Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [54]
“Got sprung, man. I told them I was feeling topnotch and had important work to do, said the city needed me
He eyed the half-eaten jelly donut sitting on a napkin on the desk, which Sylvia moved behind a pile of file folders.
“So, Willie,” Berry said, “I understand you’re going on a diet
“Supposed to be,” he chortled, “only I don’t know what good it’ll do. These docs—man, they don’t know a hell of a lot. They poke around and stick you with all sorts a needles and then tell you to go on a diet and exercise. I’ve got pills, little white ones and little blue ones. You’d think they’d learn more than that in medical school, huh? Exercise? Get nothin’ but on this job. Right? The way I figure it, the man upstairs has everybody’s name on a list. He checks you off as you croak. When it’s your name that comes up, good-bye baby, hasta la vista, cash in your potato chips. All the diets in the world ain’t going to change that
“That’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard from you, Willie,” Sylvia said.
“Watch your mouth, girl. Just ’cause you were born with good genes don’t mean everybody was. Our number comes up, that’s it. In the meantime, here I am, ready to save Washington from the bad guys.” Then, quietly, to Sylvia: “Thanks, baby, for taking care of ol’ Willie yesterday
“You’d do the same for me,” she said.
“I’d do more than that,” he said, giving her what passed for a leer. “So, what’s up for today?”
“The Lee case,” Berry said.
“How about that punk piano player?” Portelain asked.
“The one you coldcocked?” Berry said.
“That’s him,” Willie said. “Hey, I didn’t hit the punk. He ran right into my arm
“So I heard,” said Berry. “Look, in the first place, he’s no punk. He’s maybe a little stupid when it comes to self-preservation, but from what we know, he’s a first-rate pianist. He’s not bringing charges
Portelain guffawed. “Him? Bring charges? For what?”
“Police brutality
“Screw him,” Portelain said. “I—”
“Forget about that,” Berry said. “Our friend doesn’t have an alibi that can be corroborated. He stays bright on the radar screen. I figure we let him stew for a day or two, lick his wounds, and do some thinking. In the meantime, I want you two—I assumed it would only be Sylvia, but now that you’re here, Willie, I want both of you to question those agents, Melincamp and his partner…” He checked his notes. “Ms. Baltsa
“I already talked to Melincamp,” Portelain said. “He’s a strange-o
“Talk to him again. Public Affairs is swamped with media inquiries. We need something to feed them. PA is holding a press conference at five. It would be nice if I could tell them we’re making progress. Get back over to the Kennedy Center in your spare time and pump anyone who was there the night she was killed. Let’s not limit things to the victim’s inner circle
“In our spare time?” Willie snorted.
“PA will say we’re making progress whether we are or not,” Johnson said. “‘No specifics,’” she said, mimicking a department spokesman. “‘We aren’t able to comment on an ongoing investigation.’ The usual
Berry stood and stretched. “Let’s move,” he said. “Oh, did you two see this?” He held up a copy of Washingtonian.
“No,” Johnson said, taking the magazine.
“Page one thirteen,” Berry said.
Johnson opened it.
“Man, what’s he got his picture in there for?” Willie asked.
“The Washington Opera,” Berry replied. “Remember? He used to hang out with those people
“He was in some of the shows,” Johnson said.
“Right,” said Berry. “Take it. I’ve read it. Talk to those two agents, and check in with me later. Good to see you back, Willie. Do what the doctors told you
As Portelain and Johnson headed out to interview Philip Melincamp and Zöe Baltsa, Berry met with his superior, Cole Morris.
“Anything new on the Kennedy Center case?” Morris asked.
“No,” Berry said. “Her roommate, the piano player from Toronto, Christopher Warren, isn’t off the hook. Johnson brought him in yesterday
“So I heard. He got banged up?”
“Yeah, but not to worry. He’s not bringing charges
“What’s with Willie Portelain?”
“He’s okay, out of the hospital. He and Johnson