Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [119]
“All right,” he said, “but I want someone from the embassy with me
“Sure,” Willie assured, placing a large hand on Warren’s bony shoulder. “We just have a few questions to ask. You answer them right, you’re back here tickling the ivories in no time.”
• • •
Annabel Smith was also at Takoma Park that day. She and Genevieve had spent the morning choosing costumes for a dozen supers to wear the following night at the Opera Ball. Genevieve had pulled out all the stops and tapped her list of past supers to come up with twelve volunteers. She’d inquired whether Mac and the other Tosca supers from academia would be willing, but they all declined, which she understood. Mac and Annabel would be guests at the ball by virtue of Annabel’s position on the board and the ball committee; Mac’s tuxedo had already been slightly let out by their tailor, and Annabel’s gown had been purchased, fitted, and now hung in her closet, ready to go.
Annabel and Genevieve left at one that afternoon and went to WNO’s administrative offices on Virginia Avenue, where yet another meeting of the ball committee was scheduled. That lasted until three. Individuals on the committee made plans to gather at various homes the following morning to read the reviews of the opening night of Tosca; Genevieve, Laurie Webster and her husband, Camile Worthington and her husband, and two other couples would join Mac and Annabel at their apartment for breakfast, ideally a place to celebrate how the critics received the production.
“Mind if Ray joins us for breakfast?” Genevieve asked as she and Annabel shared a taxi.
Annabel didn’t respond.
“Is there a problem?” Genevieve asked.
“Oh, no, of course not,” Annabel said, not admitting that she did have a problem. “By all means, ask him to come.”
• • •
Chris Warren sat alone in an interrogation room, the same one in which he’d been questioned earlier. Berry, Portelain, and Johnson observed him through the one-way glass.
“He give you a hard time?” Berry asked.
“No,” Johnson answered. “He balked at coming with us, but only verbally. Came along nice and peaceful
“What did you tell him?”
“Only that we had some more questions for him. We didn’t say what it was about. We didn’t mention Baltsa
“Good. I sent a team out to National Airport to look for Melincamp. We checked passenger manifests for flights going to Toronto today—Air Canada, United, and U.S. Air. No Melincamp booked on any of them
“Maybe he flew someplace else,” Willie offered.
“That’s always a possibility,” Berry said, “although why tell you he was going back to Toronto?”
“To confuse us,” Johnson said.
“If so,” Berry said, “I’d view that as consciousness of guilt. I put an APB out for him
“He was a bundle of nerves when we talked to him,” Johnson said.
“Like maybe he’d just offed somebody,” Willie said.
Berry looked through the window at Warren again. “All right,” he said, “you two lay it on the line for him, see if he breaks
“What about his lawyer?”
“I’ll notify the Canadian Embassy again, but I won’t rush. See what you can get from him before I do.”
• • •
Johnson sat across the table from Warren. Portelain stood behind him.
“Okay, Chris,” Johnson said, her voice and smile friendly, “let me get right to the point of why you’re here. When did you last see Ms. Baltsa?”
The question generated confusion on his face. “Zöe?”
“Why don’t you let me ask the questions first?” Johnson said.
Warren looked nervously back at Portelain, who leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his massive chest, a scowl on his face.
“When did I see her? I don’t know, maybe a day ago, maybe two
“You’re sure about that?” Johnson asked, her eyes confirming that the tape in the small machine on the table was running.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Why? Is something wrong with that?”
Willie pushed away from the wall and leaned over Warren. “You know what, dude?” he said. “You might be one hell of a piano player, but you suck as a liar
“I’m not lying
“The hell