by David Linzee
He was looking at her blankly again.
“That’s as far as I’d got. Obviously following the bloke wasn’t very clever. But I’m beside myself, Don. I’m very worried about you. I’m afraid you’re—”
She pulled up short, because Don was grinning. “Good lord, Renata. You’re amateur sleuthing, aren’t you? You think you’re Miss Marple. Or it’s amateur-ish sleuthing, more like.”
A white-hot bolt of fury shot up Renata’s spine and exploded in her brain. “That’s what you have to say? How about thanking me? How about apologizing that I got my head split open because of you?”
She found that she was on her feet. The couples on either side of them had stopped talking and were staring up at her. A guard was striding toward her.
“Renata, love, I am sorry of course. Now please don’t storm out of the room the way you usually do, because I can’t follow you and pet your shoulder and apologize to your back, the way I usually do.”
She sat down, with a nod to the guard that she hoped was reassuring. “Right. I shall be calm. I’ve realized what I’m doing is not helping you and I’m going to stop.”
“Agreed. Go on.”
“I’m going to leave you with one piece of advice. It’s incredibly good advice, so please listen. It’s time for you to get your own lawyer.”
“That’s being sorted as we speak. Dick Samuelson rang this morning. He said he can’t represent me anymore, obviously, but he is ringing people—colleagues—on my behalf. He mentioned some very impressive names. Some of the top criminal attorneys in town. Very experienced, very well-connected. Of course they’re terribly busy and it’ll take a while, but—”
“No, Don. Get your own lawyer, straightaway. Someone who has nothing to do with Dick or SLO.”
“Dick can get me someone who’s much better than I could find on my own.”
“Your interests are not the same as SLO’s. Phil Congreve has announced to the media that he’s suspended you without pay.”
“Right. To the media. He had to, with this ‘Don Giovanni’ nonsense going on. Dick explained.”
“Don’t count on these people anymore.”
“Ah, you’ve come to spread doom and gloom as usual. Inject a little paranoia. Thanks awfully.”
Renata had only one more thing to say. Get it out, and then she could leave before she threw her car keys at him. “Once you have your own lawyer, tell him everything. The whole truth.”
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
“I mean tell him what you’re not telling me.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
“Then answer me this: has Dick Samuelson made you promise to keep silent about what happened in Chicago?”
“I took Helen to an opera. That’s all that happened in Chicago.”
“All right. I’ve had my say and I’m going. Is there anything you want?”
He was silent a moment, staring down at the scarred Formica tabletop. “D’you really think it’ll help my case if I say, ‘Well, yes, I am Don Giovanni as a matter of fact. I deliberately set out to seduce her and get a third of a million dollars out of her.’ ”
“Is that the truth?”
“D’you think it would help my case?”
She pushed her chair back. “I think I’m having one conversation and you’re having another, and when we reach that point, it’s time to stop.”
“Look, just because I’d rather take legal advice from a Harvard-educated lawyer than a mezzo-soprano—”
“You say the truth about Chicago won’t help your case. Well, you better find something to help your case. The police can prove you were in the house that night. They’ve found your blood there.”
“I’ve already explained all that,” he said wearily. “You may not know it, but they have the presumption of innocence here, just as we do back home.”
“Somebody said something to me this morning. I wasn’t going to tell it you. But now I think I should.”
“I thought you were going.”
“He said that to believe you innocent, a person would have to believe that after you left, and before Bert got back, a person just happened to come along who just happened to want Helen dead. And happened to find her alone in the house. And there you were to take the blame for him. That’s what the presumption of innocence is up against in your case.”
“I can’t say I’m going to miss your visits. I was actually feeling a bit optimistic before you got to work on me.”
He was slumped in the hard chair, his head hanging. He looked as if he’d run ten miles, and that was how Renata felt, too. It always took a few hours to recover after one of their rows.
She got up, went to the door, and rang to be let out. The guard was slow in coming. She turned and walked back. Don hadn’t moved. He looked up at her balefully.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to visit. Just that I’m through amateur-sleuthing. I will be back tomorrow. And the next day. And so forth.”
Don did not reply but did not look away, either. She turned to go.
Chapter 35
Jayson looked up from his computer as the door opened. He grinned and tossed a left-handed salute. “Sergeant Schaefer, how nice to see you.”
The man coming in the door was average height but seemed taller because of his physique and posture. He was wearing a white polo shirt without a logo, tucked into khakis with sharp creases. His close-cropped hair was graying but his brow was unlined. He said, “Hello, Jayson. Enlisted veterans don’t retain their rank, so it’s just Schaefer. I believe I’ve mentioned that before.”
“Yes, and you’ve made it clear you don’t return salutes from civilian scum like me. Is Keith on the way?”
“Not that I know of.”
“C’mon. You’re the forerunner. Fifteen minutes before he arrives anywhere, you come check the place out.”
“I doubt he’ll be in today.”
Jayson stopped smiling. “He’s been in St. Louis since Sunday, if not before, and he hasn’t come into the office yet. Could you pass on to him that I have a lot to talk to him about?”
“He’s aware of that.” By now Schaefer was standing before the desk. The toe ends of his shoes were aligned and his thumbs were on the seams of his khakis. Old habits died hard. “You had a walk-in this morning.”
Jayson raised his eyebrows. He seemed to be slouching more now that Schaefer was in the room. “I just filed the report half an hour ago.”
“Your report is inadequate. You left the whole description section blank.”
“You have no idea how many bozos come in here asking to see Keith. If I filled out every blank on every form, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”
“Complete this one and send it to me by the end of the day.”
“I already forgot what the guy looked like.”
“I’ll be in Keith’s office. If the guy comes back, or if there’s another walk-in, buzz me.”
“You, bothering with walk-ins? Something must be up. What?”
Schaefer was opening the inner door. He paused before passing through it. “Jayson, I’d like you to pay attention to your job. And I’d like you to not pay attention to what is not your job.”
Chapter 36
When Renata got back from Clayton, she returned to SLO. She had intended to go home for a bit of a lie-down before the evening’s performance, but tired as she was, she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She had just promised to keep visiting her brother in jail, and she had the awful feeling that she would be doing so for the next twenty years.
Entering the Jane B. Pritchard Theatre, she looked into the Charles MacNamara III Auditorium. Aside from a few technicians in the wings, adjusting the stage machinery, it was dim and empty. Curtain time was eight hours away. She could use them to make up for lost time and review every note, word, and gesture of her part as Mercédès. But her heart would not be in it.
She went downstairs to the little dressing room she shared with two ot
her minor soloists. Sitting down, she put the phone Mike had lent her on the table. She wished he would ring and say that Amy still looked doubtful for this evening.
Then Renata would be plunged into a happy flurry of costume and wig fittings, meetings with the stage manager to run over the blocking, sessions with the repetiteur to review the score. A couple of times in her career as an understudy she had made all the preparations, only to have the star announce that she would sing after all. It had been infuriating then, but today she would have welcomed a bit of backstage panic to take her mind off things.
Her brother’s situation was a grim novelty, but having an empty afternoon to while away before a performance was routine. Ordinarily she kept busy sending off emails begging for work. And envying people who were Skyping with their families back home. It got so lonely, having no one to miss.
She had only her brother. Not the best of brothers, but better than Enrico in Lucia di Lammermoor, anyway. He was in terrible trouble. How could she have lost her temper with him this morning? That had poisoned the whole conversation. He hadn’t taken her advice seriously.
The phone began to play its annoying tune. She looked at the screen: it was not Mike but Archibald Henderson.
“Hello, Mr. Henderson. I was told you’d found my purse?”
“That’s right, ma’am. And I’m happy to be of service to a visitor from the mother country.”
She had the feeling that he was the sort of man who would resent a brusque getting down to business. “I’ll bet you’re a stranger in town, too.”
“From Fayetteville, North Carolina. I’m delivering chairs. We make a lot of furniture in North Carolina.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.”
“Very fine furniture.”
“Indeed.” Was that enough? She hoped so. “Tell me, Mr. Henderson. Where did you find my purse?”
He chuckled. “Well, that’s kind of a long story. But I want to assure you first off, there was no money in it.”
“I wouldn’t expect there to be.”
“I did not take any money out of your purse. I hope you’ll accept my word on that.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then you won’t be offended if I ask for a little recompense for my time and trouble?”
“Oh. No, I suppose not. How much.”
“A hundred.”
“Dollars? You’re barking!”
“I’m what, ma’am?”
“Barking mad.”
He was not offended. In fact he was chuckling richly. “I do love your colorful expressions. That’s a new one to me, and I watch Doc Martin every week.”
“Mr. Henderson, I will not pay one hundred dollars.”
“I’m sorry you were robbed and wish I could just give the purse back—”
“Then do!”
“But I’ve already been put to considerable trouble to retrieve it, and I’ll lose more time meeting you, and I’m on a tight schedule, or shed-ule as you folks say in the mother country. I can’t go below a hundred.”
“Then you can keep the bloody thing.”
She shouldn’t have said “bloody.” He was chuckling again. It was so annoying, trying to offend someone and not being able to.
“Now, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Your purse has your credit card in it.”
“Cancelled already.”
“And your phone … I mean your mo-bile. And your driver’s license. You may not be able to replace that till you get back to your side of the pond.”
“I have my passport.”
“Lot of good that will do you if you’re stopped for speeding. And then there’s the purse itself. Genuine leather. A little worn, but—”
“Glad you like it. It’s yours.”
His stately voice sounded unperturbed. “I’ll be in St. Louis until about five p.m., ma’am, in case you change your mind.”
“Not likely.”
She clicked off and sat shaking her head. She would prefer not to see her purse again anyway. Not after her assailant had poked his fingers into all its folds and crevices, seeking all the information it could disclose about her. Come to that, Archibald Henderson seemed to have given it a good going over, too.
“Mother country indeed,” she muttered.
The phone emitted its little ditty again. It had gone half past eleven; this had to be Mike. But the screen showed only an unfamiliar number, no name. A recorded voice said that if she was willing to accept a collect call from a detainee in the St. Louis County Justice Center, she should press “1” now. She did.
“Renata, love, this is a happy call,” said Don’s excited voice. “We’ve been utter fools, thinking the situation was hopeless.”
She could hardly hear him. Shouts were echoing down a long corridor. “Don, are you all right? What’s going on there?”
“Oh, this is normal. But listen. I’ve had a revelation. A thought that’s absolutely brilliant.”
She waited in befuddled silence.
“It’s that thing old Thingummy said. Your friend, I mean. How it was totally implausible that the real killer just happened to come along right after I left. And was lucky enough to find Helen alone. It’s all too much of a coincidence.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“And you got totally down in the dumps about it.”
“Well, yes. I did.”
“Typically, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”
“I’m sorry Don, but I don’t see how you can dismiss it.”
“I don’t. That’s the point. Thingummy’s quite right.”
“Go on.”
“The real killer didn’t just happen to come along. Think back to Carmen’s Cornucopia. We’re under the pavilion at SLO. The argument. Bert was raising his voice. So was Helen. Then she stood up and said something like, ‘Get on your bike and ride off. I want my house to myself tonight.’ Remember?”
“Yes.”
“Well, someone heard. And saw his chance. Or hers.”
“You’re saying the killer was at the party.”
“Yes. Sitting within earshot of us.”
“Don, I can’t remember who was sitting at the tables near us.”
“No. It was pretty riveting, what was going on at our table. But there had to be somebody who hated Helen. He heard her say she was going home, and she was going to be alone. On the spur of the moment, he made up his mind to kill her.
“And here’s the part that gives me the shivers. He was probably sitting on her street in his parked car, waiting for me to leave. He knew I’d be suspected.”
It gave her the shivers, too. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I see. But Don, how does all this help you?”
He gave a low, rich chortle of happiness. “Because we have his name. The killer’s name.”
“We do? How?”
“On the guest list. There’s a file on my computer at home called—”
“The police took your hard drive.”
“Oh. Well, there’s another copy on the system at work. Filename carmenscornucopia, no spaces.”
“There were a lot of people there.”
“All you have to do is find someone who hated Helen.”
Renata nearly dropped the phone. “All I have to do?!”
“Yes. We didn’t have assigned seating, unfortunately, which would have narrowed it down. But it’s still doable.”
“No, Don, listen to me. You have to hire a lawyer of your own who will do what you tell him, who has a competent professional investigator working for him—”
“Oh we’re back to that again. As if nothing’s happened. Have you even been listening to me?”
“I’m not doing any more investigating. I nearly got my head bashed in.”
“I’m not asking you to follow a car into north St. Louis at night. Just go to my office. Identify the people who are connected to Helen. A lot of the information will be in my files. My secretary can help. The rest you can get on the internet. There’s no danger at all.”
Renata was distracted, wondering if Keith Bryson had been at the party. No, of course not. He would have caused a sensation. Meanwhile she had let the pause go on too long. Don was not a sensitive person, but he knew when he had made a sale. “You’ll do this for me, won’t you? And come see me, soon as you can. I’ll be on tenterhooks.”
Renata made promises and rang off. With a sigh, she stowed her phone and got up. A moment ago she had been wishing for something to do, and here it was. She climbed the steps and went through the doors into the noontime heat. Halfway across the Emerson Electric Picnic Lawn, she saw Mike Joyce and Amy Song.
They were coming up the path from the parking lot. He had his suit coat slung over his shoulder. She was talking on her phone. She looked the picture of health, Renata thought, her black hair gleaming under the sun, her gait quick and springy. Mike saw her and put her out of her misery with a frowning headshake.
She walked toward them. Amy Song, who was having an intense conversation in Korean, walked past without seeing her. Mike greeted her with a rueful smile and a shrug.
“The doctor convinced her she can sing?” Renata asked.
“He said her vocal equipment is in tip-top shape. Since we left she’s been talking to her wife in San Francisco, her mother in Seoul, and her manager in New York. And some other people. They’re all encouraging her to be brave and get out there. Sorry, Renata.”
“It’s all right. At least I’ve still got Mercédès.”
He put an arm around her shoulders. He was tall enough to do it comfortably. “Let me take you to lunch.”
“Oh, Mike, you’ve a thousand things to do more important than cheer me up. Anyway I need to go see Don’s secretary. Remind me … is it Barb or Karen?”
“Barb.” Michael withdrew his arm and gave her a look. “Let’s go to my office first.”
Renata didn’t know what that meant, but she followed him into the Peter J. Calvocoressi Administration Building. Hannah at the reception desk looked up. “Oh, Renata, there’s someone waiting to see you. At the parking lot entrance. He says he’s a fan.”