Lionel told his wife she was unethical, immoral, and envious of other people's ability to do something with their lives. His wife told him he was dishonest, sarcastic, and a leech on the talents of others. In his defense, Dorrie said Lionel was a conscientious, hard-working man while Gretchen had done nothing but sit on her backside all her life. Gretchen said that every time she'd tried to do something, she'd met the same sort of put-down she was getting from them now. Lionel pointed out that people didn't like being coerced and maybe that had something to do with why she kept running into a wall of resistance. Dorrie suggested a cure for that might be locking Gretchen in the vault until a week from next Tuesday.

Gretchen put an end to it by raising her voice and repeating that they had until the end of the week to get the process rolling for making her a partner. “Otherwise I go see Mr. Dann,” Gretchen said, “and I start legal proceedings against you.”

The other two exchanged a disgusted look and, hating it, gave up; they knew they were licked. “I've lost half my income in two days,” Lionel mused in a strange voice.

“Oh, not really,” Gretchen said lightly. “You can look at my fourth as still in the family, can't you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Then he said, “I don't think I'll be making the move to Uncle Vincent's house with you, Gretchen—not right away, at least. I need some time to think.”

Gretchen smiled at him almost as if she felt sorry for him. “Punishing me?” she asked. “Somehow, dear husband, that fails to surprise me.” She walked out of the vault, leaving her new business partners smoldering with resentment and thinking thoughts they didn't dare speak aloud.

Sergeant Sal Rizzuto's phone call had set off all sorts of alarms ringing in Malcolm Conner's head. The police had Nicole—what had given them away? How much had Nicole told them? Malcolm cancelled an appointment and hurried to the police station.

He was ushered into Lieutenant Toomey's office. Before Toomey could say a word, Malcolm demanded, “Has she been charged? Where is she?”

“Sit down, Mr. Conner,” Toomey said easily. “No, she hasn't been charged, and she's right down the corridor in an interrogation room with Sergeant Rizzuto. We just wanted to ask her some questions.”

“What's the room number? I want to see her.”

“In a moment. There's something I have to say to you first. Please sit down.” Malcolm sat, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Toomey made a temple of his fingers and said, “She told us what happened the night Uncle Vincent was murdered. She said she found his body around one-thirty, and then spent another half hour looking for the promissory note. Then she fired Uncle Vincent's gun and wrapped up the two pieces of the broken statuette in her scarf, leaving the premises at exactly two o'clock—she remembers hearing the mantle clock strike. The medical evidence indicates the murderer did his dirty work between ten-thirty and eleven, roughly two and a half to three hours before Ms. Lattimer got there.” Toomey paused. “She also told us about the later visit, to return the murder weapon.”

Malcolm visibly shrank two sizes as Toomey watched. “So,” Malcolm muttered, “she told you about that, did she?”

“She did. There are some details that aren't quite clear yet, such as the matter of the papers on the floor—”

“Oh, they were there, all right,” Malcolm said resignedly. “The Murdochs had already come in and turned the place upside down. As you well know. But that was after Nicole left—she never saw the mess Dorrie and Simon had made. It was a complete surprise to me, you can be sure. Lieutenant, I was merely
restoring
evidence to the scene of the crime, not destroying it. I know the penalties for removing evidence.”

Lieutenant Toomey was afraid to breathe. “So what time did you get there?”

“About four.”

“How did you get inside?”

“Through the dining room window, the same way Nicole got in. That's illegal entry, if Gretchen wants to press charges. But it's not breaking and entering—the window was open.”

“And you did what?”

“I replaced the two halves of the statuette where Nicole said they'd been. Then I left immediately. I was very careful not to disturb anything.”

“Did you turn the lights off when you left?”

Malcolm frowned. “I think so, I really don't remember. But I probably did—I always turn out the lights when I leave a room.” A childhood lesson well learned. Dorrie had
never
turned out the lights when they were children and it had always fallen to him to do so. In spite of the danger of his present circumstances, Malcolm felt a sudden flash of an old resentment never completely outgrown.

Toomey leaned back in his chair and let loose a long-suffering sigh. “Do I need to remind you of your responsibility to notify the police when you come upon evidence of violent death?”

“No, you don't,” Malcolm replied grimly. “I made a bad judgment. I've been in crisis situations before, when the ability to make sensible decisions quickly often meant the difference between success and failure. So I have no excuse. I allowed my desire to protect Nicole to override my obligations as an officer of the court. I am guilty of the very thing I'm always warning my clients against—making emotional judgments instead of arriving at coolly reasoned conclusions. I should have notified the police immediately upon learning of Uncle Vincent's murder, and I should have insisted that Nicole tell you everything she knew. I can't tell you how many times since I have fervently wished that I had done just that. But instead I—”

“Yes, yes,” Toomey impatiently interrupted Malcolm's
mea culpa
lament, regretting he'd brought the subject up. “I'm going to want signed statements from both of you.”

“Of course. I'll need to consult with Nicole—the attorney-client relationship still holds in her case.”

“Certainly.” Toomey couldn't resist. “I might as well tell you—Ms. Lattimer said
she
was the one who returned the broken statuette to the library. She didn't even mention your name, not while she was recounting her illicit activity in the murder room. She sent for you because she suddenly felt the need of legal counsel.”

Malcolm's mouth was hanging open. He recovered quickly, his face turning angry. “You lied to me! That's entrapment! You deliberately misled me—”

“No, sir, I did not,” Toomey said emphatically. “I didn't know you'd gone back to the library too until you just now told me you did. I merely mentioned the second visit, to return the murder weapon, and you assumed I was talking about you.”

Malcolm groaned. “Another mistake.”

And a big one
, Toomey thought. He took Malcolm down the corridor to the interrogation room where Nicole was waiting and motioned Sergeant Rizzuto outside. Nicole greeted her lawyer/lover by opening both arms wide in an operatic gesture. Outside in the corridor, Toomey filled Rizzuto in on Malcolm's four o'clock visit to Uncle Vincent's library.

Rizzuto was stunned. “Malcolm was there too?”

“And Nicole and the Murdochs, before the Knoxes.”

Rizzuto leaned against the door of the interrogation room, shocked into good grammar. “All of them were there. I find this incredible, frankly. Do you mean to tell me that
six different people
coincidentally discovered the same dead body—not one of whom notified the police?
Six people
?”

“Only five,” Toomey corrected. “One of them had been there before.”

When the Lieutenant had let them go with a totally unnecessary warning that they were not to leave town, Malcolm and Nicole went separate ways. Nicole said she just wanted to go home and soak in the tub for three hours; Malcolm said he had one more thing to do before he could call it a day. Both were thinking a brief cooling-off period would be helpful. Malcolm was more than a little resentful of the way Nicole had spilled the beans. Nicole could justify herself easily enough by explaining that Lieutenant Toomey had threatened to arrest
him
if she didn't talk, but she didn't like being put on the defensive. Better to wait, for both of them.