Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [81]
“Actually, it’s plum-colored, but go ahead
“It looked purple to me,” Pawkins said. “At any rate, purple is considered bad luck in opera
“Why?”
“I feel like I’m back on the witness stand,” said Pawkins. “But to answer your question, Counselor, purple denotes religion, and operas were not to denote religion in their themes and stories. Samson and Delila broke through that prohibition, but purple is still considered bad karma onstage
“I’ll certainly keep that in mind, Ray. I have a wonderful pair of purple cashmere socks I intended to wear on opening night. I suppose that’s out of the question now. Any other admonitions?”
“Just one. Never whistle when you’re on the deck
“More bad luck?”
“Right
“Why?”
“I plead the Fifth, meaning I don’t know. Thanks for lunch, Mac. See you at rehearsal
Smith watched the former detective stride from the restaurant, turning a few female eyes as he passed their tables. Mac’s feelings were mixed. On the one hand, he enjoyed Pawkins’ company and respected what the man had accomplished—decorated cop elevated to detective status early in his career, and the lead investigator in high-profile cases; successful private investigator specializing in stolen art; and myriad personal interests, including opera to the extent that he volunteered to be an extra—a super—in various productions. All in all, a full and diversified life made richer.
On the other hand, there was a piece missing, one that Mac couldn’t identify at the moment. Annabel had picked up on it even sooner. The self-assuredness and easy banter seemed, at least to Mac, to cover up a void of some sort. An emotional vacuum? Possibly. Pawkins had never married. Did that indicate an inability to truly connect with another person, to engage in the give-and-take necessary for successful relationships, whether heterosexual or homosexual? Mac wasn’t a fan of cheap-shot, pop psychology and avoided indulging in it. But understanding other human beings was crucial to his success as a criminal lawyer. That’s what trial law was all about, anticipating the opposition’s moves and preempting them, getting under the skin of a witness by pushing his or her right psychological buttons, knowing what made people tick and how to throw them off their stride. He was good at it, sometimes so good that it caused him moments of guilt. Justice wasn’t always served in a courtroom, not when good attorneys plied their trade and used the system as advocates for a side or point of view, even if it represented a miscarriage of justice. But that was the game, the profession, and Mackensie Smith had played it as well as any lawyer ever has.
Ray Pawkins. What was it that had stirred Annabel’s interest and extended her antennae? What was it that caused Mac a minor-league discomfort as he sipped his coffee and abandoned his resolve against dessert for warm flourless chocolate cake?
He’d been tempted more than once during lunch to mention the call from Marc Josephson, but didn’t. He had no reason to think that Josephson’s sudden trip to Washington had anything to do with Pawkins. But something inside said it might well involve the retired detective, and he walked back to the apartment with that unsettling thought very much on his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It had been a busy and frustrating morning at MPD for Carl Berry.
His superior, Cole Morris, had informed him that he was being pulled from the Charise Lee case, at least for the time being.
“Why?” Berry had asked. “I think we’re making progress
“I’m sure you are,” Morris said, “but I take orders like you do. They want a task force assembled to focus on the Lee case
Berry started to respond but Morris waved him off. “I know, I know,” he said, “it’s all PR. But we’re getting pressure from Justice and the Canadians to solve this thing, to say nothing of the press. A task force sounds like it’ll make a full-frontal assault, waves of cops swooping down on the culprit. At least that’s the way the public will perceive it. Let them make the announcement,