“Look, how many times do I have to tell you: I never saw the woman before. She called me out of the blue, and told me she wanted to meet. So I said sure, drop by any time. So she said she’d come in at eight thirty, and later sent me a one-word text.”
“Gnomeo.”
“Exactly. Which is how I knew it had something to do with the club.”
“The Gnomeos.”
“Right. Happens all the time that complete strangers come up to me with information they think might be relevant for the Gnomeos, or the magazine.”
“So if you arranged to meet at eight thirty, why was she dead when Odelia walked in at eight ten?”
“I told you—I stepped out for just a minute.”
“Your windshield wipers.”
“Exactly!”
“You actually told her to meet you at eight, didn’t you? So you could avoid her meeting Odelia? You didn’t want nosy parkers around when you two hooked up?”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“Only Odelia was early, wasn’t she? Arrived before you could get rid of the body. Is that why you ran out of your office, to bring your car around so you could get rid of the body?”
“In full view of the whole street? You’re crazy, Alec.”
Alec wagged a finger in the man’s face. “Watch what you say, Dan. I’m still chief of police.”
“You’re also a fool if you think I’d murder a woman I’ve never even seen before and try to get rid of the body by shoving her body into the trunk of my car.”
“Ha!” said Alec with a note of triumph in his voice. “I never said trunk.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”
“I don’t know, Dan,” said the Chief, shaking his head. “I’m disappointed in you, that’s all I can say.”
“Well, at least that’s something we have in common,” Dan snapped. “Cause I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were smarter than this.”
“What did I tell you about watching your tone?”
“You’re wasting time. While you’re harassing me the real killer is getting away.”
“Oh? And who do you think the real killer is?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Jack Warner, of course.”
“The chairman of the Maria Power Society?”
“Of course! He must have found out this woman was going to hand me something of value and wanted to stop her. So he killed her and took whatever it was she was going to give me and is now laughing his ass off at the incompetence of our local police force.”
“And what could possibly be so valuable that it would be worth killing for?” asked the Chief, not hiding the skepticism in his voice.
“The only remaining copy of Rupert Finkelstein’s Romeo and Juliet,” said Dan.
The Chief stared at the man. “That’s just an urban legend.”
“An urban legend that just might be real.”
As a big fan of Maria Power himself, and a member of the Gnomeos, it struck Alec that Dan was probably playing him. “Finkelstein destroyed every single copy of that movie. It’s the story we all know and regret.”
“Well, I heard differently, and trust me when I say that Jack Warner believes it is true, too. There must have been a copy left, and somehow Heather Gallop managed to get her hands on it and was about to offer it to me.” He slumped. “And so Jack killed her for it.”
Chapter 11
Once again Dooley and I were invited to sit in on an interview with a suspect. This particular suspect was a man named Jack Warner. When Chase got the call from his superior officer—Odelia’s uncle—to have a quiet word with Mr. Warner, Odelia had pleaded successfully with her future husband to be included in the tête-à-tête, and of course she’d negotiated for Dooley and me to be included, hoping we could chat with the man’s pets, if he had any.
Much to my dismay, though, Jack Warner was a man utterly devoid of pets of any persuasion, though by his own admission he’d once owned a Chihuahua, whose urn now took pride of place on his mantel. A notion I found a little creepy, to be honest with you.
Mr. Warner lived in an apartment on the second floor of a new building, and was scrupulously clean for a man who lived alone. On the wall over that same mantel a huge portrait of Maria Power hung, smiling at all and sundry from her vantage point, and there were several glass display cases, much of the same design as the ones in Dan’s office, and they even contained much of the same type of paraphernalia: film posters, pictures of the same Maria Power in what I assumed was her Hollywood heyday, a bust of the actress, and another one of her dresses hung on a mannequin.
It almost seemed to me as if the woman had decided to give away all of her dresses and now had nothing left to wear.
“So tell me, Mr. Warner,” said Chase, launching into the interview with his usual aplomb. “You’ve been accused by Dan Goory of having snuck into his office this morning and murdering his visitor, a woman who had something valuable to share with Dan, something associated with Maria Power. What do you have to say to that?”
Jack Warner laughed heartily. He was a man in his late sixties dressed in a nice pink polo shirt, gray slacks, his hair neatly coiffed, his mustache nicely clipped. All in all he looked just like his apartment: perfectly appointed and squeakily clean.
“Dan said that? You have got to be kidding.”
“I never kid when I’m on duty,” said Chase seriously.
Mr. Warner quickly sobered. “Well, what can I say? It’s ridiculous, of course. Perfect nonsense. Are you sure the woman is dead? Dan is a great practical joker. He could simply be playing a trick on you—and me. At my expense, of course.”
“You and Dan don’t get along?”
“Oh, everybody knows that,” said the man with an airy wave of the hand. “I run the Society, he runs the Gnomeos, and the water between the two clubs runs very deep indeed.”
“So you’re the chairman of the Maria Power Society,” said Chase, jotting down a note.
“That’s right. The oldest and most popular official Maria Power fan club.”
“Which is exactly what Dan says,” Chase remarked.
“Of course he does. Look, we launched in October 1976 and he launched his Gnomeos—ridiculous name, if you ask me—in November. So I ask you: which one of us is the oldest? We are, of course, and it’s something that’s always stung. To this day Dan can’t help but smear my good name and say the most horrible things about the Society.”
“But… you’re both fans of Maria Power, right?” said Odelia.
“Look around,” said Jack. “What do you think?”
“So… shouldn’t you be best friends instead of enemies?”
“It’s frankly impossible to be friends with that man,” Jack scoffed. “In the past I’ve suggested we join forces but he shot me down each time. Take the Maria Power retrospective, for instance. That was my idea! But of course Dan had to muscle in and take over. And now he claims it was his idea all along. Which of course is a blatant lie, but since he’s the big newspaperman everyone believes him.” He shrugged and flicked a piece of lint from his slacks. “I’ve learned to simply ignore Mr. Goory’s delusional antics.”
“Can you tell us where you were this morning between eight and eight fifteen, Mr. Warner?” asked Chase, getting down to brass tacks.
“I was right here, enjoying my breakfast and reading the newspaper—not the Gazette, mind you. How anyone can read that drivel is frankly beyond me—no offense to you, my dear. I’m sure you’re a wonderful reporter. Working for the wrong man.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“Well, no. I live alone, you see. My dear wife passed away three years ago, and it’s just been me and Maria ever since.” He gestured to the portrait of the actress above the mantel, a wistful expression on his face.
“Dan claims that Heather Gallop might have had a copy of Finkelstein’s Romeo and Juliet in her possession,” said Odelia, causing Mr. Warner’s eyes to twinkle with delight.