“Doing what?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“I’m not the one wearing the puce shirt.”
“You don’t like my shirt?”
“It’s quite puce. And who the hell told you I went out that night anyway?”
“It came as an anonymous tip.”
“And how does that work in court, exactly?”
“Not so well in court, but it’s boffo before the grand jury. Now, before that night, had she ever been up to your apartment?”
“No.”
“Did the two of you have any furtive assignations at the Denniston mansion?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I never saw the place.”
“Did you hear that, Hanratty?”
“I heard,” said Hanratty, still pounding like a heavyweight on the gum. The way he was staring at me, it was almost like he was staring through me. Involuntarily my hand reached up and touched the pocket where sat the letter that was meant to frame me but good.
“I think he’s holding something back from us,” said Sims.
“He’s been holding back all along.”
“But I don’t think he means to. It’s just that he’s a lawyer, he can’t help himself.”
“Hey, guys,” I said. “I’m here, remember?”
“We found your fingerprint in the Denniston mansion,” said Sims, staring now right into my eyes. “On the panel leading to the safe where the gun was kept. The gun that was taken on the night of the murder. The gun that we suspect killed the doctor.”
“Now, how did your fingerprint get there if you never saw the place?” said Hanratty.
“I never saw the place until Dr. Denniston was murdered,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. “I assume you picked that up on your second go-round, the morning before you released Mrs. Denniston. The night after the killing, I visited the house and talked to Gwen. She took me into the room, showed me the safe. I must have touched the panel then. You can ask her, although I assume you already have. I assume it because if you hadn’t, I would be under arrest. Am I under arrest?”
“He wants to know if he’s under arrest,” said Sims.
“Let me work on him a bit,” said Hanratty. “I’ll squeeze something out of him. It might not be the truth, but it sure will be fun.”
“Let’s give him one more chance before we resort to fireworks,” said Sims. “You know, Victor, we’re only trying to help you here, but you’re making it so difficult. We’ve got the fingerprint. We’ve got pictures of you and the dead man’s wife together even while the husband was still lying cold in the morgue. And we know that the dead man knew about the two of you.”
“How do you know that? Another anonymous source?”
“From the beginning I suspected the wife, and I still do. And what has convinced me even more than the evidence arrayed against her is her unwillingness to cooperate. Despite her lawyer’s advice.”
“Her lawyer is a fool.”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful? But she’s not taking his advice, she’s not answering any of our questions. So maybe we were hoping that you could convince her to open her mouth. We have some very specific questions that need answers. Based on her current situation, the answers could only help her case. Without her cooperation I’m afraid that she is heading straight toward an indictment.”
“But you’re on the wrong trail,” I said. “She wasn’t at the house at the time of the killing.”
“You’re sure of it.”
“Yes.”
“He’s sure of it, Hanratty.”
Hanratty just stared and chewed.
“She has an alibi,” I said. “And I found it.”
“You found her alibi,” said Sims with an unconcerned voice. “Really, now?” He looked up at Hanratty, raised an eyebrow. “Tell me all about it.”
“A kid named Jamison,” I said. “I found him at an unlicensed Jamaican juke joint last night. He was with her at the time of the murder.”
“And what, may I ask, were the doctor’s wife and this Jamison doing that night together?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“But she’s not cooperating.”
“Well, there you go. Maybe you’ll find out at trial.”
“He’s a cutie-pie, isn’t he?” said Hanratty.
“And where is this juke joint you mentioned?” said Sims.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Let me rearrange his face,” said Hanratty.
“If you choose not to tell us the details,” said Sims, “and she chooses not to cooperate, then maybe we’ll choose not to believe you.”
“Suit yourself, but you might want to turn your attention to other suspects, since there’s a gaping hole in your case against Mrs. Denniston.”
“It’s not a hole. Even if the alibi pans out. You can still be guilty of murder if you don’t pull the trigger. We’d just have to add conspiracy to the murder charge.”
“And who would be the co-conspirator?”
“Tell him, Hanratty.”
“You,” said Hanratty.
“Surprise surprise,” I said. “Hanratty thinks I’m guilty. The thing you’re both missing is the why. Why would we want to kill her husband? I admit that she was an old girlfriend. I admit that we were trying to figure out if we wanted to try again. That might be a bit unseemly, but it’s not a crime, at least not in this state. Divorce is legal, last time I checked. So there’s no motive.”
“What about the prenup?” said Hanratty.
I tilted my head, felt sweat pop up like popcorn on the back of my neck. “Prenup?”
“Don’t even bother, Victor,” said Sims. “A sharp guy like you, if there’s a prenup, you know about it. The way it worked, if she left him, she got not a penny.”
“But there was nothing to get. It turns out the doctor was broke. Nothing to him, and you know it, too.”
“But maybe you didn’t.”
“If I was sharp enough to know about the prenup, I would have been sharp enough to get a grasp on the guy’s net worth before shooting him in the head for his wife, don’t you think?”
“Hanratty doesn’t think you’re that sharp. Hanratty wants to bust you right now.”
“And Hanratty thinks his haircut is quite becoming. But you know better than to charge anyone until you check out the suspects with the best motive of all.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Hanratty. “And who are they?”
I raised a finger like I was about to perform a trick. Julia and I had planned to set up Miles Cave as the prime suspect for the murder, but that was before I realized someone was setting me up to play the Cave part. The letter in my pocket would stay there until I got home, when I would destroy it, I decided. But even with Miles Cave out of the picture, when it came to those with motives against Wren Denniston, there was no shortage of options. I lifted my briefcase onto the table, opened it, pulled out a file with the words COMPLAINT LETTERS written in Margaret’s script on the cover, spun it across the table toward Sims.
“These are the letters from the investors who lost money with Inner Circle Investments, irate investors who all seemed to blame Wren Denniston for the loss. Some of the letters are pretty strongly worded. One said, and I quote, ‘You bastard, you deserve to die.’ You might want to look at that one twice.”
As Sims reached for the file, I pulled it back. “Mine.”
“We’ll make copies and then give them back,” said Sims.
“Just be sure you do. I might need them if you fellows keep trying to lay a frame around me and Julia.”
“You don’t trust me, Victor, do you?” said Sims.
“Not an inch.”
“But a centimeter maybe? At least that. Tell me you trust me a centimeter at least. Because, believe it or not, I want to help you. Listen to me, Victor. I admit I might be wrong about Mrs. Denniston. And I admit I might be wrong about you. As a matter of fact, there is nothing I want more than to prove it. Help me prove it.”
“How?”
“Talk to Mrs. Denniston. Tell her to answer our questions. Tell her to cooperate for both your sakes.”
“And if not?”