Slowly, he hoped in a theatrical manner, Fletch squinted all around him before asking, “Who’s Peterson?”
“Why, you’re Peterson, aren’t you? Oh, I’m sorry. Peterkin. You’re Peterkin. You just said that, I believe. You should have seen an early film of mine, Seven Flags.”
“I have.”
“Cast of thousands,” said Mooney. “And I kept every one of them straight.”
16
Lopez called from the back door. “Telephone, Mister Fletcher.”
Fletch hesitated. The phone had been ringing all day. Fletch had told the Lopezes to try not to answer it. He dropped the filmscript of Midsummer Night’s Madness onto the cistern and trudged to the back door.
“Sorry.” Lopez’s eyes sought sympathy, understanding. “It is the police. The woman insists you come to the phone. She threatened me.”
A babble of voices was coming from inside the house.
“Okay.”
Stella Littleford passed Fletch on her way out the back door. “Watch out,” she whispered.
In the corridor, Edith Howell asked, “Where’s Freddy?”
“Don’t know. Here somewhere.”
“Where’s John Meade?”
“Gone on an errand. He’ll be back.”
In the front hall, dressed only in bikini underpants, Gerry Littleford stood with his back against the wall. “I don’t know.” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know.”
Through the open front door, Fletch saw the waiting, staring crowd across the street had grown.
Frederick Mooney was coming down the stairs. He held a bottle by its neck.
Behind Fletch, Edith Howell exclaimed, “Freddy! Why, I do declare! As I live and breathe!”
Halfway down the stairs, Mooney focused on her. He pointed at her. “This old moon wanes…”
“Come make me a drink, lover. I’m parched.” She took his arm as he came off the stairs. “A gin and tonic would be nice.” She walked him into the living room. “I found some supplies in here. Sorry I spoke so harshly to you, when you burst into my bedroom, but, Freddy, it’s been so many years since you did such a thing…”
As they passed him, Gerry Littleford said to the floor, “I don’t know.”
“Madame,” Mooney’s voice rang regally from the living room. “I do not burst. I enter.”
In the billiard room, Moxie was turning in circles. “Fletch! I’ve got to get out of this house!”
“You can’t.”
“I can’t stand it!”
“You’d be mobbed. It wouldn’t be safe.”
She emphasized every word. “I have to get out of this house!”
Fletch went into the study and picked up the telephone receiver. “Hello?”
“Irwin Fletcher?”
Fletch sighed. “This is Fletcher.”
“One moment, please.”
From overhead came Sy Koller’s heavy voice. He was saying something about the Gulf Stream.
“Mister Fletcher,” a voice stated through the telephone.
“Yes.”
“This is Chief Nachman. How are you today?”
“Fine. Thank you. Yourself?”
“Fine. Hard works always makes one feel better, don’t you think?”
“Glad to hear you’re working hard.”
“Are you?”
“You bet.”
“My hard work may result in some conclusions you’re not going to like.”
“No way.”
“Which is why you flew Ms Mooney to the ends of the earth last night.”
“We’re not that far away.”
“You’re in a place where it is very simple for you to skip the country.”
“You noticed that.”
“Yes and no. Don’t push me too far, Irwin.”
“You don’t need to call me Irwin.”
“You don’t like the name Irwin?”
“Kids in school used to call me earwig.”
“All right, I’ll call you earwig.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“If, for example, you and Ms Mooney were to leave the state of Florida, or worse, much worse, continental U.S.A.—”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
“—you would find out what a little ol’ Chief of Detectives can do. Your disappearing to Key West with a good many of my suspects in this murder case is an inconvenience for me—only that. Understandable, considering the people involved.”
“You’re being reasonable.”
“Furthermore, I think you may have done the right thing.”
“I have?”
“Yes. Maybe. I have a funny feeling you’ve done exactly the right thing. Now, if you’ll be good enough to tell me exactly who is with you down there in—what’s it called—The Blue House?”
“Moxie.”
“Did you know The Blue House is the name of the Korean presidential residence?”
“Frederick Mooney.”
“I’d love to see it someday.”
“Gerry Littleford. His wife, Stella. Sy Koller. Edith Howell. The Australian director, Geoffrey McKensie.”
“John Meade?”
“He’s in and out. He’ll be back tonight.”
“Didn’t you just love him in Easy River?” “Don’t think I ever saw it.”
“Anyone else?”
“Me.”
“I wouldn’t forget you, earwig.”
“Seeing you’re being so reasonable, Chief, would you mind telling me a few things?”
“If I can. Will I see it on Global Cable News?”
“Not if you don’t want.”
“Your loyalties have their priorities, right, Fletcher?”
“What has shown up, so far, on the tapes and films of the murder?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing. We’ve been up looking at them all night, over and over. Absolutely nothing.”
“That’s impossible.”
“The murder might as well have taken place in an alley in the dark of night, for all the good all those cameras have done us so far. We’re having experts come in to look at the films. Did you know there were experts to look at film? I didn’t.”
“And probably experts at choosing those experts.”
“That’s true.”
“Wouldn’t Sy Koller and Geoff McKensie be able to help? They must be expert at looking at film.”
“Great. Two of our prime suspects you want called in as experts. Peterman fired McKensie, you know.”
“And Koller?”
“Three years ago Sy Koller and Steve Peterman had a fist fight outside a Los Angeles restaurant. Koller had Peterman on the sidewalk and was strangling him when the police arrived. Peterman did not press charges.”
“Everybody loved Peterman. For sure. What were they fighting about?”
“A woman, they said.”
“By the way, Koller says Peterman and Dan Buckley knew each other. That there was some tension between them.”
“You see? You have the makings of a good earwig. Buckley was losing money in some investment Peterman had gotten him into.”
“A lot of money?”
“How do I know what’s a lot of money to these people? I live in a yellow bungalow six miles from the beach.”
“Okay. Point two. This morning Sy Roller said the set for The Dan Buckley Show could have been rigged. That is, the knife could have been made to fall from somewhere, could have been propelled from somewhere, mechanically. You know what I mean?”