"And he did?"
"Yeah, he's gone. I'm a little antsy about letting him go, but he swears he'll be back in a couple of
days. He better be or I'll look like a first-class schmuck for letting him go."
"Al, don't tell me you still suspect him?"
"No, but he's a material witness, isn't he?"
"What kind of condition was he in?"
"It's my guess he was nursing a hangover."
"Shrewd guess," I said; "When I left him last night he was sopping up the sauce like Prohibition was just around the corner. Listen, Al, I've got to talk to you."
"That's what we're doing."
I sighed. "You want me to be precise? Very well, I shall be precise. It is extremely urgent that I meet personally with you, Sergeant Rogoff, since there are certain letters I wish to show you that may prove to be of some importance in your current homicide investigation. There, how's that?"
"What letters?" he demanded.
"Al," I said, "you're going to kill me."
"Cheerfully," he said.
9
Al told me he wanted to drive back to the Gillsworth home to make certain the poet had locked up when he left. I said I'd meet him in an hour.
"Take your time," he said. "I'll be there awhile."
I thought that an odd thing to say but made no comment. I grabbed the envelope with the Willigan letters and rode the elevator down to our underground garage. I waved to the security guard and mounted the Miata for the canter home.
No one was about in the McNally castle so I hustled into the kitchen and slapped together a fat sandwich of salami on sour rye, slathered with a mustard hairy enough to bring tears to your baby blues. I cooled the fire with a chilled can of Buckler non-alcoholic beer, then ran upstairs to get Gills-worth's house keys in case I arrived before Rogoff.
But when I got there, a police car was parked in the driveway and the front door of the house was open. I walked in and called, "Al?"
"In here," he yelled, and I found him sprawled in a flowered armchair in the sitting room where Lydia had been murdered. He hadn't taken off his cap, and he was smoking one of his big cigars.
"Make yourself at home," I said.
"I already have," he said. "Let's see those cock-amamy letters you were talking about."
I tossed him the envelope. "Photocopy of the first received by Harry Willigan. The second is the original. Handle it with care; it might have prints."
He read both letters slowly while I lounged on a wicker couch and lighted an English Oval. Then he looked up at me.
"Same paper," he said. "Looks like the same ink, same typeface, same even right-hand margins."
"That's right," I said. "The reason I haven't shown them to you before is that the client forbade it. You know Willigan?"
"I know him," he said grimly. "A peerless horse's ass."
"I concur," I said. "And if he ever finds out I've told you about the catnapping, he'll be an ex-client and probably sue McNally and Son for malpractice. Al, will you please keep a lid on this? My father knows I'm showing you the letters; it was his decision. All we ask in return is your discretion."
"Sure," he said, "I'm good at that. What have you done so far about finding the damned cat?"
"Not a great deal," I said. "One thing I did do- and this will probably give you a laugh: I went to Hertha Gloriana, the psychic, and asked her help in locating Peaches."
But he didn't laugh. "Not so dumb," he said. "Cops hate to admit it, but psychics and mediums are consulted more often than you think. Mostly in missing person cases. What did she say?"
I repeated Hertha's description of the room where she envisioned Peaches was being held prisoner. "She couldn't give me a definite location but said she'll keep trying. Do you think these ransom notes have anything to do with the Gillsworth homicide?"
"Definitely," he said. "Too many similarities in the letters to call it coincidence. I'll get these off to the FBI and ask for a comparison. I'm betting they were all printed on the same machine."
"So what do we do now?"
"Nothing, until we get the FBI report. If Willigan gets instructions on delivering the fifty thousand, let me know and we'll try to set up a snare. I wonder if there's anything to drink in this place."
"Let me take a look," I said. "I'm a neighbor; Gillsworth won't mind if I chisel a drink or two."
I went into the kitchen and found my bottle of Sterling vodka in the freezer. It was still a third full. I brought that and two glasses into the sitting room, then made another trip to bring out a bowl of ice cubes and a pitcher of water.
"Help yourself," I said to Rogoff. "It's McNally booze; I loaned it to Gillsworth last night when he ran dry."
We built drinks for ourselves and settled back. It was really a very attractive, comfortable room-if you didn't look at the bloodstains that had not yet been scrubbed away or painted over.
"That cane that killed her," the sergeant said. "You told me Mrs. Gillsworth showed it to you."
"That's right."
"Did you touch it?"
"No, she held it while she was telling me about it."
"The shank has a lot of prints," Al said. "Hers, Gillsworth's, some other."
"Probably the antique dealer who sold it to her."
"Probably, and any other customers who picked it up in his shop. But it also has some interesting par-tials. Our print expert says they were made by someone wearing latex gloves."
"The killer?"
"Seems likely, doesn't it? The latex prints were over the old ones, so I've got to figure they were the last to be made."
"Where does that leave you?"
"Out in left field-unless you spot a guy in the Pelican Club wearing latex gloves."
"Surgeons use them."
"And house painters, window washers, people who scrub floors, dentists, and your friendly neighborhood proctologist. How are you doing with the Glorianas?"
"They're setting up a private seance for me this week. Irma is handling it."
"So you met that bimbo. Did she come on to you?"
"I don't think she's a bimbo, Al, and she didn't come on to me."
He looked at me quizzically. "But didn't you get the feeling that if you hit on her she wouldn't be insulted?"
"Maybe," I said warily. "But I think she's a very complex woman."
"You and your complexities," he said disgustedly. "You can't call a spade a spade. To you it's a sharp-edged implement used for digging that can be inserted into the ground with the aid of foot pressure. To me Irma Gloriana is a hard case with a bottom-line mentality."
I let it go. Al thinks like a policeman. I think like an aged preppy.
"I know you've checked the Glorianas through records," I said. "Anything?"
"No outstanding warrants," he reported. "I've got a lot of queries out and I'm waiting to hear. Something may turn up-but don't hold your breath."
I told him about the inquiries I had made to determine the Glorianas' financial status.
"Good going," he said. "I'm betting they're on their uppers-but that's just a guess. Elegant vodka, Archy."
"It's all yours," I said, finishing my drink and rising. "I've got to get home for the family cocktail hour or mommy and daddy will send out the bloodhounds. Something you should be aware of, Aclass="underline" You're not Roderick Gillsworth's favorite police officer."
"Tell me something I don't know. And you think I lose sleep over it?"
"He asked if he could phone me from up north and get a report on the investigation. He thinks you're holding out on him."
"I am," Rogoff said with a hard smile. "Do me a favor, will you? If he calls you, tell him I've been acting very mysteriously and you think I've got a hot lead I'm not talking about."
"Do you? Have a hot lead?"
"No."
"Then why should I tell him that?"
"Just to stir him up, keep him off balance."