But He Was Already Dead When I Got There (26 page)

Mrs. Polk opened the huge black purse she was carrying and took out a paper, which she promptly handed over to Gretchen. “I wanted to be sure you had that.”

“What is it?” Gretchen asked, unfolding the paper.

“It's the promissory note for that loan everybody was arguing about the night Mr. Vincent got killed,” Mrs. Polk said complacently. “I was afraid somebody would try to steal it. And I was right—Miss Dorrie
did
try,” she finished disapprovingly.

Gretchen was speechless. She read the paper through quickly once, then more carefully a second time. It was indeed the missing note Lionel and Dorrie had signed for Ellandy Jewels. “I don't understand. How did you happen to have this? Did Uncle Vincent give it to you for safekeeping?”

Mrs. Polk laughed at the thought of that. “Lord no, Miss Gretchen—Mr. Vincent didn't trust anybody. Not even me. No, I took it out of the safe. Not right away, mind you. I was too upset at first, finding him in the library like that, you know.”

“Poor Polka Dot,” Gretchen murmured. “But then …?”

“I didn't even think of it until after the police had questioned me. Then it hit me how important that note must be, and I got to thinking you might lose a lot of money if any of those
others
got their hands on it first. So I opened the safe and took it out. I didn't touch another thing, Miss Gretchen, only the note. And just in time! That police lieutenant and Mr. Dann came in and they found Miss Dorrie hiding in Mr. Vincent's closet—imagine! You'd never see the note again if
that
one ever got her hands on it! Then they were all making such a fuss I thought it best just to keep quiet until I could tell you about it.”

By then Gretchen was laughing hard, tears running down her cheeks. “All those people running around like chickens with their heads off—and all the time
you
had the note! Oh, that's wonderful, Polka Dot! But how were you able to get into the safe? Did you know the combination—well, obviously you did. But
how
did you know?”

Mrs. Polk gave a big sigh. “Miss Gretchen, I always cleaned your uncle's room myself. How could I dust that window sill once a week and
not
find the combination? It was just written on a piece of adhesive tape and stuck underneath.” She gave a smug little smile. “I've known how to open that safe ever since the week it was put in.”

Gretchen threw back her head and laughed again, pleased to learn that Uncle Vincent's little secret hadn't been so secret after all. “It's a good thing you're an honest woman, Polka Dot!”

“I always try to be,” the housekeeper said primly. “What are you going to do now?”

Gretchen became serious. “I'll need to think. This note may be the very thing I need to … to bring about some changes I've been wanting. But I think you've just given me the weapon I need.” Her face brightened. “In fact, I know you have! This will make all the difference!”

“I'm so glad,” Mrs. Polk cooed.

“Polka Dot, if ever you feel like retiring to the South of France, just say the word,” Gretchen said rapidly in a gush of enthusiasm. “Whatever you want, just tell me!”

“I'll let you know,” the housekeeper smiled sweetly.

13

Nicole Lattimer's eyes were large and frightened; she'd never been “picked up” by the police before. But she was determined to appear in control of the situation; she set her mouth firmly, raised her head, and attempted to look down her nose at Sal Rizzuto—not easy to do, since he was nearly a foot taller than she. “So what happens now? Why am I here?”

“Lieutenant Toomey'll be here in a mint,” the Sergeant said casually. “He wantsta askya some questions.”

The interrogation room surprised Nicole. She'd expected a claustrophobic cubicle with a two-way mirror in the wall. Instead the room had plain glass panels in two of the walls and in the door; she could see anybody who looked at in at her from the adjoining rooms or from the corridor. No one did. Nicole sat at the head of the room's one table and tried to look composed.

Finally Lieutenant Toomey came puffing in, not at his best in warm weather. “Thank you for coming,” he said mechanically, and without giving her a chance to protest, he immediately launched his attack. “We know you were in Vincent Farwell's library the night he was murdered, Ms. Lattimer. I want you to tell us why you were there and what you did.”

Nicole managed not to let her mouth drop open. “We were all in the library that night,” she stalled.

“I don't mean the meeting at eight o'clock, I mean later. Between three-thirty and five in the morning.”

This time Nicole's mouth did drop open. “Wherever did you get a crazy idea like that? I certainly was
not
in Uncle Vincent's library between three-thirty and five!”

“Oh? What time were you there, then?”

Whoops
. Nicole pressed her lips together, tried to think of something convincing to say.

“Ms. Lattimer,” Toomey said patiently, “we know either you or Malcolm Conner went back to the library. If it's not you, we're going to have to bring in Mr. Conner. I think it was you.”

“How do you know it was Malcolm or I?” she cried, her voice going from contralto to soprano in one sentence. “It could have been any one of the others—Gretchen or Lionel or Dorrie or Simon … it could have been Simon Murdoch!”

“We know Simon Murdoch's movements that night. And Dorrie's. And both the Knoxes'. It wasn't any of them. That leaves you and Malcolm Conner.” He paused dramatically, letting it sink in. “Well, Ms. Lattimer? Do we arrest Mr. Conner? It's up to you.”

In all their combined years on the force, neither Lieutenant Toomey nor Sergeant Rizzuto had ever seen a suspect
bare his teeth
at them. Or her teeth, in this case. But that's what Nicole did. She clenched her teeth and stretched back her lips and
hissed
. “How
dare
you put me in a position like this?” she demanded.

“Malcolm or you,” Toomey repeated expressionlessly.

“It was you, wasn't it?” Rizzuto prompted.

Nicole inclined her head, defeated and angry.

“Were you looking for the promissory note?” Toomey asked.

“Yes,” Nicole sighed. “I needn't have bothered, I know now. But I thought it would be in Uncle Vincent's file cabinet, so I went back to look for it. And found somebody had been there before me. Uncle Vincent was sprawled out on his desk, exceedingly dead. It occurred to me the killer might have taken the promissory note, but I went ahead and looked anyway.”

“I think we'd better start at the beginning,” Toomey said. “What time did you get there?”

“It must have been around one-thirty,” she said. “I know the clock on the mantle was striking two when I left.” Toomey and Rizzuto exchanged a quick look but didn't interrupt her. Nicole went on to explain how she'd completed her search, and then calmly mentioned how she'd picked up Uncle Vincent's exceedingly dead hand and used it to fire the gun.

“
You
fired the gun?” Rizzuto yelled in surprise. “For Chrissake
why
?”

Nicole was uncomfortable. “Well, at the time I thought I knew who had killed him. So I figured if I could make it look like self-defense, sh … that person might not be in so much trouble.”

Rizzuto jumped on it. “She! You said
she
! You mean Gretchen!”

“She means Dorrie,” Toomey corrected.

“I didn't say that!” Nicole cried.

“Same as. Why would you protect Gretchen?” Toomey said imperturbably. “No, you thought Dorrie Murdoch had been there before you and for the same reason you were there. You were trying to cover for her, because you thought she'd found the promissory note. Well, Dorrie did go back to the library, but she got there
after
you did. And she didn't have any more luck than you did.”

“After? Dorrie was there after I left?”

“About half an hour after you left. She and Simon both.”

Tears appeared in Nicole's eyes as relief washed over her. “Then she didn't kill Uncle Vincent? Oh, thank god!” She took a moment to assimilate this news. “But if Dorrie didn't … who did?”

“Who indeed?” Toomey said tiredly. “When you were so busy falsifying the evidence, what condition was Uncle Vincent's body in? I mean, had his fingers stiffened yet when you used his hand to fire the gun?”

Nicole shuddered at the memory. “They were just starting to turn stiff.”

“Was the fire going?”

“No, it had been out for some time. The room was a little chilly.”

Toomey exulted. That fit; the murder did take place around ten-thirty or eleven. “All this is very interesting, Ms. Lattimer, but we're still concerned about who was in the library between three-thirty and five. If you left at two—”

Nicole licked her lips. “I went back again,” she said nervously. “I had to put the murder weapon back.”

Rizzuto stood up abruptly and loomed over her, hands on his hips. “Oh. You hadda put the murder weapon back, didja? Well, thass nice. Thass real considerate of you. Puttin' the weapon back so we could find it. Thanks a heap.”

“There's no need to be sarcastic, Sergeant,” Nicole said crossly. “I guess I forgot to tell you I took the two pieces of the broken statuette away with me.”

“I guess you did. Wanna tell us now?”

“There's nothing more to tell. I was worried about fingerprints and the like, so I wrapped up the two halves of the statuette in my scarf and took them with me. Then later I got to thinking about it and decided that wasn't too smart, so I took them back.”

“But going back to a murder scene a second time
was
smart?” Toomey murmured. “Is there anything else you've forgotten to tell us, Ms. Lattimer?”

Nicole thought a moment. “No, that's all.”

“Was the cat in the library while you were there?”

She sighed. “Yes, he was. I didn't know you meant that sort of thing.”

“I mean every sort of thing. Let's start again and take it step by step. Tell me exactly what you did, and the order in which you did it.”

But Nicole decided she'd been quite cooperative enough for one day, thank you. “I want my lawyer,” she announced. “I'm not going to say another word unless he's here. I want Malcolm.”

Toomey was only glad she hadn't thought of it earlier. “Call him,” he said to Rizzuto; the Sergeant left the interrogation room. “You know what you did was wrong,” Toomey said reproachfully.

“So I've been told,” Nicole answered dryly.

“Oh? Who told you that?” he asked quickly. “Who knew what you'd done?”

Nicole's eyes widened momentarily, but then she thought of an answer. “My priest.”

Toomey just stared at her. “What
liars
you people are! All of you, you lie as easily as you breathe. Don't you ever even think about telling the truth?”

Nicole tilted her head back and looked down her nose. “I'm not saying another word until Malcolm gets here.”

They waited.

Gretchen Knox sailed through the door of Ellandy Jewels and stopped with a twirl right in the middle of the showroom, trying to look at everything at once. She'd lusted over the jewels Ellandy's sold ever since Lionel and Dorrie first went into business together, but she'd never paid much attention to the
place
before. Now she took in the various levels of display cases, the consulting areas, the discreet gray man who must surely be a security guard.

She stepped up to one of the display levels and examined a graceful ruby brooch in the shape of a rose, a design Gretchen could now quickly identify as Dorrie's. The rose had a gold stem and a sprig of three emerald-encrusted leaves. An impeccably tailored, beautiful young man—no, Beautiful Young Man, in capitals—came up and asked if he could help her.

Gretchen smiled at the Beautiful Young Man. “No, thank you—I'm just on my way back there.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the offices.

The B.Y.M. smiled back. “Do you have an appointment?”

Gretchen managed another smile, this one a little smaller. “I'm Gretchen Knox.” She started toward the offices.

“Excuse me, but those are private offices and workshops back there.” And the vault. “The guard won't let you through unless you have an appointment.”

“I'm your
boss's wife
,” Gretchen said tightly, not even trying to smile.

The B.Y.M.'s face lit up. “Oh, Mrs.
Lionel
Knox!” Gretchen ground her teeth. “Go right on back, Mrs. Knox.”

“Whythankyousoverymuch,” she said sarcastically. The B.Y.M. flashed a model's smile, unperturbed.

She found Lionel not in his office but in the workshop, talking to one of the craftsmen. “I think you'd better hold off on it,” he was saying. “Wait until you can ask Nicole—I don't know where she's got to. Hello, Gretchen! What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, Lionel.”

“Sure. What's up?”

“Let's go to Dorrie's office. This concerns her as well—and Nicole too, but since she's not here we'll have to go ahead without her.”

“Sounds mysterious.” Lionel led her back to Dorrie's office, grumbling all the way about Nicole's unexplained absence.

Dorrie wasn't in her office, though. They tracked her down to the vault. One tray of diamonds was out on a small table, and Dorrie was sitting there examining one of the stones through a loupe. When she heard the other two approach, she looked up and said, “Lionel, take a look at this stone!”

He took the rock between thumb and forefinger and squinted at it. “What about it?”

“It's glass! It's a fake!”

Lionel made a strangling sound and pointed to the tray of diamonds.