Fountain of Death(80)

“If we’re not likely to find any of these records,” Connie Hazelwood objected, “then you’re back to saying what Dr. Brye thought you were saying in the first place. That this whatever-it-is you’re looking for is the only thing you need. Because if it isn’t the only thing you need and all these records you’re talking about aren’t going to do any good, then it isn’t going to matter how you get into that house, you aren’t going to be able to catch the murderer. Not catch him to arrest him, anyway. And what’s the point of catching him if you can’t arrest him?”

“I can’t arrest anybody,” Gregor pointed out. “But I do have at least one other piece of evidence to use in this case, and given the element of surprise—I’m back to surprise again—I can use it to good advantage. But it’s not going to be of use to anybody at all if the murderer knows it’s coming.”

“So what do you intend to do?” Philip Brye said. “Hide in this guy’s closet and then leap out at him while he’s getting into his pajamas with your evidence at the ready?”

Gregor had finished his coffee. He looked up and signaled the waitress, an older woman in a white polyester uniform and white orthopedic shoes. The come-celebrate-New-Year’s-Eve card in the sugar holder looked like someone had bitten it. There were unmistakable teeth marks in the upper right hand corner. The waitress came to the table with her Pyrex pitcher full of coffee and filled all their cups, even Connie Hazelwood’s, whose cup wasn’t half empty. Gregor took a long sip of coffee and nearly scalded his mouth.

“What I’m going to try to do,” he said, “is what everybody always expects me to do. I’m going to set up a confrontation scene.”

Connie Hazelwood brightened. “You mean like in Agatha Christie murder mysteries?” Where you get all the suspects into one room and tell the story of the murder and then name the murderer?”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Philip Brye said. “You’ll get shot.”

“Where are we supposed to have this confrontation?” Connie Hazelwood looked eager.

Gregor had thought this over on their way to the restaurant. “The Fountain of Youth living room, the one on the first floor next to the foyer. It could be the foyer itself, but there aren’t enough places to sit. We’ll have to ask Magda Hale’s permission. Then we’ll have to invite the people who need to be there.”

“You’ve got a list?” Philip Brye asked skeptically.

Gregor took the pen out of his jacket pocket and a napkin out of the napkin holder. The restaurant was full up for lunch. They should probably order some instead of taking up a table having nothing but coffee. The owner probably didn’t want to bother two men in good suits. All the rest of the customers were dressed rough. There were a lot of dark-colored workmen’s uniforms. There were a lot of jeans and sweaters, too, but not designer jeans and J. Crew cotton sweaters. Too many of the men had grease caked into their fingers and streaked through their hair. This was not a hangout for history professors from Yale.

Or maybe it was.

Gregor wrote on the top of the napkin:

Magda Hale

“The more people, the better I like it,” he explained, “so Magda can bring Simon Roveter if she wants. Actually, we couldn’t keep him out. He owns half the house. Then I want to get invitations to, let’s see.”

Gregor wrote down the napkin in a list:

Dessa Carter

Frannie Jay

Nicholas Bannerman

Christie Mulligan

Greta Bellamy

He hesitated. “I want to write Virginia Hanley down here, because of that remark about the car, but I’m not sure. She’s not strictly necessary, and she’s an annoying woman.”

“Leave her out, then,” Philip Brye said. None of this was making him happy. “What are you going to do when you finally get all these people into a single room?”

“Ah, well,” Gregor said. “Then we’re going to need the cooperation of Detective Bandero. He’s certainly going to have to be there. And we don’t have to tell him what I’m up to in advance. That may head off the media blitz to a certain extent. I just wish there was some way to get in touch with him at the last minute.”

“You can get in touch with him any time you want,” Philip Brye said. “He’s got one of those beeper things. You call his work number and the beeper goes off and he finds a phone and calls in for your message. All the detectives have them these days, in case of emergencies.”

Gregor thought about it. He had seen Tony Bandero with a beeper, that first day he had come to Fountain of Youth. The beeper had gone off and Tony had said something about dealing with it later. That did not bode well for getting in touch with the man on short notice. Maybe they would just have to give it up and invite Tony well in advance, just like everybody else. Maybe that was one of the risks Gregor was going to have to take.