Too Many Murders(36)

“Why is there an FBI special agent sniffing around your nether parts, Mr. Smith?” Carmine asked as soon as they were alone again.

But the nominal managing director was ready for that one. “Inevitable, given the number of our defense contracts,” he said smoothly. “I imagine D.C. and the Pentagon automatically take an interest in the violent death of an important man.”

“How violent do you think the death of Mr. Skeps was?”

“Well, er—I don’t know, exactly. One presumes murder to be violent by definition.”

“When did Mr. Kelly arrive?”

“Yesterday, midday. Grotesque, isn’t he?”

“No, Mr. Smith, not grotesque, which implies an unpleasant element. Special Agent Kelly is a particularly fine specimen of man. What did he do after he arrived?”

“Asked to see Desmond’s penthouse and offices. Naturally we coöperated fully.”

“Did it not occur to anyone to call Commissioner Silvestri and notify him of an FBI presence in a local murder scene?”

“No.”

“That’s a pity.”

“I don’t see why. You’re all on the same side.”

“Are we? That’s comforting to know. However, if Mr. Kelly took something from either place, the Holloman Police should be told, and were not. If you’re personally aware that anything has gone missing, I suggest you tell me right now.”

“Uh—apart from Desmond’s personal filing cabinet, nothing,” said Smith uneasily. “He kept it in his walk-in safe, but Mr. Kelly had a key and the combination. There’s nothing in it would interest the Holloman police—too esoteric. The files were all sensitive aspects of our defense contracts. You would not have the necessary security clearances, Captain Delmonico.”

“You might be surprised, Mr. Smith.”

Smith laughed derisively. “Oh, come, Captain! You’re a big fish in a very small puddle. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Thank you for the reminder. In the meantime, I’d be grateful if you issued a Board directive to all Cornucopia Central staff to coöperate with me and mine.” Carmine rose to his feet. “My thanks for the coffee.” He went across to the Long Island Sound window and looked at his house, frowning. “Now if you seat yourself behind your desk, sir, we can get down to our real business.”

Smith obeyed, seeming uncomfortable; the suavity had gone.

“Tell me what you know about Desmond Skeps.”

“He was detestable,” Smith answered, both hands on the desk palms downward. “I doubt you’ll obtain a different opinion from anyone who knows him—knew him. Though Cornucopia is listed on the stock exchange, Desmond owned a clear majority of the shares, so he could do pretty much as he liked. And he did.”

“Can you give me an example of his doing as he liked?”

“Certainly. Cornucopia Research. We all opposed his setting up our own research laboratories, chiefly because our companies span such a gamut of industries, but he insisted. It meant a massive facility with a bill in the hundreds of millions. He was right in one way—we don’t have to go hat in hand to outside labs anymore. The research stays here in Holloman with us. When he stole Duncan MacDougall from PetroBrit, Cornucopia Research was complete. MacDougall is one of the three men in the world who can administer a unit that size. Why am I complaining? Because we’ll never recoup the outlay. Dividends plunged.”

“Did you associate personally with Mr. Skeps?”

“Naturally! Far more, however, when he was married to Philomena. Now there was an ideal tycoon’s wife! Educated, beautiful, charming, modest as women should be but rarely are. These days they’re trollops, all of them. Desmond was obsessed with Philomena, especially after Desmond Three was born, but he couldn’t overcome his completely unfounded jealousy. The pool man was her lover, the gardener, the phone technician, even the paperboy. In the end, no man who wanted to keep his job would go near her, and the poor woman had a breakdown. When she came out of it, she left Desmond for good, even though she didn’t have a bean. I respected her, Captain, truly respected her.”

Carmine glanced briefly at his papers. “I have Mrs. Skeps listed as living in Orleans, Massachusetts, sir. That doesn’t suggest she’s on the breadline. You’re going to have to explain why she didn’t—er—have a bean.”

“Desmond overstepped the mark when she sued for divorce,” said Philip Smith. “He persecuted her—hired seedy private detectives to hound her, even kidnapped Desmond Three, though she hadn’t denied him access to the child. By the time the case got into court, she had an attorney worth his weight in gold, Anthony Bera. Expressed briefly, she was awarded astronomical alimony and sole custody of Desmond Three. She bought a property in Orleans and sent the boy to the Trinity Grey School last year. Despite her retaining Mr. Bera to watch over her interests, she isn’t a vengeful woman, Captain. Desmond continued to have access to the boy, who hasn’t been poisoned against his father.”