But He Was Already Dead When I Got There (31 page)

“With Godfrey, you can't tell anyway,” Dorrie volunteered. “I don't think he was especially fond of Uncle Vincent anyway.”

“Sensible animal,” Nicole murmured.

Lieutenant Toomey took charge. “Let's get back to this matter of De Beers. You lied about going to see them, Mr. Knox. And you destroyed the private investigator's report that would have given you away. And you seem to have lied about Mr. Murdoch's part in this—”

“
Seem
to have lied?” Simon asked indignantly. “He's trying to involve me in something I'm still not sure I understand.”

Lionel sighed heavily. “Lieutenant, I told you yesterday I was embarrassed about my failure in London. We did talk about it, didn't we? Or are you going to say I'm lying about that too?”

“No, we talked about it.”

“Okay. I knew then it would all come out eventually, but it didn't seem so important any more, in light of all the other things that have been happening. I don't know what Simon's game is—I can't explain that. But the dumb thing is, you're all looking at me as if I killed Uncle Vincent when all I did was burn the report. And I didn't burn it because of the De Beers business anyway! You're all off the track. Way off.”

“Then why did you burn the report?” Toomey wanted to know.

“Oh, there was something else in there that could cause more bad feelings. Nothing really important.”

“If it's not important, then you can tell us about it.”

Lionel didn't want to say, but Toomey kept pressing him. “It was that part about Gretchen and Malcolm,” Lionel said reluctantly. “I didn't see any reason for dredging that up.”

Gretchen groaned. “Then you found out?”

Lionel shot her a look of annoyance. “Gretchen, I knew
at the time
.”

Malcolm, for once, could think of nothing to say.

Toomey was lost. “
What
about Gretchen and Malcolm?”

Lionel waved a hand toward the file folder. “They had an affair. It's in that report.”

Toomey flipped through the pages. “Not in my copy, it isn't.”

Rizzuto made a rude noise. “Bernstein held out on us.”

Simon's eyebrows had climbed up to his hairline. “Do I hear correctly? Malcolm and Gretchen? Oh, that's too delicious for words!”

“Knock it off, Simon,” Gretchen growled.

“I didn't know a thing about it,” Simon smiled broadly, clearly delighted with this further evidence of human folly. “Did you know, darling?”

“Yes,” Dorrie said in a small voice.

“Let me get this straight,” Toomey said to Lionel. “You burned Bernstein's report not because of the De Beers business, but because Mrs. Knox and Mr. Conner are having an affair?”

“
Had
,” two voices corrected him.

“It's over now,” Lionel agreed. “And yes, that's why I burned the folder.”

Nicole laughed softly. “Galahad lives.”

“I don't believe it,” Gretchen stated flatly.

“And somehow, my dear estranged wife,
that
fails to surprise
me
,” Lionel said. “Believe what you want. I don't care any more.”

Estranged? thought Toomey.
When did that happen
?

“So what are you going to do, sit there and pout?” Gretchen screamed at Lionel. “You've been up to something and I want to know what it is!”

“I have
not
been up to something!” Lionel shouted. “I've told you everything and I've told you the truth!”

Dorrie covered both ears. “Oh,
do
stop yelling!” she yelled.

The library door opened. “Is everything all right?” Bjarne Pedersen asked with concern.

“No, everything is not all right!” Gretchen screamed. “Go away, Barney!”

But Lieutenant Toomey stopped him. “Ask Mrs. Polk to make us some coffee, would you, Barney? I think we could all use a pick-me-up about now.”

“Yes, sir, I'll go get her.” Bjarne left.

“Coffee is
not
what I call a pick-me-up, Lieutenant,” Simon objected.

“Nevertheless, it's what we're going to have,” Toomey said. “Now I want you all to calm down—we're not going to solve anything by staging a shouting match. Sit down, everybody. Go on—sit.”

Nicole and Malcolm sat on the sofa with Lionel; the others found chairs. Toomey checked his murder watch. The time schedule was shot to hell, but it was worth it if this new line panned out. He cleared his throat. “We have a glaring discrepancy here—Mr. Knox and Mr. Murdoch tell two different stories. Each one's saying the trip to London was the other's idea. Now, that's not the sort of thing that could result from a simple misunderstanding, so that means one of you is deliberately lying. The question is, which one?”

“Lionel,” said Gretchen.

“Lionel,” Simon agreed. “But I think Malcolm is right. This is not the time or the place to thrash this out.”

“I think Simon is lying,” Nicole said mildly, and shushed Dorrie when she started to protest. “Lionel wouldn't have any reason to lie about a thing like that.”

“And what reason would I have, pray tell?” Simon asked, overly polite.

“Gee, I don't know, Simon. To avoid embarrassment? To disclaim any responsibility for Lionel's failure in London? You do tend to dissociate yourself from the rest of us whenever Ellandy's has trouble.”

“That's not a very nice thing to say,” Dorrie objected.

“It's not a very nice thing to
do
,” Nicole pointed out.

Lionel spoke up. “Simon, you know damn well we had an agreement. You—”

“Then produce the contract,” Simon demanded. “If we had a business agreement, there'd be a contract.”

All eyes were on Lionel. “It was a verbal agreement,” he sighed, defeated.

“He's lying,” Gretchen said, meaning Lionel. “He killed Uncle Vincent.”

“Whoa, that's a pretty big leap,” Toomey cautioned. “You've all lied to me at one time or another. Even those two.” He nodded toward the servants, who were just then entering the library. Bjarne carried a tray with coffee pot and cups; Mrs. Polk had a platter of sandwiches.

“What happened?” Mrs. Polk demanded in her high voice, appalled at the condition the room was in. “How did all those papers get on the floor? There's no place to walk!”

“Just walk on the papers,” Toomey told her. “Don't worry about it.”

The housekeeper sniffed with disapproval but did as she was told. She hesitated, and then indicated to Bjarne that they should place their burdens on the desk.

“Everyone help himself,” Gretchen announced, in no mood to play hostess.

“You stay,” Toomey said to Bjarne and Mrs. Polk. “And thanks for the sandwiches, Mrs. Polk.”

“Yeah, thanks,” echoed Rizzuto, his mouth already full.

Lionel didn't want any coffee; he stood up and walked around nervously, his hands jammed in his jacket pockets, while the others crowded around the desk. Lionel's fingers started playing with something sharp and hard they found in his right-hand pocket; it was the phony diamond Dorrie had found in the vault earlier in the day. He took it out and looked at it under the end-table lamp. Good imitation.

“Don't sulk, Lionel,” Gretchen said. “Have some coffee.”

“I don't want any coffee,” he answered testily. He tossed the fake diamond on the end table and sank back down on the sofa.

“Now, Mr. Knox,” Toomey said, resuming where they'd left off, “did anyone else know of this ostensible agreement you and Mr. Murdoch had?”

“No, just the two of us.”

“Could anyone have overheard you talking about it?”

Lionel thought back. “I'm pretty sure no one did.”

Godfrey Daniel leaped up to the arm of the sofa, attracted by the bright shiny little thing that had suddenly appeared on the end table.

“Then it's just your word against his,” Rizzuto said, stating the obvious.

“Simon would have told me,” Dorrie said loyally.

“Thank you, darling.” He blew her a kiss.

Godfrey's paw shot out and flicked the phony diamond off the table. He leaped to the floor in pursuit.

“Personally, I can't see why either one of you should lie,” Malcolm offered. “What's to be gained? In Lionel's case, nothing more than passing the buck—involving Simon to share the blame for a business failure. In Simon's case, to let Lionel shoulder the blame alone. Ignoble motives in both cases, unworthy of either Simon or Lionel. But one version has to be true. My point is that it doesn't matter. Whichever is lying, that still tells us nothing of who killed Uncle Vincent. It's not germane—”

Dorrie laughed humorlessly. “Aren't you the one who keeps telling the rest of us to shut up?”

“I was simply trying to point out that we've gotten off the track.”

Godfrey was scrabbling through the papers on the floor, making a lot of noise. “What
is
that cat looking for?” Toomey asked. “I'm not sure we're off the track at all. The motive for killing Uncle Vincent was money, in the form of the loan agreement or perhaps something else. Everything's connected.”

“Oh, that's helpful,” Nicole commented wearily.

“You never know,” Rizzuto told her with an air of great profundity. Nicole sighed.

“Shall I get more coffee?” Mrs. Polk wanted to know.

Toomey told her no. “Somebody came in this room looking for something and ended up killing Uncle Vincent between ten-thirty and eleven o'clock. Mr. Knox, you have an alibi for that time, so you are not a suspect. Therefore you have nothing to lose by telling the truth. Do you wish to change your story?”

“Watch out for tricks,” Malcolm warned.

“I am telling you the truth,” Lionel said to Toomey. “My petitioning De Beers was something Simon and I worked out together, ahead of time. He did know about it—he suggested it.”

“Not so,” Simon denied. “We have talked about De Beers, of course, but I never suggested that Lionel—get away, cat!”

Godfrey Daniel was digging away with both paws at the papers around Simon's left foot. Bjarne Pedersen walked over to where Simon was standing and bent down. When he stood up, he was holding the fake diamond. “Did you drop this, Mr. Simon?”

“A diamond? No, I—wait a minute, let me see that.” He held the stone next to a lamp. “Oh, that must be one of the imitation stones. But I don't carry them around with me.”

Lionel glanced quickly at the end table where he'd put the stone and got a strange look on his face. “How did you know that was an imitation? What are you doing with fake diamonds?”

Simon was annoyed. “I frequently handle imitations. Customers sometimes order copies of real jewelry they own, for insurance purposes. Dorrie, you've made up copies yourself.”

“Yes,” she agreed, but the look on her face was the same as that on Lionel's.

Gretchen shot a look at Lionel. “Is that …?”

He nodded. “Simon, that stone came from Ellandy's vault. Dorrie found it, mixed in with the real diamonds.”

“What's this?” Toomey said.

“In our vault?” Nicole asked.

“I just found it today,” Dorrie explained.

“What were you doing in Ellandy's vault?” Lionel demanded.

Simon wore an air of great patience at last wearing thin. “I've been in your vault on a number of occasions—you've taken me in there yourself to show me something or other. But I don't know how this imitation got mixed in with your stones. I haven't been in your vault for months.”

“That's not true,” Nicole said sharply. “You were in there the day after Uncle Vincent was murdered.” All eyes were upon her. “Don't you remember?” she asked Lionel and Dorrie and Malcolm. “We were in Lionel's office and Simon dropped by to take Dorrie to lunch. She'd left some diamonds in
her
office and Simon offered to return them to the vault for her.”

“That's right,” Lionel said, his eyes wide. “I remember!”

“Good god,” Malcolm muttered. “So do I.”

Simon paled.

“Simon?” Dorrie cried fearfully.

“Mr. Simon?” Mrs. Polk asked Bjarne. He held up his hands I-don't-know.

“No alibi,” Rizzuto reminded his superior.

Toomey didn't need reminding. “Mr. Murdoch—you told us you went straight home from the bar you all went to after that disastrous meeting Uncle Vincent called. Did anyone in the building see you come in? Did you speak to anyone?”

Simon's eyes darted around the room, assessing his chances. He made his decision. “As a matter of fact, I didn't go straight home. I went to a movie.”

“A movie!” The disbelief in Rizzuto's voice was obvious. “So why dint you tell us that before?”

“I was afraid it would make me appear insensitive—my going off to a movie like that while my wife was in at Ellandy's worrying herself sick over the fate of her business.”

“Insensitive,” Gretchen nodded.

“What movie did you go see?” Toomey asked.

Simon made an odd little throat-clearing sound. “
Naughty Marietta
. At the Alhambra.”

Dorrie stared. “I'm married to a Jeanette MacDonald freak?”

Simon looked pained. “I happen to be an admirer of Nelson Eddy.”

“
God
frey
Dan
iel!” Toomey exploded, incredulous.

“Meow?” said Godfrey.

“I've never heard you mention Nelson Eddy in my
life
,” Dorrie accused.

Toomey asked, “Did anyone you know see you at the movie?”

Simon did his throat-clearing bit again. “As a matter of fact, I didn't go alone. Malcolm was with me.”

“No, I wasn't!” Malcolm shouted excitedly. “That's just a story we made up to alibi each other!”

Simon threw Malcolm a look of pure venom. “Oh, wonderful!
Terrific
. Good old reliable Malcolm!”