Columbo: Grassy Knoll

by William Harrington

  “Well now, ma’am, I never said Mr. Drury was a fool. I did think it was strange he kept all that information in one place that way. That didn’t seem to make sense, no matter how people explained it.”

  “Let’s talk about something else, Lieutenant. Ordinarily, computer supplies were bought through the office accounts, not on Paul’s personal credit cards. Why would he buy them that way? The only reason I can think of is that he didn’t want the whole office to know he was buying them. Maybe no one knew there were other copies.”

  “The big question, ma’am, is, where are those diskettes? Could they be why somebody went through his home desk?”

  “Could be,” she said. “But think of something. We’re talking about— The actual number is two hundred forty diskettes. That number would pack a desk drawer totally full. And what advantage would there be in trying to save the data by taking it home? If someone were smart enough and desperate enough to wipe his main disks, why wouldn’t they steal or destroy the copies he kept in his desk at home? No, Lieutenant. I don’t think they knew he had them.”

  “Okay, suppose he did, ma’am. Where are they?”

  “The same place the pictures are,” she said. “We know he had pictures. Where are they?”

  The counter girl put Columbo’s coffee down in front of him. He took up the cup and sipped. “Have you told anyone else about the twenty-some boxes of diskettes?”

  “No. Not even Mr. McCrory.”

  “Let’s don’t,” said Columbo.

  “I went through his checks, looking for a safe-deposit-box rental. I haven’t found a check that looks like rent on a box.”

  “Keep looking,” he said. “Make a list of any checks you can’t understand.”

  “Alicia doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it that Mr. McCrory asked me to go through Paul’s records. Next thing I know. I’m going to be locked out of the office.”

  Columbo shook his head. “Naah. They won’t do that.”

  2

  From a telephone booth in the front of the drugstore, after Karen Bergman left, Columbo telephoned Assistant District Attorney Jonathan Lugar.

  “Listen, I appreciate your cooperation. Didn’t find a deposit box in the name of Paul Drury, huh? Lemme give ya some more information. It would hafta be a big box. Bigger’n a desk drawer. That could hold more than two hundred computer disks. Plus probably some photographs. Maybe not at a bank. Maybe one of those vault companies. And, what’s more, it probably wasn’t in his name. Maybe he paid the rent with cash.”

  Columbo puffed on a cigar as he listened to the assistant DA explain that he’d faxed a request to every bank and vault company in Los Angeles.

  “Would ya extend that out to the county, sir? Oh, ya already did. Well, that’s first-class. I appreciate that. So there’s one more thing, Mr. Lugar. You know we sealed the house. Now I think we oughta seal the offices. I think you’ll find the late Mr. Drury’s lawyer will cooperate a hundred percent on that. There’s some important records missing. On computer disks. When we find those records we’ll know why Mr. Drury was killed. Oh no, sir. I got a pretty good idea who did it. But I can’t make the case till I get the why of it straight. Yes sir, you’re right. We shoulda sealed the office last week. But last week we didn’t know what we know now. Yes, sir. That’s right, and I sure do appreciate your cooperation.”

  3

  Martha Zimmer entered Burt’s a little hesitantly. She did not feel menaced by the place; it was just a greasy spoon with a couple of pool tables in the back. It was smoky. It was shabby. But it was one of Columbo’s favorite places, because it offered two of his favorite things: a friendly game of pool during the lunch hour and deep heavy white bowls of fiery chili.

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Columbo raised his eyes and looked beyond the end of his cue, beyond the colored balls on green cloth, up at the figure of Martha Zimmer. His raincoat was smeared with blue chalk and talcum powder. His cigar burned on the edge of the table.

  “Martha,” he said. “Gimme a minute. I’m shootin’ at the nine ball.”

  Fixing his attention once again on his shot, he slipped the cue back and forth between his fingers, adjusting his aim. He shot. The white cue ball went almost the whole length of the table, struck the white-and-yellow nine ball, and propelled it toward the right-hand corner pocket. It sped between the comers without touching, slammed into the rear of the pocket, and dropped out of sight. The cue ball came to a rest on the bottom rail.

  “Aw-right!”

  Columbo gathered up three one-dollar bills, his own and the two bet by his friends. He walked to a tall stool away from the table and picked up his bowl of chili, which sat on a railing behind the stools. “Sorry, fellas,” he said. “She’s a detective. Duty calls. Hey, Martha, you wanna bowl of some of the best chili this town has to offer?”

  “I’ve already eaten,” she said, eyeing with conspicuous skepticism the half-eaten bowl of chili, in which soggy crackers lay in a stratum that almost hid the concoction below.

  “Aww… too bad. Burt’s has some of the best chili in Los Angeles. And you’re talking with a connoisseur. So, anyway, what can I do for ya?”

  “Coupla things. Captain Sczciegel says you’re to report to the pistol range and requalify today.”

  “Yeah. Well…”

  “How a man who can cut a nine ball like that can’t hit a target with a pistol is beyond me.”

  “Well… the pool balls don’t make so much noise. What’s the other thing?”

  “You wanta see people mad? 1 got the great assignment of goin’ over to La Cienega at the head of the squad that sealed the Paul Drury offices. They’re gonna get lawyers. All that. And they wanta see you, toot dee sweet.”

  “Lessee. That’d be Mrs. Drury, Tim Edmonds, and… Bell.”

  “Bell wasn’t there. The other two were furious. They’re gonna call the chief.”

  Columbo shrugged.

  4

  Charles Bell swung his glass around in a circle, setting the ice in his drink in motion, staring over it at Alicia and Tim. He had not been at the office this morning and was dressed in the yellow slacks and pale blue shirt he invariably wore at the Topanga Beach Club. “What could they find?” he asked. He answered his own question. “Nothing. They sealed the house and searched it with metal detectors, and they didn’t find anything. What are they going to find in the offices? Nothing. And I’ll tell you why nothing. Unless one of you made some stupid mistake, there’s nothing to find. The pistol… It’s gone. The laptop. It’s gone. Sure, they suspect you. That’s routine. But even if Columbo breaks your alibi, he can’t prove you killed Paul—and prove it is what he has to do. Cool it.”

  Alicia stared at the swimming pool. “He went to see Phil,” she said.

  “And what’d Phil tell him? Nothing. The omerta. The omerta. Phil wouldn’t talk to save himself. The only people who could talk and foul you up would be Phil… or me. And you know damned well that isn’t going to happen.”

  “He’ll never make the connection,” said Alicia grimly. “Tim and I are his chief suspects. But he’ll never make the connection. He can’t make a case until he figures out a motive, and that he’ll never do. Like I said before, why would any of us want to kill Paul? We had no reason—no reason Columbo will ever discover, no matter how smart he is.”

  “I’m losing a lot of money on this deal,” said Tim. “I’ve got to find new office space, get a new show—”

  Alicia put her hand on his. “Concentrate on your sports stuff for a while,” she said. “Maybe in time we’ll find some way to cash in on the notoriety of Paul’s death. I’m the one who’s gotta come up with a way to make a living. I’m wondering if I could do a book.”

  “You don’t have to make a living,” said Tim, turning his hand over and closing it on hers. “When we’re married—”

  “You two are grown-up, self-sufficient people,” said Bell. “Maybe it won’t be impossible to do the Drury show without Pau
l Drury. I—”

  The maȋtre d’ approached their table. “There is a telephone call for Mrs. Drury,” he said.

  Alicia left the table and went to the telephone in the foyer. “Hello.”

  “Alicia. Thought I might catch you there. This is Phil. The cops are answering your office phones.”

  “The brilliant Lieutenant Columbo had the offices sealed this morning,” she said.

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about: Columbo. You know he spent the weekend here. He talked to several people and asked a lot of questions. I had him up to the penthouse, and he had quite a chat with Papa.”

  “Charles says we can rely on the omerta. Is that true? You and your father—”

  “Charles shouldn’t talk about things he knows nothing about,” said Sclafani curtly. “Anyway, your man Columbo is too smart by half. I had him tailed. He didn’t talk to anybody who knew anything. Except one. I can’t figure out where he got the name or how he located him, but he talked to Henry Sanders.”

  "Jesus Christ'!”

  “I doubt Sanders told him anything,” said Sclafani, “but I don’t like it that he had the name.”

  “He couldn’t have got a worse one.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Sanders asked me to marry him. He tried to call me at the station, and I wouldn’t take his calls. He may be in a mood to get back at me, and he might figure telling Columbo some ugly things is a good way to do it.”

  “When did he ask you? Was this before or after our deal?” asked Sclafani.

  “Well, of course I never saw him again after we made our deal. When he was trying to call me it was after our deal, after I quit coming to Vegas.”

  “Damn!”

  “What can we do, Phil?”

  “Play it cool, that’s what you do—like the word you sent me. Even if he finds out you worked for me last year, that doesn’t prove anything. And listen. Don’t tell Tim or Charles about this. You have cooler nerves than either of them. Frankly, I’m not gonna tell Papa. He might get Sicilian ideas.”

  “Okay. I’m glad you called me here. This line is safe. I’ll have lunch here every day for a few days. You can call me here if you want to talk to me.”

  “Got it. Hang in there, kid. This kind of business takes a little nerve, but if you’ve got it everything comes out okay.”

  5

  “I met Joe Sclafani,” said Columbo to Ben Palermo. “Giuseppe Sclafani. Ya ever meet the man personally?”

  They sat together in Palermo’s office in FBI headquarters, Los Angeles. Palermo shook his head.

  “It’s like meeting somebody out of history. It’s like if A1 Capone suddenly walked up and shook hands.”

  “I once met Meyer Lansky,” said Palermo.

  “That must have been somethin’,” said Columbo. “But I don’t wanta take too much of your time. I found out something troubling about Mrs. Drury. I was wonderin’—”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” said Palermo. “I could see which way your inquiry was going, so I ordered some information from Las Vegas. Here is a copy of a report one of our agents made on her. Notice the date.”

  Confidential File Memorandum Subject: Alicia Graham Drury Date: 12/17/92

  Inquiry has been made about the current activities of the above Subject, who is apparently closely associated with Giuseppe and Philip Sclafani. Background information will be found in other reports already filed.

  Specifically, inquiry has been made as to whether the Subject is currently working as a prostitute in Las Vegas. While the information accumulated is not conclusive, it seems highly probable that the Subject is in fact a prostitute, working in the Piping Rock casino and hotel owned by the Sclafanis. Information in support of that conclusion is as follows: Subject has been observed to have lost a very substantial amount of money gambling at the Piping Rock Hotel and Casino. Inquiry by the Los Angeles office has discovered no assets from which a large gambling debt could be paid.

  Subject has been observed in very intimate conversation over dinner tables with a number of male subjects known to consort with prostitutes. Telephone calls to her room in the early hours of the morning have not been answered, leading to the conclusion that the Subject was not spending the night in her room and the tentative conclusion that she was instead spending the night in the room of the male subject with whom she was earlier seen. (The Subject has not been followed, nor have listening devices been installed in the rooms where she apparently spent nights.)

  Male subjects with whom Subject has been observed include:

  Charles Duro (54), San Francisco, who was the subject of a complaint by a San Francisco bar owner that he repeatedly offered money to waitresses to accompany him to a motel room. Matter disposed of by a warning issued by San Francisco Police. The Subject was observed three times in the company of Duro.

  Emilio Contadora (61), San Diego, who in 1990 filed a complaint with San Diego police that he had been robbed by a prostitute. The Subject was observed four times in the company of Contadora.

  Henry Sanders (61), Los Angeles, arrested LAPD 1987 for having solicited sex for pay with a woman vice squad detective. Case disposed of on receipt of written promise not to repeat conduct. The Subject was observed six times in the company of Sanders.

  Richard Bernardin (58), Greenwich, Connecticut, arrested White Plains, New York, 1985, on charge of having beaten a prostitute in dispute over payment. Served ten days in jail, fined, and placed on probation. The Subject was observed twice in the company of Bernardin.

  These subjects were identified by taking fingerprints from glasses or utensils used by them. Other male subjects have not been identified because no fingerprints were on file for them.

  It should be noted that all these male subjects have been observed to be heavy gamblers at the Piping Rock Hotel Casino.

  More intense surveillance of the Subject will be required if more definite information is desired.

  Addendum to Above File Memorandum Date: April 16, 1993

  The above Subject, Alicia Graham Drury, has not been seen in the Piping Rock Hotel and Casino for several weeks. Nor has she been seen in any other hotel or casino.

  “I don’t see the connection, do you?” Columbo asked. “What has this got to do with the fact that possibly she murdered her ex-husband? That’s a mystery. Y’ know, I enjoy mysteries. That is to say, I like to read ’em. But I never can figure them out. Maybe that’s more in your line. My line is just to keep accumulatin’ information, till finally it’s all very clear. But if it’s a mystery, where you got to hook information together in funny ways, that’s not my line.”

  Palermo grinned. “My line and yours are just the same, Columbo.”

  “Sherlock Holmes, Ben. Think about Sherlock Holmes. That’s how he solved mysteries. I mean, our way: by puttin’ together evidence, includin’ information Scotland Yard overlooked. It wasn’t great insights that made his successes possible; it was plugging away and genin' more and more information.”

  “Alicia Drury must be quite a woman,” said Palermo. “Quite a career.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, she’s quite a woman, all right. It’s too bad, this here,” said Columbo, tapping the memorandum that lay on the agent’s desk. “I feel sorry for her. I bet she was abused."

  “Don’t get too sympathetic,” said Palermo. “Yeah. I bet I’m gonna get less sympathetic this evening. I gotta meet her, she and her friends, and I bet they’re gonna raise hell with me. Y’ know?” He shrugged. “What can I do? It’s an obsession of mine to find out things—even when it makes me wish I didn’t know what I know.

  Thirteen

  1

  Columbo reached Alicia Drury’s house before six that evening. To his surprise, he found that she was alone. He had supposed he could not see her outside the presence of Tim Edmonds and Charles Bell, but the contrary proved true. She met him at the door, wearing a beach coat over a swimsuit, and invited him in.

  “I’m trying to get a little sun on the lanai,�
�� she said. “If you don’t mind, could we sit out there? Scotch? I’ve also got beer, bourbon, gin, and so on.”

  “The Scotch, thank ya kindly, ma’am,” he said. “Just a light one.”

  Her house was modest by the standards of Paul Drury’s home on Hollyridge Drive. Besides being far smaller, it sat on a heavily trafficked street of modest homes and was in a state of some disrepair. The stucco having fallen off in two big patches, exposing concrete block, and a part of the roof had been replaced with roofing that did not match the rest of it. In back, she had the lanai, a small pool, and a small green lawn, all shielded from her neighbors’ sight by a high, stucco-covered concrete-block wall. A low, round redwood table sat by a wheeled redwood chaise longue.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” she said, pointing to another chaise. “And… you know, you’ll never get a suntan if you won’t take off that raincoat.”

  “No, ma’am. I guess I won’t. I guess I’m not the type who can get much interested in a suntan. I did get interested one summer and went to the beach every chance I got. Guess what happened. I just burned.”

  She tossed her white terry-cloth beach coat aside. Her swimsuit was a black bikini: neither prudishly modest nor extravagantly revealing. He renewed his judgment that Alicia Drury was a strikingly handsome woman: distinctive in her bearing and self-confidence. “Now that I’ve been thrown out of my office, I have nothing better to do than work on a tan,” she said.

  “I’m sorry about that, ma’am. We won’t keep it sealed too much longer.”

  “I’m told you found out some interesting things about me during your weekend in Las Vegas.”

  Columbo sipped Scotch. “I hate ever to have to look into personal things, Mrs. Drury,” he said.

  “Lieutenant Columbo, have you ever seen the original Dracula movie, starring Bela Lugosi?”