“You like to suggest how?”
Burdett grinned. “That’s a problem, isn’t it? Russ doesn’t take kindly to suggestions. So how the hell you gonna protect him?”
“Do you think Timberlaine killed Potter?”
“Of course not.”
“Fine,” Steve said. “Then someone else did. All I gotta do is find out who.”
“How you gonna do that?”
“By asking questions. Tell me, what did you do from the time the auction was over to the time the body was found.”
Burdett grinned. “Right, right. You mean I’m a suspect. O.K., let’s see. I went up on stage, verified my purchases and wrote checks.”
“You take possession of the guns you bought?”
Burdett shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Russ’s rules. Dealers retain possession of the guns sold at auction until such time as the purchasers leave.”
“Why is that?”
“Security reasons. Russ doesn’t want to be liable for a guest having a gun stolen from his room. Dealers retain possession and the collections are locked in the safe.”
“What safe?”
“This huge safe in Timberlaine’s office. My guns are there now.”
“O.K.,” Steve said. “So you went up on stage, wrote checks for the guns and then what?”
“Went out on the patio and had a drink. They had a bar set up on one end, you know. So I had a drink. I looked around for Russ, didn’t see him. So I stayed on the patio for a while, talking to people about the auction. Then I went to my room to freshen up and change for dinner. I was still there when I heard the commotion and the police cars arrived.”
“I see,” Steve said. “And you hadn’t seen Timberlaine or Potter since the end of the auction?”
“That’s right.”
“And Potter never tipped you off about the gun?”
“That’s right.”
“And last night, when you came by Timberlaine’s table, you told Potter you wanted to talk to him after dinner?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you?”
“Sure.”
“What about?”
“What do you think? I had him check out some guns.”
“Including the cavalry piece?”
“Of course.”
“Was that the only gun you had him check out?”
“No, I had him do a whole bunch.”
“But you did ask him about the cavalry piece?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You asked him specifically to check out that gun?”
“Yes, I did.”
“The lieutenant ask you that?”
“What?”
“About talking to Potter last night? Asking about the gun?”
“Yeah, he did. Why?”
“He bring it up, or you did?”
“He did, of course. I wasn’t volunteering anything. Why?”
“If he asked about it, it means he heard it from someone else.”
“Of course.” Burdett said, impatiently. “That’s obvious. All right, look. I’ve answered your questions. Now you answer mine. What are you going to do for Russ?”
Steve looked at Burdett, pursed his lips. “You want an honest answer?”
Burdett frowned. “What, are you nuts? Of course I do.”
Steve shook his head. “Then, frankly, Mr. Burdett, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
18
Mark Taylor slammed down the phone and stood up. It rang again. He cursed, sat down, snatched it up.
“Yeah,” he growled. “Yeah, Frank, just a minute.” He covered the mouthpiece, looked up at Steve Winslow who was standing near the door. “Another operative. I’ll send him out.”
Steve nodded, walked into the next room where Tracy Garvin was also on the phone.
It was Sunday morning. They were in a small motel just off the Long Island Expressway. They’d been held in the dining room Saturday night until just after midnight when the cops had finished their interrogation and finally allowed everyone to leave. Of course, most of the guests were staying over anyway. Steve and Tracy had stuck around looking for Timberlaine. Mark Taylor, desperate for phones, had gone out and found the motel. Unable to get what he wanted, a unit with two phones, he had settled for two adjoining units, and spent the night running back and forth between the two phones. It had been quite a relief when Steve and Tracy had showed up the next morning with coffee and doughnuts.
Tracy hung up the phone, shook her head, and said, “Nothing.”
“Oh?” Steve said.
“That reporter again. Harold Coleman. He may be chummy with a cop, but the cop don’t know shit. He’s got nothing you can’t read in the morning papers.”
“And no sign of Timberlaine?”
“None.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. What a bummer.”
“This is the type of thing I thought they didn’t do anymore.”
“What?”
“Bury a suspect. No sign of Timberlaine, no sign of Sanders. They’re not at the mansion and they’re not at headquarters. They got lost somewhere along the way. The thing is, if they arrest him, even Timberlaine’s smart enough to shut up and stop cooperating. At which point he has the right to an attorney and I step in. But as long as he’s talking, they’re not going to do that. They’ll just hold him and let him keep talking and talking until he makes their case for them.”
“How do you know they’re doing that?”
“Because this reporter’s got an in with a cop and the cop doesn’t know where they are. Or says he doesn’t. Which means what’s going on is something extralegal the cops don’t want to have appear in the press.”
“What can you do about it?”
“Absolutely nothing. That’s what’s infuriating. Once he’s arrested and charged with murder I can make a stink about it, but by then the cops will have an airtight case. Meanwhile I sit here twiddling my thumbs and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do.”
“Steve,” Mark Taylor yelled from the other room.
“Yeah,” Steve said, heading for the door.
“Got something,” Taylor yelled.
Tracy sprang up, followed Steve in.
“What you got?” Steve said.
Taylor, still on the phone, held up his hand. “O.K., good work,” he said. “See what else you can get and call me back.” He slammed down the phone. “Got the medical report.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s just preliminary, but my man swears it’s accurate. O.K. Cause of death-gunshot wound to head. Big deal. We knew that. Time of death-yesterday afternoon between the hours of four and six.”
Steve frowned. “Damn.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Can’t they do any better than that? The cops were there by six. We found the body before then, for Christ’s sake. And the medical examiner was there by at least six-thirty. He ought to be able to do better than that.”
“Maybe he can, but the fact is he’s not. Four to six is the best he’ll do.”
“Shit.”
“What’s so bad about that anyway?”
“The auction was over by four-thirty. Timberlaine slammed out of there around four o’clock. And no one’s sure Potter was at the auction. If he wasn’t, it sure makes a nice opportunity for Timberlaine to find him alone and kill him before the auction broke up.”
Taylor frowned. “I see what you mean.”
“What’s a pain in the ass is most likely he didn’t. What I mean is, if they put the time of death between four and six, it’s likely the guy was killed around five. After the auction. So why can’t the M.E. put the time of death after the auction broke up, so at that time anyone could be likely to do it? Instead of having a special time when everyone will testify only Timberlaine had left the room.”
Taylor frowned and shrugged. “Hey, it’s not so bad. This case must be really pissing you off. Because either way Timberlaine could have done it. It’s no big deal.”
Steve sighed. “I know. It’s just, what do you do when your client’s a big jerk who’s shooting off his mouth and there’s nothing you can do about it?”
“You tell him he’s free to find another attorney.”
“Which is exactly what I’d do if the son of a bitch hadn’t handed the gun you bought over to the cops.”