Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [31]
His face scrunched up as though trying to locate a file or program in his brain that would provide him with an answer. She noticed that his hand not holding the music was curled into a tight fist.
“Time’s up,” she said.
“All right,” he said glumly.
And so they talked.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The two o’clock meeting at the Washington National Opera’s administrative offices ended at three, and Mac and Annabel Smith and Ray Pawkins spent a few minutes outside the building.
“I’m glad they gave you what you wanted, Ray,” Mac said. “Unlimited access to anyone and everything
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Pawkins said. “The minute someone throws up a roadblock, you know you’re in trouble
“Where will you start?” Annabel asked.
“The Kennedy Center,” Pawkins replied. “I have some friends there who might help shed some light. I’ll also make contact with Ms. Lee’s family and friends. By the way, you were interested in what had been stuffed into her wound that kept her from bleeding too much. I said it was a sponge. Turns out to have been a theatrical sponge.” He reached into a briefcase and withdrew the one he’d purchased that morning.
“That’s it?” Annabel asked, incredulous.
“Similar,” Pawkins said, laughing gently. “I’m confident this is very much like the sponge that was actually used. I’ll know more after I’ve seen the bloody one. I’d better get going. See you tonight at rehearsal, Mac
“There’s a rehearsal tonight?”
“Afraid so,” Annabel said lightly.
“I thought you might drop out now that you’re investigating the murder,” Mac said to Pawkins.
“To the contrary. I can’t think of a better situation than to be a super at this time. Amazing what you can pick up in a dressing room. You two take care
The Smiths watched the tall, lanky detective saunter away, very much like a tourist out for a stroll through an Italian piazza.
“Interesting guy, huh?” Mac said as he and his wife headed for their car.
“Yes, interesting—and strange
Mac stopped. “How do you mean ‘strange’?”
“I don’t really know,” Annabel said. “There’s something about him that’s—well, that’s off-kilter, if you know what I mean
Mac smiled, and they continued walking. “Have you ever known a Homicide detective who wasn’t off-kilter?” he said. “You have to be a little crazy to work Homicide. Either that, or it makes you crazy
“Not having known many Homicide detectives, I’ll take your word for it
They got into their car and headed without delay for their Watergate apartment. Rufus would be waiting to be walked.
“What I find interesting about him, Mac, is the dichotomy between having spent a career investigating grisly homicides, and loving opera and art. He said he’s handled some private cases where rare musical manuscripts have been stolen, and works of visual art, too. There are two very different sides to your Mr. Raymond Pawkins
“There are two sides to everyone, Annie
“Including you?”
“Sure
“What’s your other side, Mac? I only know one, the one I love. Will I love your other side when it emerges?”
“Surely not. That’s why I keep it securely under wraps. If it ever broke loose—well, it wouldn’t be pretty
“Show it to me
“Is that an advance, lady?”
“Take it as you will, sir
“I intend to.”
• • •
Detectives Johnson and Portelain had their own two o’clock meeting, with their boss, Carl Berry.
“Okay,” Berry said, “run it past me. Willie, what did you get from the roommate?”
“Nothing. Nada. He wasn’t there. He was—”
“He was accompanying a singer at Takoma Park,” Johnson said.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Portelain said.
“I interviewed him,” Johnson said.
“He’s playing the piano right after his roommate dies?” Berry said.
“That’s what I thought,” Portelain said.
“So did I,” Johnson concurred. “Strange guy, Carl. Cold as ice, somber, never saw him break a smile the whole time I was with him. Told me to call his embassy, claims he has rights because he’s Canadian
“Cold? Like in cold-blooded killer?”
“Maybe
“Alibi?”
“Nothing ironclad. He claims