Deadfall(24)

“I’ve been told it was worth fifty thousand.”

“Roughly, yes. If he actually paid twenty-five thousand, it was a bargain.”

“You think he might have paid more?”

“It’s possible. Kenneth was prone to exaggeration.”

“Uh-huh. You said the box was a … what was it? Hainelin?”

“That’s correct. From the early eighteen hundreds.”

“Made out of gold?”

“Yes. With a bas-relief of a Napoleonic battle scene on its hinged side. Napoleon at Toulon.”

“Is that what made it so valuable?”

“The fact that it was one of a kind, yes. Plus its age, its fine condition, and of course the fact that it was originated by Hainelin —a master craftsman of the period.”

“Kenneth show it to you before that day?”

“No,” he said. “I gathered he’d only received it that same afternoon.”

I remembered what Melanie had told me about Alex Ozimas—that he’d just been leaving the Purcell house when she arrived between five and five-thirty. “Do you know a man named Ozimas, a business acquaintance of Kenneth’s?”

“Ozimas? What nationality is that?”

“Filipino.”

“I’m not familiar with the name,” Summerhayes said. “I’m sure I never met a Filipino in connection with Kenneth.”

There was something in his tone that made me doubt he was telling the truth. I glanced over at where Elizabeth Summerhayes was standing stiffly in front of the door. “Is the name familiar to you, Mrs. Summerhayes?”

She blinked once, as if I’d startled her, glanced at her husband, and said, “No. No, it isn’t.”

Summerhayes was frowning at me. I asked him, “You just deal in snuff containers? Or do you collect them, too?”

“I sell them. Strictly.”

“So the Hainelin box had no special appeal for you.”

His frown got darker. “Just what do you mean to imply?”

“What do you think I meant to imply?”

He didn’t answer that. Just looked at me in the same dark and disapproving way.

I said, “The two other collectors at the party—George Collins and Margaret Prine. What can you tell me about them?”

“Collins owns several businesses in the South Bay—restaurant supplies and catering services. He has been a serious collector of Oriental and European miniatures for several years.”

“One of your customers?”

“Occasionally, yes.”

“And the Prine woman?”

“Yes, we’ve sold to her, too.”

“I meant, who is she?”

“Leland Prine’s widow,” Summerhayes said, as if I should know who Leland Prine had been. “He began collecting snuff containers while in the foreign service in Shanghai in the thirties; Margaret has carried on with the collection since his death. If anything, she is an even more avid enthusiast than he was.”

“How avid was her interest in the Hainelin box?”

“My God, man, do you suspect her of murdering Kenneth? The woman is seventy-one and frail. Don’t be absurd.”

“Asking questions that seem absurd is part of my job.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure. And I suppose you suspect me as well. Or Elisabeth.”

“I don’t suspect anyone of anything. I’m just asking questions, like I said.”

“If any of us wanted a Hainelin box, or any other rare and valuable miniature, we would not have to resort to murder to obtain it. We are all quite well-to-do, thank you.”

“All right. So you agree that the Hainelin went into the sea with Kenneth?”

“Of course I agree. It wasn’t found on his body or anywhere in the house or on the grounds; there is no other possible explanation.”

There were at least two other possible explanations, but I saw no point in mentioning them. Summerhayes would only have scoffed. He was an ace scoffer, Eldon was.

He said, “A tragedy, a genuine tragedy. A great loss.”

“You mean the box?”

“I do. It was an irreplaceable work of art….” He shook his head. “A great loss,” he said again.

He was something, this bird. He didn’t much give a damn that two men were dead, but he got all sad-eyed and mournful over an antique snuff box.

“Let’s talk about Leonard Purcell,” I said. “How well did you know him?”

“Hardly at all.”

I looked over at the wife. “Mrs. Summerhayes?”

Before she could answer he said testily, “I spoke for Elisabeth as well. How could she possibly have known Leonard any better than I?”

I kept my eyes on her, but she wasn’t having any; she shifted position and did some concentrated staring at the open-toed sandals she was wearing. He had her buffaloed good. Or did he? There was something about her, a suggestion of strength and will held in check, that made me wonder if he really dominated her or if she only let him think he did.