Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [131]
They gravitated to the kitchen, where Pawkins had set a long table of antique French pine. A vase of freshly cut flowers dominated the middle.
“A drink to celebrate?” he asked. “Bloody Marys are mixed and ready to go
“I don’t think a celebration is in order, Ray,” Mac said.
“I disagree, Mac. Tosca is a smashing success. Last night’s Opera Ball raised a ton of money and is still D.C.’s social highlight. We lost a congressman, but the president emerges unscathed. And I am about to embark on a new phase of life
Pawkins poured drinks whether they wanted them or not, and joined them at the table. He raised his glass in a toast. “To all things good, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” One of the cats jumped up on the table, and Pawkins shooed him down. “All right,” he said, smacking his hands together as though cueing someone, in this case himself. “One, I did not murder Aaron Musinski
“We know that,” Mac said.
“Oh? How?”
“It doesn’t matter
“I knew it was Grimes from the beginning. So, my friends, your assumption that I did in the crotchety old bastard was wrong, terribly wrong. Frankly, I’m hurt that you would even think me capable of such a thing
“It wasn’t an unreasonable possibility,” Mac said, “considering what Josephson told us. Now we know differently
“I would certainly hope you do, and an apology is in order
Annabel ignored his call for them to apologize. “What about the Mozart-Haydn scores? Did you take them? Josephson claims you did. He had an impressive array of evidence to back up his accusation
“Of course I took them. Everything he told you about that is true
His easy admission of guilt silenced Mac and Annabel.
“You look shocked,” Pawkins said. “I can’t imagine why, a pair of worldly people like you. I spent twenty years with MPD, watching my fellow officers steal whenever it was convenient. They’d do a drug bust where a hundred packets of crack were found. How many were reported? Eighty? Ninety? The rest were sold to the same drug dealers who were busted and who walked, thanks to our screwed-up legal system
“Are you justifying what you did because of what others have done?” Annabel asked.
“You bet I am,” Pawkins said without hesitation. “I never did any of that. Steal drugs to put a few bucks in my pocket? Disgusting. I was a straight arrow, a complicit one maybe, looking the other way when my colleagues crossed the line. And do you know what? I never really blamed them. Cops don’t make a lot of money for putting their lives on the line every day to keep fat cats like you and the rest of official Washington safe from the bad guys. How much did you rake in, Mac, when you were defending the scum of the earth?”
“That misses the point,” Mac said. “And don’t broad brush your fellow cops, Ray. Most of them are honest, and you know it
Pawkins sat back and slowly shook his head. “How could you ever have thought I’d killed Musinski? Why would I have? I didn’t know he had those manuscripts. He’d come back from Europe with them only a few days before. No, I just happened upon them while I was spending time in the house trying to figure out who’d killed him. There they were, in his briefcase. They looked valuable, but I couldn’t be sure. I took them and had them authenticated by a source in Paris. He put me on to a collector named Saibrón, who gladly coughed up a half mil for them, which I graciously accepted. Everybody was happy, including yours truly. Nobody got hurt. I got paid enough to live decently. I took care of that whining little creep, Josephson. He’ll have enough to live happily ever after in some British old folks’ home. Saibrón made a profit, and the guy he sold the scores to can sit every night and drool over them. Everybody’s a winner
“A lot of people got hurt,” Annabel said, “and nobody won. Dr. Musinski’s heirs got hurt. So did the public that might have enjoyed those scores at some credible arts institution. You’re the biggest