“Tim Edmonds. Karen Bergman. Drury himself, for that matter.”
3
“We’ve made a mistake,” said Alicia. “We’ve made a mistake, so be damned careful.”
She sat beside Charles Bell in his custom-built silver-gray Cadillac convertible. He had spotted a parking place and pulled into it. They sat facing the Santa Monica beach. The sun glared. Surfers were working the curlers on an incoming tide. She was still wearing the black dress that had impressed Columbo as a mourning dress. Bell was wearing the lemon-yellow slacks and pale blue polo shirt he had worn at lunch.
“Let’s not spoil a happy occasion,” he said.
He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small silver bowl, the kind in which nuts might be served at a formal party. Reaching into the back seat, he picked up a leather attaché case.
“Appropriate, don’t you think? Churches burn their mortgages in silver bowls. Or so they say. May I borrow your cigarette lighter?”
Alicia reached into her purse and took out her lighter.
Bell opened the briefcase and took out a small document that lay on the top of other papers. He showed it to her.
“There. That’s it, of course. And that’s the deal: sixty-two thousand dollars. You kept your part of the bargain. I’m keeping mine.”
She nodded solemnly.
He tore the document to bits and dropped all the pieces but one into the bowl. That one he held in his left hand. With his right he snapped the lighter and got a flame. He touched the flame to the single piece, got it burning, and dropped it in the silver bowl with the rest. The flame spread, and in a moment all the bits of paper were afire. He smiled, and she frowned, as they watched the paper burn. After a minute, nothing was left but some black and gray ash, with a few tiny orange sparks still glowing. Bell grinned. He held the bowl outside the car and leaned out to blow into it. The ashes rose from the bowl, were caught in the wind off" the Pacific, and swirled away, tiny and scattered and invisible.
“The bowl is yours,” said Bell gallantly, handing it to her. “A memento.”
“Thank you,” said Alicia glumly.
“Now, what mistake have we made?”
“Lieutenant Columbo is not a fool,” she said. “He’s figured out that Paul was shot by somebody more than six feet tall. Something about the angle of the shots.”
“Twenty percent of the adult population of Los Angeles is more than six feet tall.”
“Not the point. The point is that he figured it out. He decided in a minute there’d been no robbery. Taking Paul’s watch and ring was foolishness. He—”
“Alicia. Suppose he cracks your alibi. Suppose he figures out that you could have been in the house at eleven-ten. That doesn’t prove you were. He can’t find the pistol, that’s for sure. He doesn’t know how many people had cards—”
“I told him Karen had one, and he said she would have had to stand on a stool to shoot Paul.”
Bell smiled tolerantly. “He hasn’t got a motive. That’s the big point. Why in the world would you have wanted to kill Paul Drury? The motive is so many steps away from you, so far apart, that he’ll never make the connection.”
“Everything depends on that.”
“And on one more thing,” said Bell ominously. “You don’t lose your nerve, and you don’t crack. I’m confident of you, Alicia. I worry about Tim, though.”
Alicia drew a deep breath and sighed. “If I were convicted of murder— Well, if I were, he would be, too. Anyway, we’d never see each other again. That’s what Tim couldn’t stand.”
“The man is desperately in love with you, isn’t he?”
She nodded.
“He must remain in love with you for the rest of your lives, Alicia. That’s what’s going to keep you out of the slammer. It’s what’s going to keep all of us out. Tim must never falter. You must never give him reason to have pangs of conscience, never let him learn to resent you for getting him into a homicide, never let his love flag. I’m sure you know how to handle it. You could do worse than Tim Edmonds. You did once.”
“All right. You’re going to see Columbo. Remember what I told you. He’s not as dumb as he acts.”
4
“I guess this is my day,” Columbo said to the maȋtre d’ at the Topanga Beach Club. “This is the second time today I’ve been invited to sit beside a nice swimmin’ pool and—”
“You were invited here, sir?”
“Oh, yeah. I shoulda said that right off. I’m Lieutenant Columbo, police. I’ll be a guest of Mr. Charles Bell.”
“I see. Yes, Mr. Bell is expecting you. Won’t you let us check your coat, sir?”
“Uh, well… I guess I should let you do that. People kinda stared at me when I sat down beside that other pool with my raincoat on. Let me get, uh… let me get this cigar out.”
Columbo’s jacket was dark gray, his slacks light gray, and his loosely knotted necktie was dark blue with tiny red dots. The cigar butt bulged in his jacket pocket. “Well, isn’t this a nice place?” he said to the maȋtre d’ as the man led him toward a deck overlooking both the pool and the beach on the opposite side of the highway. “I bet some really nice people are members here.”
Charles Bell rose.
“Lieutenant Columbo, sir,” said the maȋtre d’.
Bell seized Columbo’s hand and shook it in a firm grip. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lieutenant. I wasn’t surprised when you called and am glad you agreed to come here. I thought this would be a nice place for us to meet. Have a seat. Let me order us a round of drinks.”
“Thank you, sir. As to the drink. I’d better be careful about that. I had a double Scotch early this afternoon.”
“In that case, let’s have a bottle of nice chilled white wine, and I’ll order a platter of hors d’oeuvres.”
“Well, sir, if you don’t mind, I’d really rather have red.”
“Great! Red it will be. I like it better too, truth be told.”
Bell summoned a waiter and gave his order. “This sure is some nice place,” said Columbo. “I wish Mrs. Columbo could see it.”
“Why don’t you phone her and invite her to join us for dinner? I’d be happy to have you and Mrs. Columbo as my guests.”
“That’s more than kind of you, sir, but this is one of the nights when my wife goes to a class at the university. One of these days she’s gonna have a college degree.”
“Then maybe we can make it another night. Anyway, I asked you to meet me because I want to offer any help I can. The death of Paul Drury is a damn nasty thing, and I’m hoping you’ll track down the killer and bring him to justice as quickly as possible.”
“That’s what I hope too, sir.”
“Do you understand my connection with Paul Drury?”
“I have some word on that, but I’d rather you told me.”
“All right. My father was Austin Bell, late of Dallas. He made a considerable fortune in the oil business, which I was lucky enough to inherit. I found Dallas a little provincial and decided to try to expand my horizons. I looked for investments in fields outside the oil biz. To make a long story short, I decided to invest in Paul Drury Productions. I’m the major investor. My investment just became worthless.”
“I can see why you’re anxious to have the killer brought to justice.”
“Without Paul Drury there is no Paul Drury Show. Do you have any idea who killed him, Lieutenant?”
“I got some ideas, sir. Y’ understand I can’t talk about it yet.”
“Of course not. Is there any information I can give you?”
Columbo glanced away from Charles Bell for a moment, to watch a tall blonde in a blue bikini and high heels walk by. “Aside from his show, what kind of man would you say Mr. Drury was?”
“He was what a man in his line of work has to be,” said Bell. “Egomaniacal. Manipulative. Basically something less than honest. What else can I say?”
“Women?”
“Alicia. Karen Bergman. Jessica O’N
eil. Bobby Angela. In the past two or three years.”
“Jessica O’Neil? The actress?”
Bell nodded. “During his marriage. While he was still married to Alicia. Cause of the divorce.” Columbo nodded, turning down the comers of his mouth.
The waiter arrived, bringing a tray of hors d’oeuvres that included a dip of crab meat and shrimp and a small bowl of caviar. Also on the tray were two small glasses of vodka, chilled to thickening.
“This is a speciality de la maison, Lieutenant,” said Bell. “Ice-cold vodka with caviar. I took the liberty of adding it to our order.”
“Fish… fish eggs,” said Columbo dubiously. “That’s… ah, that’s very nice, sir. Y’ know, I enjoy any kind of food that’s from the sea.”
Bell spooned caviar onto a cracker and handed it to Columbo. He did one for himself. “Prosit!” he said as he bit the cracker in half and followed it with a sip of the vodka.
Columbo imitated him.
“You like it, Lieutenant?”
“Oh, sure. That’s wonderful. A man could get a quick headache, though—drinking anything that cold.”
“That’s why we only take sips.”
As they ate the caviar and drank the vodka, Bell asked Columbo about his background and elicited the somewhat vague information that the detective was from New York.
“Myself, I grew up in Texas,” said Bell. “Went to school there. Paul made a big point about being on Dealey Plaza on the day of the Kennedy assassination. I was there, too. To tell the truth, I had a better view of what happened than he did.”
“You saw it happen? That’s very interestin’.”
“A sorry day. Lieutenant. A sorry day for our country.”
“Oh, yeah. For sure.”
The red wine was a Bordeaux, heavy and musty. Although Columbo’s experience with wines ran more to Italian reds, he recognized the Bordeaux as distinguished, and he enjoyed the experience of drinking a wine that probably cost the Texan more than fifty dollars for the bottle.
. The conversation turned to the Dodgers and the Lakers, fishing, politics, and the weather.
“I really… really have gotta be goin’,” said Columbo eventually. “I can’t tell ya how much I appreciate this wonderful snack. It’s been very kind of you, sir, very kind.”
“My pleasure, Lieutenant. If there is any information I can give you, please—”
Columbo rose. He smiled and nodded and gave his hand to be shaken. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Thank ya again.”
“Best of luck, Lieutenant Columbo.”
“Thank ya. Uh… Y’ know, now that I think of it, there is one other thing I guess I ought to ask. Little thing that’s come up. Probably doesn’t mean anything.”
“What is it?”
“Well… This probably doesn’t mean anything, but the name Philip Sclafani has come up. Who’s Philip Sclafani, sir? Do you know? And what has he got to do with anything?”
“I never heard that name before. Lieutenant,” said Bell, suddenly coldly emphatic.
Columbo nodded. “Well, good. Didn’t figure you would have. Just somethin’ I’ve got to clear up, for my report. Thanks again, sir. And good evening.”
Seven
1
It was a joke at headquarters that Columbo never sat down at his desk. He just stood beside it, they said, and read his mail and made phone calls. In fact, he did sit at his desk, more than he wanted. He had reports to make, and he had to sit at a typewriter and hunt and peck. This morning, though, he did not sit. Smoking his first cigar of the day, he stood and read the papers from his in box—
—A reminder that he had not made reservations for himself and his family to attend the annual picnic of the LA Detectives Chapter, Police Benevolent Association.
—Three sheets of instructions on how to fill out Form 2301-11(d), report of damage to a police vehicle.
—A memo from Administration, complaining that many detectives were not fully complying with the standing procedures for time reports.
—Revised Procedure 1167-201(b)(3) on how to package for evidence any controlled substances seized.
—A sealed envelope.
* * *
He opened the envelope and found a fax:
4-June-1993. 09:11. Total p. 01.
Lieutenant Columbo, LAPD Benjamin Palermo, Los Angeles Office, Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Confidential.
A review of the surveillance reports on Philip Sclafani, compiled by our Las Vegas office, discloses that on seventeen occasions between 01-01-92 and 04-12-93 Alicia Graham Drury was observed in the company of the subject. Except for one occasion, all contacts were meetings at breakfast or lunch. On one occasion AGD was observed in conversation with PS in the lobby of the Piping Rock Hotel. On each occasion, the two persons were alone, although others stopped by their table occasionally.
The surveillance reports do not mention any of the other three persons you named.
Feel welcome to inquire further.
He found also in his box a pink telephone slip saying that Dr. Culp had some information for him.
“Columbo.”
He looked up from his reading to see that Captain Sczciegel had walked up and was addressing him.
“Good momin’. Captain. Fine day.”
“Any leads in the Drury murder?”
“Uh, yes sir. Yes, sir. I’ve got leads.”
“It wasn’t a burglary?”
“Oh, no sir, it certainly wasn’t a burglary. It was cold-blooded murder.”
Captain Sczciegel, who pronounced his name “SEE-gel,” ran his hand over his bald head. “That means you’ve got to look for motive,” he said. “Yes, sir.”
“You got any ideas?”
“Oh yes, Captain. Y’ see, Mr. Drury was in the business of making public information people didn’t want made public. Put another way, he gave a lot of publicity to information that people would rather everybody forgot about.”
“And you figure somebody killed him to prevent him from doing that. Doesn’t that give you a hundred suspects, Columbo? Or a thousand?”
“No, sir. No sir, it doesn’t. Because the murder was committed by somebody who had a magnetic card and the code numbers that disabled the alarm system and opened the doors to Mr. Drury’s house. Not only that, the murderer was familiar with the house and knew some of Mr. Drury’s habits.”
“I’ve got to give the chief a statement he can make public. Can I say we’re checking leads and feel confident we’ll make an arrest within a few days?”
“Well… I don’t know if I’d say ‘confident.’ I don’t want ya to think I’m guaranteein’—”
“How about something like, ‘Police are checking a number of promising leads and feel they will break the case before long.’ How’s that?”
“I’m no expert on talkin’ to reporters, sir, but that sounds better to me.”
“All right. Now, I don’t like to interrupt your work on this case with an administrative technicality, but you’ve simply got to stop by the firing range and requalify with your service revolver. I’m getting heat about it.”
Columbo nodded emphatically. “I’ll do it, Captain. I got that pistol out last night and cleaned and oiled it. Detective Zimmer is going to give me a quick lesson with it; then I’ll—”
“God, Columbo. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say you got it out. You’re supposed to carry it.”
Columbo turned up his hands.
“All right. Never mind. Just go over and qualify.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Columbo, one other thing. Have you ever thought about buying a new raincoat?”
“Yes, sir. I have thought about it. I do think about it. But I just haven’t got around to it. I keep puttin’ it off. It’s not like it was urgent. This one’s got a lot of wear left in it.”
2
In the coroner’s office, Dr. Harold Culp was at his desk. “Sit down, Columbo,” he said. He put a finger on a jar that sa
t on the desk. “Guess what that is.”
“I’m not sure I want to know,” said Columbo, staring at a repugnant lumpy varicolored mass and deciding he was glad whatever it was was sealed inside glass.
“That, my friend, is a part of the contents of Paul Drury’s digestive tract. That particular sample is from the stomach. I have others from the intestines. And all of it is evidence.”
“Yeah? Y’ mean it tells me what I want to know: how long he lived after he ate at La Felicita?”
Dr. Culp nodded. “What you see in that jar did not enter his stomach more than half an hour before he died.”
“You sure of that? I have evidence that says he was alive at eleven forty-seven.”
“Then he finished eating about eleven-seventeen,” said the doctor emphatically.
“But a witness says he left the restaurant before eleven. A quarter to eleven, about.”
“If that is correct, he was dead by eleven-fifteen or eleven-twenty.”
Columbo ran his hand through his hair. “This is mystifying.” He shook his head. “Y’ see, the eleven forty-seven time isn’t dependent on the word of a witness. It’s the time put on a phone call by a recorder that time-stamps incoming calls. I wonder if— Well. What had he been eating?”
“I thought you’d never ask. That’s pasta, mostly. Some crab meat, some shrimp, and some lobster meat. Red wine. Coffee.”
“Coffee. Meaning he’d finished his dinner.”
“No dessert,” said Dr. Culp.
3
Before Columbo entered the elevator to go up to William McCrory’s office, he stubbed out his cigar and put it in his pocket. People gave him dirty looks when he smoked in elevators. When he entered the room with the lush plants and the saltwater aquarium, he shook the lawyer’s hand and said, “Well, sir, you notice I’m not smoking a cigar, out of deference to your aquarium. I sure wouldn’t want my smoke to harm your tropical fish.”
Columbo: Grassy Knoll Page 9