Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [22]
Frazier broke into their conversation. “Camile will coordinate with Annabel on the arrangements to be made with Mr. Pawkins.” He was referring to Camile Worthington, who headed up the board’s executive committee, and who’d called Annabel at the Watergate to tell her about the emergency meeting. They agreed to meet privately once this meeting was concluded.
Frazier concluded by saying, “I hope what Laurie said will be heeded. We don’t need the press twisting what any of us say, and that includes the use of this detective to help us investigate internally. Anything else?”
Annabel and Camile adjoined to a small office adjacent to the conference room.
“When can we get together with Mr. Perkins?” she asked.
“It’s Pawkins,” Annabel corrected. “I don’t know, but I can call Mac on his cell. Maybe they’re still together
Mac and Pawkins were in the middle of breakfast when his cell phone rang.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Annabel said. “I’m here with Camile Worthington. She’s wondering when she and others can get together with Mr. Pawkins
She heard Mac confer with Pawkins. “Ray says he’s free all day
“This afternoon at WNO headquarters? Say two?” was Annabel’s suggestion.
Another confab between the men. “We’ll be there,” said Mac.
Annabel found it interesting that her husband would be with Pawkins at the meeting. She knew he had a break in his teaching schedule while his students studied for final exams. Still, it was an indication that he would do what she suspected, take a more active part in the investigation than his protest had promised. His tendency to warm up slowly to something new wasn’t a matter of being difficult. Mackensie Smith was simply a man who didn’t leap into strange waters without first testing their depth and temperature. Like any good lawyer.
• • •
Mac and Pawkins were finishing their coffee. Mac had dressed casually in response to the hot weather that was pressing down on the city. He was in chino slacks, a tangerine-colored polo shirt, and sneakers. Pawkins, on the other hand, seemed impervious to the heat and humidity. He wore a beautifully tailored, blue poplin suit, a pale cream shirt, and a tie with a graphic of the Mona Lisa on its blue field. The air-conditioning in the restaurant was barely keeping up with the discomforting weather, and Mac dabbed at perspiration on his forehead from time to time. Pawkins never broke a sweat; Mac thought of the E. G. Marshall character in the film Twelve Angry Men.
“Where do you live, Ray?” Smith asked.
“Great Falls
Mac’s eyebrows went up. “Lovely area,” he said.
“How does a retired cop live in such a high-rent district?” Pawkins said. “I fell into it. I rented a gatehouse for years owned by a wealthy real estate guy. He decided to sell and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Actually, it’s pretty modest, although I’ve put in some improvements. How do you like living in the Watergate?”
“We’re very happy there
“That’s what counts
“You said last night that something had been wedged into the wound to stop the bleeding. Any idea what it was?”
“A sponge
“Oh? I had the feeling that you didn’t know what it was
“I didn’t. I called Carl Berry this morning before meeting with you. He’s lead on the case
“You work fast
“The faster the better where homicide is concerned. Carl is a good guy, a straight shooter, at least with me
“You told him you were investigating for the opera company?”
Pawkins nodded.
“I imagine the powers-that-be there would prefer to keep it sub rosa,” Smith said.
“To the extent that it can be. I’ll need MPD cooperation, at least unofficially.” He pushed back his chair, cocked his head, and grinned. “A sponge,” he said. “Now, who would have access to a sponge on an empty stage at the Kennedy Center?”
“I have a feeling you’ll answer that question
“That’s my intention.” Pawkins motioned for the check.
They parted on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and agreed to meet at the Opera’s administrative offices at two. As they shook hands, Mac laughed.
“What’s funny?” Pawkins asked.
“We spent an entire breakfast