“Walter Pulaski,” the patrolman said.
Gregor was in such a hurry to get upstairs—anything, as long as he was away from these people—he almost asked an idiotic question about whether the patrolman was a descendant of the highway. Instead, he headed up to the balcony and the second-floor guest wing faster than he’d intended to go.
He reached the gunmetal gray chest of drawers and tapped his feet impatiently until the others caught up with him. Then he waved Pulaski toward it and said, “I’ve got that blocking a door.”
“You mean you want it out of the way,” Pulaski corrected. He leaned forward, gave a single great push, and slid the piece half a dozen feet along the carpet. He made it look like he was pushing a box of styrofoam.
“I told you he was good,” Berman said complacently.
“He’s incredible,” Gregor admitted. He’d tried to move the chest himself earlier in the day and hardly managed to make it budge. He watched the patrolman walk away down the balcony with something like fascination. Then he turned to the police chief. “Get ready for a shock,” he told Berman. “This is a mess.”
Berman looked interested. “You mean there’s blood? He wasn’t killed the way Debrett was killed?”
Gregor would have thought it was significant that Berman was so positive about saying that Debrett “was killed,” except that he’d done the same thing himself. In the case of a suspicious death, you assumed murder until it was proven otherwise. Gregor just wished he didn’t have to disappoint the man.
“I’m afraid,” he said, “that Fox was killed just the way Debrett was killed. The way he was killed is not the problem.” Gregor pushed open the door and stepped back.
Berman stepped forward, stuck his head through the door, and whistled. “Dear sweet Lord. What is this?”
“Underwear,” Gregor said shortly.
Berman made a face so juvenile, he might as well have been sticking out his tongue. “I can see that, Mr. Demarkian. I can see it’s underwear. I can see it’s women’s underwear. What did he think he was doing?”
Gregor sighed. “If you mean what did Senator Fox think he was doing,” he said, “the answer is nothing. If you mean the murderer, the answer is also nothing. The murderer didn’t do this, either.”
“No? Then who did?”
“My guess would be Miss Patchen Rawls. She’s been very, very anxious to get into this room. And I don’t think it’s because she thinks she can bring the senator back from the dead.”
Berman cocked his head. “The mistress scorned? A kind of revenge? I could see that.”
“I could see that, too,” Gregor said, “but unfortunately, it’s not the way Miss Rawls operates. Fox wanted her out. Chester wanted her out. I think this may have been part of a campaign to change their minds.”
“This was supposed to change their minds?”
“I think it was supposed to change Janet’s. Present her with a situation she could not ignore.”
Berman scratched his chin. “You mean Janet Harte Fox killed her husband over Patchen Rawls?”
“No,” Gregor said. “In the first place, that wouldn’t account for the death of Kevin Debrett, so I can’t see that we could seriously consider it. But beyond that, I don’t think Janet Harte Fox cares about Patchen Rawls. There have been a lot of Patchen Rawlses in the senator’s life.”
“I don’t think there could have been a lot of women in the senator’s life who did this kind of thing,” Berman said. “The man’s career would have been in the tank years ago.”
“True. But I don’t think Janet cared much about the senator’s career, either. She wanted her marriage intact, and she had her marriage intact. Patchen Rawls or no Patchen Rawls.”
“Humiliation can be a powerful motive, Mr. Demarkian. Humiliation can lead to hatred.”
“I know. And maybe it did. That’s just not how I read this, or how I read that woman. I don’t think there was a thing Stephen Fox could have done with sex that would have changed Janet’s feelings toward him, unless he left her.”
“And you’re sure he wasn’t going to do that?”
“It would have been political suicide,” Gregor said. “Dan Chester wouldn’t have let him do it.”
Gregor moved into the room and looked it over, once again. The sheer quantity of underwear was astonishing.
“I’ve done this already, of course,” he told Berman, “but I want you to see what I saw. Take a look at the body for a minute.”
Berman went dutifully over to the body, but he looked skeptical. “If he died the way Debrett did, I don’t see what you’re going to find.”