But He Was Already Dead When I Got There (28 page)

So it was in an atmosphere of strained courtesy that Malcolm drove Nicole back to Ellandy Jewels to pick up her car. Then Malcolm drove to a public phone booth; he called Simon Murdoch and asked him to meet for a drink. They agreed on a tavern called Ollie's.

Malcolm got there first. He was just ahead of the after-work crowd; he picked out a booth and ordered a bourbon and water. He was halfway through his drink when Simon came in, paused at the bar to leave his order, and joined Malcolm in the booth.

Neither man said much at first. Simon knew this wasn't a social drink he'd been invited for, and Malcolm was having trouble getting started. Only after the waitress had brought Simon his martini did Malcolm plunge in.

“I came within a gnat's eyelash of being arrested this afternoon,” he started out. He told Simon about his and Nicole's separate trips to the library the night Uncle Vincent was killed, and about their recent session with the police concerning those nocturnal visits. “So it seems Nicole was the first to discover Uncle Vincent's body. She left the library shortly before you and Dorrie got there. I arrived sometime after you had gone—and was a bit overwhelmed by the extraordinary disarray you left behind you, incidentally. I thought …” He trailed off when he realized Simon was laughing silently. “What's so funny?”

Simon wiped a tear from one eye. “I was just delighted to hear that you and Nicole had joined the party. Did you know the Knoxes both went back to the library too?”

“No! You mean after Uncle Vincent was killed?”

“That's what I mean. Gretchen told me about it at lunch yesterday. It seems Lionel got it into his head to look for the promissory note too. He ended up moving Uncle Vincent from the desk to the middle of the floor—Gretchen said he thought it would look more as if a struggle had taken place. Then a little later Gretchen went in and picked up all the papers Dorrie and I had so carefully strewn about. So it would
not
look as if a struggle had taken place. She was trying to make trouble for Lionel, I think.”

Malcolm was puzzled. “I thought Uncle Vincent was found at his desk.”

“Oh, yes—I forgot to mention that. Gretchen said the servants put him back. Mrs. Polk thought the old man looked undignified, sprawled out on the floor like that. I imagine Barney did the actual moving.”

“The servants too,” Malcolm said in amazement.

“It would have been so much neater if we'd all gotten together ahead of time and coordinated our movements,” Simon drawled. “Not that it would have mattered in the long run, since the note everyone was so assiduously searching for was safely locked away upstairs in Uncle Vincent's bedroom all the time. I wonder who got it?”

A sad smile played across Malcolm's lips. “Do you want to hear something? I actually considered stealing the note myself. I can't stand thieves—I mean, I can't
stand
them. But I did give serious and extensive thought to the possibility of becoming one myself. When Nicole first suggested stealing the note—at the bar we went to, right after the meeting in the library ended, remember?”

“I remember.”

“When she first suggested it, I was horrified. Then later I got to thinking about it, and it did begin to look like the only solution. But I came to my senses in time, feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself, you can be sure. Then Nicole came home with a little broken statuette which she calmly explained was a murder weapon. And I was horrified all over again—horrified at what had happened to Uncle Vincent, at what Nicole had done, at the decision I was going to have to make. I had a choice of either seeing Nicole accused of murder, it seemed at the time, or of breaking the law myself by returning the murder weapon and not reporting the crime.”

“You didn't have any real choice,” Simon said sympathetically. “You couldn't let Nicole be accused.”

“No, of course I couldn't,” Malcolm worried.

Simon examined his brother-in-law thoughtfully. “Malcolm. Why are you telling me all this?”

Malcolm licked suddenly dry lips. “Because of something the Lieutenant mentioned. He said the murder took place between ten-thirty and eleven.”

“Oh, they've got it pinned down now, have they? I suppose that's important?”

“Of course it's important. It means Dorrie and Nicole and Lionel couldn't have done it. They were all together at Ellandy's until after midnight.” He paused. “That leaves you and me.”

Simon didn't like that. “And Gretchen,” he was quick to point out. “She had more opportunity than anyone.”

“Opportunity, yes, but no real motive. Uncle Vincent hadn't cut her out of his will or even threatened to. All she had to do was wait.”

“Perhaps she got tired of waiting.”

Malcolm shook his head. “Can you see Gretchen running that big a risk solely to acquire an assured inheritance a little sooner? It doesn't make sense—she was in no desperate need of money. Gretchen isn't the most sophisticated woman in the world, but even she would know better than that.”

Simon did not look amused at all. “Then am I to infer that you've asked me here in order to accuse me of murder?”

“
No
,” Malcolm said emphatically. “Personally, I am quite willing to go on believing it was a burglar after all. Look, Simon—Lieutenant Toomey is going to be concentrating on the two of us, there's no question of it. But what happens to his case if, say, we alibi each other?”

Both of Simon's eyebrows shot straight up. “Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?”

“I'm suggesting we lie.”

This time Simon's laughter wasn't silent, and it went on far too long, to Malcolm's way of thinking. At last Simon chortled, “Why, Malcolm Conner, you devious, rascally shyster, you! This is a whole new side of you I've never seen! You're the last person in the world I would have expected to suggest, ah,
perjury
, for starters—”

“All right, all right,” Malcolm cut him off, irritated. “We could say that after we all left the bar—around ten, I think it was—you and I decided to go off somewhere, and we remained in each other's company for at least two hours. That would take us through the danger period, between ten-thirty and eleven.”

“So where did we betake ourselves in such unseemly haste?”

“I don't know, anywhere that might reasonably be expected to keep us occupied for two hours. Another bar. A movie, perhaps.”

“Or a house of ill repute.”

Malcolm was shocked. “How could you think of humiliating Dorrie and Nicole by—oh, I see, it's a joke. Simon,
please
don't be facetious. This is far too serious.”

“Sorry.” Simon avoided looking Malcolm in the eye. “Malcolm, surely you've thought how this must appear—to me, I mean. If you and I are the only real suspects, and you come to me with a plan for a phony alibi … well.”

“Of course I've thought about it,” Malcolm said with anguish. “I'm virtually volunteering myself as the prime suspect. But I can't help that. Simon, the only way we're going to get out of this is if each of us simply
refuses
to suspect the other. I'm counting on your instinct for self-preservation.”

“Which is quite strong,” Simon drawled. “You got that part right.” He thought a moment. “Well, let's see. A bar won't do. You can't spend two hours drinking steadily without some eagle-eyed bartender noticing you. As for a movie—we'd have to find one we've both seen. You know they'll question us about it.”

Malcolm scowled. “Damn, that's right. And I haven't been to a movie in months. Well, then, what about a ball game?”

“Malcolm, ball games
end
at ten-thirty, they don't start then.” The noise level in Ollie's Tavern was beginning to rise, as more and more people stopped in on their way home from work. Simon leaned forward across the table so he wouldn't have to shout. “What about one of those revival movie houses? There's always some place that's holding a Bogart festival or a John Huston retrospective or the like. We ought to be able to find something we've both seen.”

“That's an idea! What's playing?”

“I haven't the foggiest,” Simon murmured. “We'll have to check the paper.” They both looked around as if expecting a newspaper to materialize nearby, conveniently open to the entertainment section. “We'll have to wait until we get home.”

Malcolm's eyes were glistening. “Then it's agreed? We provide each other with alibis?”

Simon hesitated. “I don't know, Malcolm—we could just be buying trouble for ourselves.”

“What do you think we've got now? I'm as certain as I am of my own name that the police are going to arrest one of us unless we do something to forestall them. Simon,
it's coming
. If we're going to take steps to protect ourselves, we have to do it now.”

Simon slowly nodded agreement. “I don't like it, but … very well. Let us check the paper and choose a movie that attracted us so strongly we were able to put Ellandy's impending financial collapse out of our minds for the requisite two hours. Tomorrow will be plenty of time—nothing more's going to happen today.”

He was wrong.

When Simon got home, he found Dorrie stretched out on the sofa, listlessly watching
Glen or Glenda?
on the VCR. “Hello, darling.” Simon kissed the top of her head lightly and said, “Mind if I turn the volume down? I have something to tell you.”

“Turn it off if you like. I have something to tell you too.”

Simon settled for turning the sound off, leaving the grainy black-and-white images flickering silently on the screen. He sat on the sofa, cradling Dorrie's bare feet in his lap. “You'll never dream what your brother has been up to.” He repeated everything Malcolm had told him in Ollie's Tavern, including his proposal for coming up with two-way alibis. Dorrie listened with an earnest concentration that disconcerted Simon slightly; he'd expected her to be amused. “Doesn't it surprise you, darling? Upright, squeaky-clean Malcolm Conner playing games with the law?”

“After all that preaching he did to
me
about responsible behavior! What a hypocrite,” she muttered tiredly. “Do you think they'll believe you went to a movie?”

“Probably not. But so long as Malcolm and I tell the same story, I don't see that there's anything they can do about it.”

“Seems pretty chancey to me.”

“It is. I agreed only because Malcolm is undoubtedly right about one thing. It does look as if the police have narrowed their suspects down to two people, your beloved brother and your adoring husband. And since I know
I
didn't do it—”

“Don't be silly, Simon.” Dorrie dismissed his thinly veiled accusation as not worth discussing. “When Nicole went back to look for the note—why did she fire Uncle Vincent's gun?”

“To protect you, evidently.”

“Me!”

“Malcolm says she thought you'd killed him. She was trying to make it look like self-defense.”

“She thought
I
killed …
how dare she
?” Dorrie flared angrily. “Well, I like that! She took one look at Uncle Vincent's dead body and decided
I
was a murderer? I'll
kill
her!”

“Now, Dorrie,” Simon soothed, smiling.

“Of all the
fucking
nerve! Who does she think she is?”

“
Fuckin
',” Simon corrected. “You don't pronounce the
g
. And don't be so hard on Nicole. Her first instinct was to help, remember. She made herself into an accomplice after the fact just to keep you out of trouble. At least, that's what she thought she was doing. Do try to calm down.”

Dorrie took a big breath, let it out. “I suppose you're right. I should be grateful instead of angry, shouldn't I? Well, I'll work on it. Later. Right now, I've got something to tell
you
.”

“Oh, that's right. Very well—your turn.”

Dorrie got up and began to pace nervously back and forth in front of the television. “Three things, actually,” Dorrie said. “Number one, Ellandy Jewels now has a fourth partner. Gretchen has the promissory note. She says if we don't make her a partner, she's going to call in the loan.”

“
Gretchen?
” Simon was appalled. “Why, that conniving … where did she find the note?”

“Mrs. Polk had it. It seems she knew the combination to the safe all along.”

“Oh, Dorrie! That is about the
worst
thing that could happen. Can't you—”

“Number two, Lionel and Gretchen are now separated, a direct result of number one.”

Simon wasn't interested in the Knoxes' marital problems. “Dorrie, it might be worth going into the hole just to keep Gretchen out. She's not going to pour her own millions into the business—there's too much of Uncle Vincent in her for that. She'll leech you dry. There must be—”

“Number three,” Dorrie persisted. “Lieutenant Toomey called just before you came in. He wants to reenact all the events that took place the night Uncle Vincent was murdered. He wants to do it tonight.”

Simon's left eyebrow rose. “
All
the events?”

“Everything he knows about. We're going to have to mess up the library again.”

“Oh, for the love of heaven,” Simon grunted in disgust.

“We might as well go change—he wants us all to wear the same clothing we had on that night. We're going to start as soon as it gets dark. Come on—it's going to be a long night.”

“It is indeed,” Simon agreed heavily.

14

Sergeant Sal Rizzuto was in disagreement with his superior officer. He couldn't see what was to be gained from acting out everything that happened
after
Uncle Vincent had been done in. Before, maybe, if they knew what had really happened. But now, they were going to have to go through the whole silly rigamarole and Sergeant Rizzuto was going to have to go through it with them, when he could be home watching Great Performances on PBS.