Too Many Murders(43)
“Interests in common, huh?”
“The double whammy, Captain. Margaret’s gorgeous too.”
“Any children?”
“Four. Two girls, two boys. The two oldest are at Brown.”
“What do you spend your money on, sir?”
“Not much. We have a nice home out Sleeping Giant way, but it’s not a mansion. Ever try to have a mansion and four kids? We have a hunting cabin in Maine, but we don’t hunt. We hike. Mustang cars—all the kids drive, so we have a fleet of the things. And a ranch at the foot of the Grand Tetons in Wyoming. We usually go there for the summer.”
“What matters most in life to you, Mr. Grierson?”
“My family,” he answered without hesitation.
“And after them?”
“Dormus. If Cornucopia goes under, I’ll buy it and keep right on making turbine engines for boats and planes.”
“Funny,” Carmine said as he got to his feet, “I always forget that ships are powered by turbines these days.”
“Have been since 1906 and the dreadnaughts, Captain.”
There remained only another interview with Erica Davenport. On his way into Cornucopia Legal, he met Phil Smith coming out.
“A moment, Mr. Smith. Are you married?” he asked.
Smith looked offended. “Of course I am!”
“Once? Twice? Thrice? More?”
“Natalie is my only wife, of thirty-four years. I do not believe in divorce or infidelity, you impertinent dolt! Nor does she! Would it serve your prurient interest to see our sleeping arrangements? Paddle your greasy hands through our night attire?”
“That won’t be necessary, sir. Any children?”
“Yes, three! My daughter did not go to university. My two sons went to Harvard and MIT.”
“Not Chubb, huh? That’s interesting.”
“What business is it of yours where my children went to school? Your questions, Captain Delmonico, go beyond the limits of acceptable behavior! I intend to report you to everyone in a position to discipline you, is that understood?” He was beginning to splutter. “You’re a—a—Gestapo inquisitor!”
“Mr. Smith,” Carmine said gently, “a policeman investigating murder uses many techniques to obtain information, but more than that, he also uses them to learn in the small amount of time at his disposal what kind of person he’s questioning. During our first interview you were rude and overbearing, which leaves me free to tread heavily on your toes, even though your toes are sheathed in handmade shoes. You imply that you have the power to see me—er—‘disciplined,’ but I must tell you that no one in authority will take any notice of your complaints, because those in authority all know me. I have earned my status, not bought it. Murder means that everything in your life is my business until I remove you from my list of suspects. Is that clear?”
Two Philip Smiths suddenly looked out of one pair of eyes. One was the haughty aristocrat; the other was watchful, careful, hard, and highly intelligent. Carmine pretended not to notice.
Smith brushed past him without answering. Carmine went on into Erica Davenport’s outer sanctum, staffed, he was intrigued to see, by a thin young man of nondescript appearance.
“You have a male secretary,” he said, going to her window.
“It seemed a nice conceit for a woman executive. How may I help you further, Captain?”
“You didn’t tell me you’re on the Cornucopia Board.”
“Is it relevant? If it is, I fail to see why.”
“Everything is relevant in a murder enquiry, Dr. Davenport. And did you really think I wouldn’t find out why the FBI is so interested in Cornucopia? Both you and Mr. Smith passed it off as— irrelevant. I’ve also learned that your regular date is Mr. Gus Purvey, whose penchant for cocktail waitresses you’re happy to conceal from his fellows.”
Her lips thinned. “Then I had better tell you, Captain, that Mr. Purvey’s cocktail waitresses are men in drag. He likes them about eighteen or nineteen years old, with their own hair grown out and their body hair depilated.”
“It’s nice to have one’s suspicions confirmed,” he said, smiling. “Now what about Mr. Kelly?”
A scarlet spot had appeared in each cheek and the lips were a straight line. She answered obliquely. “For two people who may end in seeing a lot of each other, Captain, we’re not getting on too well. Though of my own volition I would never have made a friend of you—you’re too much the male chauvinist pig.”
He laughed, understanding her. “It’s a lot of years since a man has ever been in a position to throw uncomfortable questions at you outside your legal province, and now here he is, and you don’t like it. Or him. We’re not having a social encounter, Dr. Davenport. You’re being interviewed as a possible suspect in a murder. When we do finally meet socially, this has to be forgotten, not toted like extra baggage.”