Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [113]
Pawkins secured his locker door and turned to Mac, his sport jacket open at the waist, enough for the Glock in its holster to be visible. He’d substituted it for the .22 at home before coming to the Kennedy Center. Satisfied that Smith had seen it, he closed the jacket and said, “Going to be a great production, Mac. Agree?”
“I’m sure it will be,” Mac said. He lowered his voice. “Do you always arm yourself for opera rehearsals?”
Pawkins laughed. “Oh, that? You noticed, huh? No. But I’ve decided that with all the street crime in D.C. these days, especially with the weather getting warmer—it brings out the bad guys—I might as well tote some protection. By the way, it’s registered
“I’m sure it is,” Mac said. “Wouldn’t do for a former cop to carry an unregistered weapon.” When Pawkins didn’t respond, Mac added,
“Would it?”
“No, it wouldn’t, Mac. I see that Annabel is here. Feel like a drink? I promised Genevieve one. We were supposed to have dinner, but I bailed
“I don’t think so, Ray. It’s been a long day for both of us. It’s straight home
Am I missing an opportunity? Smith wondered. He decided he wasn’t. He and Annabel had more to discuss before confronting Pawkins with a question as serious as whether he was a thief and murderer.
“Well, see you tomorrow for dress rehearsal,” Pawkins said. “If you remember what it was you wanted to call me about, I’ll be home most of the day
“Sure,” Mac said as they went up the aisle to where Annabel and Genevieve waited.
“Good evening, Mrs. Smith,” Pawkins said, his face creased with a wide smile. “Enjoy your husband’s performance?”
“I think he made all the right moves,” she responded. “Walked straight ahead
“All the right moves,” Pawkins repeated. “That’s been the story of the counselor’s life, hasn’t it?”
The edge in his voice caused Annabel to meet his eyes without saying anything.
“Well,” Pawkins said, “this lovely lady and I are on our way for a nightcap. Ready, Genevieve?”
“I’m always ready for a nightcap,” she said brightly. “Especially in the morning
“I invited you and your husband to join us,” Pawkins said to Annabel, “but he claims advancing age. You two enjoy an early to bed. Ciao!”
Mac and Annabel decided to have a nightcap, too, but not at the Watergate Hotel bar or 600 restaurant, where Pawkins and Genevieve might have gone. Instead they walked up 25th Street to the River Inn’s Foggy Bottom Café. The manager was in the process of closing, but invited them to have a drink, his treat. It was the perfect setting for a serious discussion. They were the only customers there.
“Did he have anything to say to you tonight?” Annabel asked after they’d been served and the manager had disappeared into the kitchen.
“Ray? No
“He was acting strange
“So I noticed. He’s always smug, or a little strange, but there was an extra dollop of it tonight
“I’m worried about Genevieve
“Because she went out for a drink with him?”
“Yes.” She gripped his arm on the bar. “Mac, the man may be a murderer
“I’m well aware of that, Annie
“You have to go to the police
“With what? We’ve been over this before. I have nothing except the word of a slightly unbalanced Englishman. He took all his supporting evidence with him, every scrap
“The police can call Josephson
“To what end? If Ray paid Josephson off, he undoubtedly bought his silence. Josephson doesn’t give a damn about who killed Musinski. He opted to not go to the police while he was here because that would muddy the waters about the money from the musical scores, and who it belongs to. Frankly, I wonder if he’s even entitled to half of it. He never showed us any piece of paper between him and Musinski regarding the scores.” He downed the remainder of his cognac.
“There’s only one approach,” he said, “and that’s for me to confront Pawkins
“For us to confront him, you mean,” she said.
“No, you stay out of it, Annie
“Absolutely not. I was there when Josephson told his tale, and I’ve been in the loop