"May I ask you a few questions?"
"Of course."
She sat in an armchair and motioned me to a sofa facing it. She produced a pencil and a spiral notebook.
"When was the last time you saw Mr. Mackay?" she asked.
"About 6:30 or a little later. We flew up from LA together and he drove me to my hotel. Then he…well, I thought he was going to a business meeting."
"Where was this meeting supposed to be held?"
"At the Golden Palace Restaurant," I said, remembering what Stan had said.
"Did Mr. Mackay tell you he was going to this meeting?"
"Yes. Actually, he didn't tell me the name of the restaurant. I got that from Stan, the fellow who answered the door. Mr. Mackay was supposed to be here at ten."
"Did you know that Mr. Mackay never actually went to the Golden Palace?"
"I didn't find that out until Mr. Buchanan called the restaurant looking for Mr. Mackay."
"And when was that?"
"Just before he called the police. About a half hour ago."
Detective Washington made some notes and then said, "What did you do after Mr. Mackay left you off at your hotel?"
"I checked in. I was hungry so I ate dinner at a restaurant nearby. Then I rested in my room."
"Why are you staying at a different hotel from Mr. Mackay?"
"Uh, because…" I was going to say because I was paying for it myself, but that wasn't true and it was easily verified. "It was a last-minute arrangement. I guess that was the easiest place to get a room."
She seemed satisfied with that answer, but things were moving too fast. I wanted to stop and rewind the last few hours; they hadn't come out right. Should I have become concerned sooner about Ned not showing up? What good would it have done? Why did he lie about his meeting? Did my father blame me for his death?
In answer to another question, I explained as well as I could my reason for coming to San Francisco, but only about getting business advice, not the part about checking on Ned. My words sounded lame to me. I wondered if I would believe myself if I were the interrogator.
When she asked at what time I had left the hotel I told her about walking to the Buchanan residence. She raised her eyebrows when I mentioned walking. Was it because nobody walked here? She asked me what route I had taken. I told her.
"Did you see or hear anything suspicious when you were walking on Grant Avenue?" Detective Washington asked.
"No. Just the usual tourists and locals…the shops…"
"Did you go on any other streets in Chinatown or did you stay on Grant?"
"I stayed on Grant until I got to Columbus."
"And you didn't hear any gun shots."
"No! Why?"
"Because Mr. Mackay was shot in an alley just off Grant, probably about the time you were walking there. Of course, the noise level is so high that I would not have expected you to hear the shots. Or anybody else on Grant, for that matter."
Then why did she ask me? Was I a suspect?
I must have looked like a scared rabbit because the corners of Detective Washington's eyes crinkled slightly and she said, "It's nothing to worry about. Just the fact that you were so open with me about your route would lead me to believe your story. In any case, when I talked to your father he said that you hardly knew Mr. Mackay and I'm sure you have no motive for killing him."
That made me feel better, but maybe she was just trying to get me to lower my guard.
"A couple of other things," she said. "Mr. Mackay's body was found in a dumpster. Since he's pretty hefty it probably took two men to get him in there. Preliminary estimate is that he hadn't been there more than half an hour. He was found by a homeless guy looking for food. Lucky for us or it might have been hours, or even days, before he was discovered."
But not lucky for Ned. It didn't matter to him. She asked me several more questions, which I answered carefully.
Detective Lawson appeared at the entrance to the living room. He was less impressive looking than Detective Washington, with an expanding waistline and a receding hairline. The checked sport coat he wore had seen better days and may even have been in style once. He said, "Mr. Buchanan showed me the log he keeps for guests. Mr. Patterson was logged in at 10:24."
Detective Washington nodded. "That squares with his story," she said, indicating me.
I was still recovering from the shock of learning I had been so close to Ned. I said, "Can you tell me what time Mr. Mackay was found?"
She consulted her notebook. "At 9:25 we received a call saying that there was a man in a dumpster just off Grant and that shots had been heard a few minutes earlier. He was dead by the time the paramedics got there. He had three gunshot wounds, including one in the chest.
"My partner and I were called. We got to the scene about 9:45. His wallet was gone, but an attache case was beside the body. There was a leather notebook inside with some of his business cards in it."
"Do you think it was a robbery?" I asked. I had felt so safe when I walked through there.
"It appears at this time that robbery was the motive. His wallet is missing, as I said. But we would like to know what he did from the time he left you until he was shot and why he said he was going to a meeting when he wasn't."
I wanted to know those things too. And his wallet had been taken, with all his money-and more important, his credit cards. The companies should be notified. However, I suspected my father was already working on that. There didn't seem to be anything else for me to do. I asked, "Do you, uh, need me to identify him?"
"If you would."
Detective Lawson, who had been talking to Stan by the front door, said, "Mr. Buchanan has volunteered to identify the body."
James Buchanan came into the living room, looking haggard and limping noticeably. He said, "I've known Ned all his life so it's logical for me to identify him."
I started to protest, thinking it would be too much for him, but he insisted and I stopped pressing since I really didn't want to do it.
As an afterthought I asked, "Did you find Mr. Mackay's rental car?"
"The key was in Mr. Mackay's pocket," Detective Washington said, "and we got a description of the car from Hertz. We're searching for the car now." She looked at me and said, "Thank you for your help, Mr. Patterson. If we have any more questions we know where to find you." And to James, "Are you ready to go, Mr. Buchanan? We'll drive you to the morgue."
James put his hand on my shoulder and said, "As I said, I've known Ned all my life. This is…a terrible tragedy. Please convey my sorrow and sympathy to your father."
"I will." There didn't seem to be any adequate words for the situation.
"Stan will drive you back to your hotel." James actually smiled slightly. "I know you lost our bet, but considering the circumstances it's the least we can do."
Stan also said some words of sympathy as he drove easily up the hill on the almost-deserted street. It was after 1 a.m.
"Did you know Ned?" I asked, wondering how long Stan had worked for James.
"Not real well, but he's come to the house several times since I've been there. I found out he and James grew up together. They also came to this country together, and eventually went their separate ways, but lately they've been talking to each other a lot."
"How did you know where Ned's business meeting was supposed to be?" I asked, and then realized that I sounded like the police.
Stan didn't seem annoyed at the question. "Ned called James at our office last Friday. James was out of the building so I took the call. Ned asked me whether he could meet with James Tuesday evening-tonight. He said he had a dinner meeting at the Golden Palace, but he would come over to the house afterward."
It occurred to me that Stan had known I wasn't Ned when he first saw me on the monitor. He must have consulted James before letting me in. I asked, "Did Ned do much gambling?"