"But I don't know anything!" Fondulac said.
"What do you do in Hollywood?" Vince said. "I've never been there myself."
"I'm a film producer." Vince let him explain that and came to find out that old Howard was sort of retired right now, hadn't done a movie in the last several years, in fact. He confessed he'd had a few health problems. Vince sympathized and told him about his arthritis, and Fondulac started relaxing and even getting a little garrulous, which made Derrick jump in, and old Howard shushed him this time.
"I guess a week or two at a place like this would be good for me, too," Vince said, patting his belly. "But I couldn't take the chow, I'd miss my pasta."
"Oh, there's pasta. Just no oil, you know. No cheese."
"I'd rather die young," Vince said. "No, give me my food and my liquor, you know? Speaking of which, you got a good one going this morning. Hangover, right? You ever try vitamin C for that?"
"Mr. Fondulac certainly does not have a hangover. He did not come here to be-"
"Give it a rest, counselor. Well, Howard? Big night last night?"
"That's exactly why I don't know anything," Howard said. "I'm afraid I had too much to drink. I missed breakfast. And all the rest of it."
"Do that often, do you, Howard?"
"More than I should. I know I wasn't supposed to bring liquor in at all. I admit it, I've got a problem. I've been admitting it and surrendering and making amends and relying on my higher power for twenty-five years now, and I've still got a problem."
"What's your poison? Let me guess, Chivas?"
"Jack Daniel's."
"Good sippin' bourbon, if I do say so. So where's the bottle from last night? And by the way, how big a bottle are we talkin' about?"
"A pint? I think a pint."
"That's interesting, because we just picked up this pint bottle on the path by the bathhouse where the lady was strangled." Vince held it up in its wrapping. "The security man says he made a round at midnight and there was no bottle. He saw it runnin' in to see the commotion when the body was discovered. So it got laid down last night."
"Now wait just a minute," Eric Derrick said.
"That couldn't be my bottle," his client said in a choked-up voice.
"Great," Vince said. "Then you won't mind us taking your fingerprints just so my superiors don't yell at me. Mike outside has the kit."
"I don't think that would be appropriate at this time," the lawyer drawled.
"Oh, yeah? I'll decide that," Vince said and gave him the patented Toscana glare. "You know, if we get involved in a lot of formalities, legalisms, that sort of thing, Mr. Fondulac could be here for a long, long time."
Fondulac and Derrick hastily convened on the far side of the office. Whispers flew. Vince looked out the window again. Strong sun now, not a soul out there enjoying the path by the lake. Eventually, the lawyer allowed as how Mr. Fondulac would give fingerprints, seeing as how he wanted to cooperate and get home.
And they all knew he didn't have a choice. Vince put on a cheerful look and said, "That's great. So let's get back to the location of that bottle."
"I certainly didn't leave it there. But if my fingerprints are on it, maybe someone took it out of my trash."
"Ah." They figured his prints would be on it and so the next line of obstruction had come up. They were making progress. "So you put it in the trash?"
"Yes."
"And where is the trash located?"
"In my room, of course. The plastic can in the bathroom, actually. It had a swinging lid."
"You specifically remember putting it in the can?"
"Yes."
Vince showed his teeth. "Then we're all set. All we have to do is confirm that. Dust the lid for prints."
"Maybe it didn't get into the trash can. I might have left it on the floor. I was drunk!"
"So you're saying somebody came in your door late at night while you were crashed and took your empty bottle and left it on the path by the bathhouse?"
"My God," old Howard said in a surprised voice, turning to his lawyer. "Someone's trying to frame me! That's just what must have happened!"
"Now who would do a thing like that?" Vince went on, not missing a beat.
"I-I can't imagine!"
"You had an enemy here, Howard. That must be how it went down."
"Yes! Yes! Raoul! That sneaky bastard. I'll fix him. He hates me. Because I-because of a money thing. Years ago. We had a dispute. He said I owed him two hundred thousand dollars. We lost that money fair and square. It was a joint venture, a tax thing, and Claudia told me Raoul had forgotten all about it. But now I see he's just been biding his time. Eric, you have to do something!"
"How long ago was this? The money thing?" Vince asked.
"Ten, twelve years ago."
"You and Claudia and Raoul were tight, huh?"
And out it came. "Tight? We were business partners, that's all. Claudia worked at this health place I went to and we got to talking, and she told Raoul about this film I was producing. I had Kevin Costner practically attached, this was before the water flick and the futuristic Pony Express one. Raoul and Claudia had some money from somewhere and they were looking for an investment."
Vince nodded sagely. "Hollywood," he said.
"The project tanked, they tank sometimes, but they took it personally. And about the same time the deal soured, Raoul got this idea that Claudia was sleeping with me. He was madly in love with her. He was insecure and jealous. So anyway I was damn surprised when she called and invited me to come, but I really needed to get away, and when she told me Lauren Sullivan was here and looking for a project, it was perfect, and Claudia said-God, she said-" He stopped and a horrified expression came over his face.
"Well, what'd she say?"
"She said I deserved the full treatment."
"And had she started giving it to you by last night?" Vince asked.
"He thinks I'm lying," Howard said to his lawyer. "You check it out, Detective. It was her husband. He killed her. I don't know why he killed her, but he got me here to frame me."
"But she was the one who said you deserved the full treatment," Vince said.
"He got her to invite me," Howard said, less assurance in his voice. "He's a subtle one, he is."
Vince said, nodding again, "I hate subtle people. All those hidden agendas."
"So are you going to do something about him? Arrest him?"
"We'll check for his prints on the bottle."
"He'll have wiped them off," Eric Derrick said.
"You sure you didn't take a midnight stroll last night?" Vince asked. "I get lit, I do funny things sometimes. Decide I need some air."
"I'm quite sure I never left my room," Howard said.
"Is there anything else?" said the lawyer, leaning forward.
"Well, I have to ask, you understand. Whether you did sleep with her way back when in the Kevin Costner days. Since it might have inflamed the husband."
"I never laid a hand on her."
"Oh, come on, how could you resist? You were all going to get rich together, you were at this relaxing place together, hot tubbing and all that, she was a fine-lookin' lady. And it would explain a lot better why the husband would go after you."
Howard said, "Well just the one time."
"One time only. Sure."
"Once or twice. She really wanted me. I was damn attractive in those days." He smoothed back his neat, thinning hair, as if remembering thicker, more unruly days.
"I bet."
"Come on, Howard," Eric Derrick said. "Are we finished?"
"For now," Vince said.
"Who's next?" Mike said, sticking his head in. Behind him was a talking head, irate.
"The husband."
Raoul de Vries came bounding in like he was aching to beat some butt on the tennis court. His tan and good health made Vince feel vaguely pissed off. He must be the stiff-upper-lip type, or else he didn't give a flyin' fart that his wife was dead, whatever he might have felt about her before, because there was no sign of red eyes or sadness. The second lawyer was just like the first: tall, balding, portly, and young. Vince waved them to seats and took the card. "H. David Derrick," it read.