The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [121]
I noticed his accent had reverted to something from the Lower Midwest.
His phone rang and we ignored it.
“Go on,” the lieutenant prompted.
“I happened to glance out the window just when von Grümh’s car came swerving into the road between the lots. I recognized it right away. I watched it for a while. Then I noticed Mr. Ratour. He was walking toward the main entrance. He seemed to notice the car and turn toward it for a few steps. He stopped and began to walk again toward the main entrance when I heard von Grümh call to him. Then Mr. Ratour went over to the car and got in.”
“How long was he there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.”
“And you watched the car all the time?”
“Yes.”
“What happened then?”
“Mr. Ratour opened the door and got out.”
“And during that time you didn’t hear a shot or anything?” Lieutenant Tracy asked.
“No.”
My heart lifted. It wasn’t me. Unless …
“Then what happened?”
“The car just stayed there. I watched it, wondering what was happening. Or what had happened. A little while later, Professor Saunders came along walking his dog.”
“And during that time, no one else either got into or out of the car?”
“No.”
“What did Saunders do?”
“He wasn’t far from the car when the door opened and I think von Grümh called to him. Saunders went over. His dog got in the car and then Saunders himself.”
“How long was Saunders there?”
“I don’t really know. Ten, fifteen minutes.”
I started to relax. Von Grümh had been alive when Saunders talked to him. Which meant that I had not murdered the man. Until that instant, I had not realized how much the possibility had weighed on me.
Still, we were all on the edge of our seats, waiting for the curator to continue. He appeared to be enjoying his moment in the dim limelight of our attention. After a moment he said, “I was watching the car when my phone rang. I knew it was him. He had probably seen me in the window.”
“What did he say?”
“He insulted me. He said I was a creep. He told me to come down and talk to him.”
“And you did?”
“I did.”
“And at that time, did he know that you knew the coins were fakes or suspected them of being fakes?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Were you blackmailing him?”
“No.”
I’m not sure any of us believed him, but right then it didn’t make a whole lot of difference.
“Go on,” the lieutenant said gently.
“I really didn’t want to go down. He had been acting really strange lately. I didn’t mind if he made a scene, I just didn’t want any violence.”
“Unless you initiated it yourself?” Lemure asked in his inimitable way.
De Buitliér kept his silence. Until, in a low voice, he said, “I can show you what happened next.”
We all looked at him and at each other. Really?
“Proceed,” said the lieutenant.
He got up and went over to a flat television screen hanging on the wall and turned it on. Then he took out what looked like a cell phone and plugged it into the television using a slender cable.
Standing to one side of the blank screen like someone about to give a presentation, he said, “Before I went down, I rigged up my cell phone camera. It allows me to put a small lens in my lapel and transmit the sound and video back to my computer. But I’ll let the results speak for themselves.” He touched a button on his phone.
There is the jerky movement of walking as he goes down the hall, down two flights of the fire escape stairs and out the back door next to the loading dock. The car comes into sight. The window rolls down. Heinie is heard saying, “Get in,” just as the door opens and he comes into view. The sound is raspy but clear enough so that what’s said is intelligible. Most of the time the lens, which is wide-angle, includes the driver in its field of view. Heinie says, his gloved hands on the wheel, staring straight