The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [22]
I nodded and avoided his eyes. “Yes. I should have told you.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning.”
I sighed deeply. I said, “Around seven fifteen on that evening, I met by arrangement with Heinie, Mr. von Grümh, at the Pink Shamrock. It’s the gay pub down on Belmont Avenue. That venue signifies nothing. It was handy to the office and I was working late when he called.”
“What were you meeting about?”
I hesitated, embarrassed. When I spoke, I felt like I was making an official statement. “About a year and a half ago, Heinie … von Grümh had an affair with Diantha, my wife. Di called it a fling, a weekend thing. In any event, it didn’t last long and in the meanwhile we have patched things back together.” I was gratified to see he was not taking notes but just listening very intently and with what might have been sympathy.
“But lately Heinie had taken to calling Diantha. At first it was just friendly calls, looking for advice and sympathy.”
“Regarding what?”
“I don’t know all the details. I think his wife, Merissa, Merissa Bonne, was having an affair. In fact I know Merissa was having an affair, and it was driving Heinie mad.”
“Do you know who the person was? The one she was having an affair with?”
I hesitated a moment. Then I said, “Max Shofar.”
The detective took out his notebook. “Anything to old Abe Shofar?”
“His son. He’s a coin dealer. In fact, he was von Grümh’s principal locator.”
“He found coins for him?”
“Yes.”
“Including the collection von Grümh gave to the museum?”
“Some of them. Most of them, I think.”
“So von Grümh started to call your wife?”
“He did. It turned compulsive. He kept asking her to meet him for coffee. It became a kind of stalking.”
“So you arranged to meet with him instead?”
“Yes. We were supposed to have a cup of coffee, but he wanted a drink. So we went to the Shamrock.”
“Had you been there together before?”
I resented the possible insinuation in his question. I said, flatly, “No. We went there because it was handy. I had a glass of ale. He had whiskey and soda. Several in fact.”
“And you talked?”
“It was quite civilized actually. I told him he could not continue to call Diantha, that she was not interested in him or in resuming her liaison with him.”
“How did he take that?”
“Surprisingly well. He apologized profusely. You know, one of those apologies that become embarrassing. It was all I could do to resist apologizing for making him apologize. And then …”
The detective waited patiently.
“Well, it was then that he began to complain to me about Merissa’s affair with Max Shofar, and I could tell that he was shifting the burden he had imposed on Diantha onto me.”
“What did he tell you about Max Shofar and his wife?”
“Oh, the usual things. He couldn’t see what she saw in him. He said he was little more than a petty playboy, a shallow character who would go broke if it weren’t for the help and business that he, Heinie, threw his way.”
“Is any of that true?”
“The playboy part, maybe. But Max actually does a large mail-order business.”
“Anything else?”
“Not really. He repeated himself ad nauseam, variations on the same theme. He said he was at his wits’ end. That life had lost its meaning for him.”
The lieutenant waited, his patience apparent as I paused to catch my inner breath. I went on. “He also said that it shouldn’t have bothered him as he didn’t care about Merissa anymore. That he had decided to divorce her.”
“But he was still strung out about it?”
“It seemed that way.”
“At what time did you leave the pub?”
“Not long after eight. Ten past maybe.”
“And did you part company then?”
“No. He drove me back to the museum.”
“Where he dropped you off?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do then?”
“I took a walk. To clear my head.”
“For how long?”
“I’m not sure. Ten, fifteen minutes.”
“Where did you walk?”
“Over to the Arboretum. There’s a well-lit path along