"As I recall," Qwilleran went on, "there was a Japanese screen in five panels, all done in gold. And a long vertical scroll with pictures of ducks and geese. And a wood sculpture of a deer, almost life-size, and very old, judging from its condition. And a big china bowl. And a gold Buddha about three feet high." From under the table Hames said, "This guy's fur feels like mink. Are these cats very expensive?" It was Wojcik who roused the neighbors. The apartment across the hall was occupied by an elderly woman who was hard of hearing; she said she had retired early, had heard nothing, had seen no one. The adjoining apartment to the east was vacant; the one on the other side produced a fragment of information.
"We're not acquainted with Mr. Lyke," said a man's voice, "but we see him on the elevator occasionally — him and his friends." "And we hear his wild parties," a woman's shrill voice added.
"We didn't hear anything tonight," said the man, "except his television. That struck us as being unusual. Ordinarily he plays stereo…. Music, you know." "He doesn't play it. He blasts it," the woman said. "Last week we complained to the manager." "When we heard his TV," the man went on, "we decided there must be a good show, so we turned our set on.
After that I didn't hear anything more from his apartment." "No voices? No altercation of any kind?" the detective asked.
"To tell the truth, I fell asleep," said the man. "It wasn't a very good show after all." Wojcik nodded to the woman. "And you?" "With the TV going and my husband snoring, who could hear a bomb go off?" When Wojcik returned, he said to Qwilleran, "How well did you know the decedent?" "I met him for the first time a couple of weeks ago-on assignment for the Fluxion. Don't know much about him except that he gave big parties, and he seemed to be well liked-by both men and women." The detective said, "He was a decorator, hrnmm?" "Yes," said Qwilleran crisply, "and a damn good one." "When was the last time you saw him?" "This afternoon, when we photographed the apartment. Bunsen and I invited him to dinner at the Press Club, but he said he had a date." "Any idea who it was?" "No, he just said he had a date." "Did he live alone?" "Yes. That is, I presume he lived alone." "What do you mean by that?" "There's only one name on his mailbox." "Any help working here?" "At parties he had two people working in the kitchen and serving. The building management supplies cleaning service." "Know any of his relatives or close friends?" "Just his partner at the decorating studio, Better try Starkweather." By that time the coroner's man and the police photographer had arrived, and Wojcik said to the newsmen, "Why don't you two pack up and clear out?" "I'd like to get the doctor's statement," said Qwilleran, "so I can file a complete story." Wojcik gave him a close look. "Aren't you the Fluxion man who was involved in the Tait burglary?" "I wasn't involved in it," said Qwilleran. "I just happened to write a story about Mr. and Mrs. Tait's house — a few days before their houseboy made off with their jades, if one can believe the statement made by the Police Department." From the dining room Hames called out: "Have you noticed? This cat's eyes turn red in the dark." After a while Wojcik said to the newsmen: "Death caused by a bullet wound in the chest. Fired at close range.
About ten o'clock. Weapon missing. Robbery apparently no motive…. That's all. Now, do us a favor and go home. You probably know more than we do. I think your paper goes around setting these things up." To retrieve Koko, Qwilleran had to crawl under the dining table and forcibly remove the cat, who seemed to have taken root.
Hames walked the newsmen to the door. "Your Sunday supplement looks good," he said. "All those elegant homes! My wife says I should scare up a little graft so we can live like that." "I think the magazine's a good idea," Qwilleran said, "but it's been rough going. First the Tait set-back, and then —»
"Come on, clear out!" snapped Wojcik. "We've got work to do." "Say!" said Hames. "My wife sure liked those four-poster beds you photographed on Merchant Street. Do you know where I could buy something like that?" Qwilleran looked distressed. "That was another unfortunate coincidence! I wish I knew why the Vice Squad picked that particular weekend to raid the place." "Well," said Hames, "I don't know how it happened, but I know the Police Widows' Fund just received a sizable donation from the Penniman Foundation…. Now, what did you say was missing? Five-panel gold-leaf screen? Three- foot gold Buddha? Kakemono with ducks and geese? Antique wood carving of deer? Porcelain bowl? Are you sure it was a five-panel screen? Japanese screens usually have an even number of panels." Slowly and thoughtfully the newsmen returned to 15-F, Bunsen carrying his camera, Qwilleran carrying the cat on his shoulder.
"The Penniman Foundation!" he repeated.
"You know who the Pennimans are, don't you?" said Bunsen.
"Yes, I know who they are. They live in Muggy Swamp. And they own the Morning Rampage."
15
Qwilleran phoned in the details of David Lyke's murder to a Fluxion rewrite man, and Bunsen called his wife. "Is the party over, honey?… Tell the girls I'll be right there to kiss 'em all good night…. Nothing. Not a thing. Just sat around and talked all evening…. Honey, you know I wouldn't do anything like that!" The photographer left the Villa Verandah to return to Happy View Woods, and Qwilleran began to worry about Koko's prolonged tranquillity. Was the cat demonstrating feline sangfroid or had he gone into shock? Upon returning to the apartment, he should have prowled the premises, inspected the kitchen for accidental leftovers, curled up on his blue cushion on top of the refrigerator. Instead, he huddled on the bare wood floor beneath the desk, with eyes wide, looking at nothing. His attitude suggested that he was cold. Qwilleran covered him with his old corduroy sports coat, arranging it like a tent over the cat, and received no acknowledgement — not even the tremor of an ear.
Qwilleran himself was exhausted after the scare of Koko's disappearance, Bunsen's hair-raising performance, and the discovery of Lyke's body. But when he went to bed, he could not sleep. The questions followed him from side to side as he tossed.
Question: Who would want to eliminate the easygoing, openhanded David Lyke? He was equally gracious to men and women, young and old, clients and competitors, the help in the kitchen and the guests in the living room. True, he spoke out of the other side of his mouth when their backs were turned, but still he charmed them all.