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“Did they get along?”

“I wasn’t that privy to their relations …” I hesitated, letting my small truth cover a large omission as I recalled the evening before and what Diantha told me about Merissa and Max Shofar. The substance of which I should have disclosed to the lieutenant. But I was reluctant to venture into the entanglements in which I found myself snared. I told myself it wasn’t that important. I told myself I would tell him later if it became necessary.

Keeping my expression neutral, I asked, “Was there any evidence of powder burns on von Grümh’s hands?”

The lieutenant thought for a moment. “No. None whatsoever. The GSR was negative.”

“GSR?”

“Gunshot residue. Why do you ask?”

“To rule out suicide.”

“Was he suicidal?”

“He should have been,” I said with a queasy laugh.

“Why do you say that?” The lieutenant did not laugh.

I sighed. “He was a very unhappy man. In my opinion.”

“What made him unhappy? In your opinion.”

I glanced sharply at the lieutenant to let him know I didn’t like his tone. I said drily, “He was one of those people who suffer the tragedy of getting everything they think they want.”

“Anything else?” he asked, grim with suspicion.

I shook my head outwardly and inwardly at myself. There was in fact much else to tell him about myself and Heinie and the night of his murder. About Merissa and Max and the motive they could have shared. I had even neglected to tell him about Col Saunders and the Dresden stater, one of the world’s most valuable coins. So I feigned thoughtfulness and lied. I said, “Not that I can think of.”

He briskly folded up his notebook. He stood up. He said, “And you, Norman, what did you have against Heinrich von Grümh?”

Again resorting to small truths, I said, “Oh, I thought the man a bore. But I’m sure I’d have been murdered myself long ago if that were a possible motive.”

At the door he granted me one of his wry smiles. “Don’t leave town, Norman.”

Which, though presumably meant as a jest, rattled me. I again cursed myself for not being candid with him. His questioning and especially his manner left me in a rare state of anxiety. How much did he already know? How much did he suspect? It is bad enough to sense when a friend begins to dislike you; it is worse when he ceases to trust you.

The best response to anxiety being action, I determined to walk down to Phil’s office to ask him about the coins when Doreen came in with the mail. I leafed through it listlessly. It included a letter from Millicent Mulally of Sign House that contained some remarkable information and the promise of another headache for me.

Dear Mr. de Ratour:

I am writing to inform you that I am engaged to be married on July 10, and that, well before that date, I will no longer be in a position to care for Alphus and to act as his guardian. My future husband and I will be moving to New York, where he works, to an apartment scarcely big enough for the two of us.

I will miss Alphus very much and hope to be able to visit him regardless of what his future living arrangements are. In this regard, you should know that it would be inhumane in the extreme to return Alphus to the cages in the museum. He is not like other chimpanzees in the least. It would be like condemning a man to prison for no reason whatsoever. It would be unjust.

Right now I am doing everything in my power to find Alphus another situation. I would suggest that he be left in the care of Boyd Ridley, who is a devoted friend. But Boyd has difficulties of his own and, to be candid, is not always stable. Unfortunately, at this time, I am not in a position to underwrite any suitable living arrangement for Alphus. I am hopeful that you, with all of the museum’s resources at your disposal, will be able to find him a real home.

You should also know that Alphus is not just an animal or even a pet. He is a highly intelligent and very sensitive individual. In fact, Alphus has learned to sign at an advanced level and has started to teach himself how to write using the computer. It seems he was familiar with the keyboard