It was the first time the sergeant had been in my rooms, and he looked about with interest.
"Not bad," he said.
"The best thing about it is the rent."
He laughed. "Zilch?" he asked.
"You got it," I said. "Al, would you like a wee bit of the old nasty?"
"What's available?"
"Marc."
"What the hell is that?"
"Brandy made from wine sludge."
"I'm game. But just a small one."
I poured two tots, and A1 sampled his. He gasped and squinched his eyes.
"That'll take the tartar off my teeth," he said.
I had few accommodations for visitors, so the sergeant sat in the swivel chair behind my desk while I pulled up a rather tatty leather ottoman.
"How did you and father make out with Gillsworth?"
"Okay. He's going to take the casket up north. Apparently there's a family plot in a Rhode Island cemetery. She'll be buried there."
We sipped our minuscule drinks slowly. There is no other way to imbibe marc and survive.
"Al," I said, "I understand you hauled away the grandfather clock from the murder scene."
"That's right. It's a nice antique. Bleached pine case."
"What was the reason for taking it?"
"I wanted to find out if it was in working order before it was toppled."
"And was it?"
"Yep, according to the expert who examined it. When it was knocked over, one of the gears jolted loose and the clock stopped."
"So the time it showed was the time of the murder?"
"Seems like it, doesn't it."
I sighed. "You're not giving anything away, are you? Have you finally decided Gillsworth is clean?"
"He appears to be," Rogoff said grudgingly. "The time it takes to drive from here to his place at a legal speed checks out. Ordinarily his wife would have been home earlier from the seance, but she stayed awhile to talk with one of the women."
"Who told you that?"
"The woman." "This is like pulling teeth," I said. "Would you mind telling me the woman's name, sergeant?"
"Mrs. Irma Gloriana, the mother-in-law of the medium. You know her?"
"Mrs. Irma Gloriana?" I said carefully. "No, I've never met the lady. What's she like?"
"A tough broad," Al said, then paused and cast his eyes heavenward. "Forgive me, Susan B. Anthony," he said. "I meant to say that she's a strong-willed individual of the female gender."
"That's better," I said approvingly. "Otherwise I might have to charge you with PI-Political Incorrectness. Did you meet the medium?"
"Nope. She and her husband weren't home. I'll catch up with them tomorrow, along with all the others who were at the seance. I have their names."
"Where was the seance held?"
"At the Glorianas' condo. It's in a high-rise near Currie Park."
"A luxury high-rise?"
"Not very," Rogoff said. "In fact, I thought it was a ratty place. I guess communing with the dear departed doesn't pay as well as selling pizzas."
"Guess not," I said. "How did you get on to this Mrs. Irma Gloriana?"
"Gillsworth gave me her name. He had been to three or four seances with his wife and knew where they were held. But after a while he stopped going. Says the whole idea of spiritualism just doesn't grab him."
"Uh-huh. Did you time how long it would take Lydia to drive home from the seance?"
"That was the whole point, wasn't it? Of course I timed it. If Lydia left when the mother-in-law says she did, then she would have arrived home about when her husband talked to her from your father's study."
"So everything fits and Gillsworth is cleared?"
"I guess so," Rogoff said dolefully. "Could I have another shot of that battery acid? A tiny one. Just enough to dampen the glass."
I poured and said, "Al, what's bothering you? You don't seem to be convinced."
He drew a heavy breath and blew it out. "As you said, 'Everything fits.' Whenever that happens, I get antsy and start wondering if I've missed something. What's chewing me is that I've only got the statement of one witness as to the time the victim went home. I'd prefer to have several. But all the others who attended the seance had already left, and the medium and her husband had gone out to dinner. So only Mrs. Irma Gloriana can say when Lydia started home."
"You think she's lying?"
He stirred restlessly in the swivel chair. "Why the hell should she? What could possibly be her motive for lying? No, she's probably telling the truth. Now what about you? What have you been up to?"
"Not a great deal," I said, all innocence. I had been pondering how much to tell him. Not everything, of course, because I was certain he wasn't telling me everything. In the past we had cooperated on several investigations to our mutual benefit, but I always reckoned-and I think Rogoff did, too-that part of our success was due to the fact that we were as much competitors as partners. I believe we both enjoyed it. Nothing like rivalry to put a little Dijon on the sandwich. Adds zest, n'est-ce pas?
It was at that precise moment that the McNally talent for improv showed its mettle.
"Al," I said earnestly, "I just had an idea I think you'll like."
"Try me."
"Until you get the FBI report on those poison-pen letters, the seance and everyone connected with it represents our best lead-right?"
"Not necessarily," he argued. "Archy, we're just starting on this thing. We'll have to identify and question all the victim's neighbors, friends, and acquaintances, and establish their whereabouts at the time of the homicide."
"Agreed," I said. "A lot of legwork. But while you're doing that, why don't I zero in on the Gloria-nas? What I had in mind was going to them, passing myself off as a half-assed spiritualist, and setting up a seance with the medium. I'm not suggesting you ignore them entirely, but let me go at them from the angle of an eager client."
He stared at me thoughtfully. "Why do I have the feeling I'm being euchred?"
"You're not being euchred," I said heatedly. "The more I think of it, the better it sounds. I can be Mr. Inside and you can be Mr. Outside. The Glorianas will never know we're working together. They won't even realize we know each other. But between us, we should be able to get a complete picture of their operation."
He was silent a long time, and I feared I had lost him. But finally he sighed, finished his drink, and stood up.
"All right," he said. "I can't see where it will do any harm. You set up a seance and try to get close to the medium."
"I'll try," I said.
"And you'll keep me informed of anything you turn up?"
"Absolutely," I said. "And you'll keep me informed on your progress?"
"Positively," he said, and we smiled at each other.
After he left, I sat in the swivel chair, finished my marc, and licked the rim of the snifter. I was satisfied with the plot I had hatched. I wasn't deceiving Al, exactly, but now I had an official imprimatur for doing something I had already done. It's called finagling.
I jotted a few notes in my journal, trying to recall everything the sergeant had told me. One contradiction immediately apparent was his description of the Glorianas' condo as "ratty" while their glittering offices in a new building indicated a profitable enterprise. But their mauve and aqua suite, I decided, could be a flash front. During my two visits I certainly hadn't seen hordes of clients clamoring for psychic counsel. And despite Frank's elegant duds, I thought him something of a sleaze.
The weather was still blah, but being the sternly disciplined bloke I am, I went for my ocean swim nonetheless. Surprisingly, the sea was calm as the proverbial millpond, so as I plowed along I was able to think about the coming seance and plan a course of action.
When Hertha Gloriana suggested I provide a friend who might join the circle of believers and augment its psychic powers, I had intended to ask Consuela Garcia to accompany me. Connie was a go-for-broke kiddo and she'd think the whole thing an adventure she could gossip about for weeks.