“Yes,” Mortimer said. “Well. Here’s the thing. This is sort of under the table.”
“You’re doing something John doesn’t want you to do?” Gregor asked. “You probably shouldn’t do that. He’s not known for being lenient with employees who—”
“No, no,” Mortimer said. “The mayor knows all about it. That’s why we’re here. He suggested it.”
“John Jackman suggested a restaurant called Dexmali?”
“No,” Mortimer said. “The mayor suggested that we get away from my office and from any of your usual places, and meet somewhere where nobody would be looking for us. Not that I know who would be looking for us, but you see what I mean. I have some information. Some of it comes from the Merion police, and they’re fine with it. They’re willing to talk to you all you want. The other comes from the Bryn Mawr police, and they’re—”
“Not willing to talk to me,” Gregor said.
“No,” Mortimer said. “Not at all.”
“Well, why should they be?” Gregor said. “I haven’t been hired by them. Len Borstoi is probably a very good cop with a very good record. Why would he want to look like he couldn’t solve his own cases without outside help?”
“You did say you wanted information about what was going on with the reality show people,” Mortimer said. “And now that there’s actually been a murder—well, the mayor thought you’d like to be kept informed. If you see what I mean.”
“Sure,” Gregor said. “That’s keeping me up at night, too. Why can’t they just bring you a cup of coffee in this place? There aren’t more than three other tables with people at them. What is it you think I want to know?”
“It’s the gun,” Mortimer said. “This girl, the one called Emily, who supposedly shot at Sheila Dunham last weekend at the Milky Way Ballroom in Merion—”
“Supposedly?”
“Well, I guess she did,” Mortimer said. “Forty or more people saw her aim the gun and pull the trigger, and lots of the ones close to her heard noise. But here’s the thing. We took two shells out of the wall behind where Sheila Dunham had been standing, and—well—neither of them came from the gun the girl had.”
“Ah,” Gregor said. “Yes. All right. That would make sense. Let me tell you something. You took a few shells out of the body, or, rather, the study at Engine House, after the murder yesterday. And those shells matched the shells that the Merion police found in the wall at the Milky Way Ballroom.”
“Well, we didn’t do anything,” Mortimer said. “The Bryn Mawr police did. But yes, that’s it exactly. How did you know? Or did you guess.”
“I suppose I guessed,” Gregor said, “but it wasn’t a very hard guess. It’s the only way it would make sense really. Have you ever read any Agatha Christie?”
“No,” Mortimer said. “I can’t say I have.”
“I’ve got a friend who really likes Agatha Christie novels,” Gregor said. “He’s been on me to try them for years. I kept resisting him, but then he had a bunch of them sent down to Jamaica while I was on my honeymoon, and there they were, so I read some of them. She was a very smart woman. You wouldn’t think so, but she was.”
“I don’t know that I’d ever thought about it,” Mortimer said.
“One of the things she’s constantly stressing in the Hercule Poirot novels,” Gregor said. “And yes, I do know about The Inquirer constantly calling me the Armenian-American Hercule Poirot. It used to annoy the hell out of me. Anyway, one of the things she’s constantly stressing, or Hercule Poirot is, is that you have to pay attention to what actually happened.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Mortimer said.
“It makes sense, but most of us don’t do it,” Gregor said. “Take Sophie Mgrdchian. What actually happened?”
Mortimer looked confused. “We don’t know that yet, do we? She’s still in a coma and nobody is completely sure why?”
“We found her on the floor of the foyer of her house, in a coma, yes, and with this woman who says she’s Karen Mgrdchian, widow of Sophie’s brother-in-law, Marco, there with her. And Karen Mgrdchian, when we found her, said her name was Lily and seemed very disoriented. So far so good? That’s what actually happened.”
“Yes, all right,” Mortimer said. “So what?”
“So that’s what we should be concentrating on, and not the seven thousand things that might possibly have been the reason that brought Karen Mgrdchian to that house. Because that’s the other thing we know. Karen Mgrdchian’s fingertips have been destroyed. That’s a fact. Isn’t it?”