The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [91]
Mr. Miffkin asked, “Where is all this innuendo leading?”
The officers stared at Saunders in stony silence for a moment. Then, as though rehearsed, Sergeant Lemure said, “Well, first off, this evidence constitutes the basis of a powerful motive.”
“How do you arrive at that?” the lawyer asked, more cautious now.
“We think it’s possible that Mr. von Grümh was gathering evidence that could ruin Professor Saunders’s career.”
Sergeant Lemure leaned forward. “Right now, we’re not sure whether we have enough evidence to pass along to the district attorney’s office for charges related to statutory rape. A problem for you is that once the files leave the SPD, we can no longer guarantee their confidentiality.”
The lawyer bristled visibly. “This is nothing less than prosecutorial blackmail.”
Professor Saunders put an arm on the man’s sleeve. “I’ll answer any questions they want me to.”
“As your counsel, I advise you …”
“Gavin, please. In the matter of Heinie’s death, I have nothing to hide.”
“Good, then let us proceed.” Lieutenant Tracy motioned to his colleague.
Sergeant Lemure began reading from a script I had provided. “Please answer just yes or no unless otherwise directed …”
“Col, really …”
“Gavin, shut up.”
I glanced significantly at Alphus. He nodded.
The sergeant began. “Did you see Heinrich von Grümh on the night he was murdered.”
“Yes.”
Alphus glanced at me and his thumb went up.
“Did you see H. von Grümh with a revolver on the night he was murdered?”
“Yes.”
Thumb up.
“Do you know where that gun is now?”
“No.”
Thumb up.
“Did you murder H. von Grümh?”
“No.”
Thumb up.
“Do you know who murdered H. von Grümh?”
“No.”
Thumb up.
“At approximately what time did you meet H. von Grümh on the night he was murdered? As best as you can remember.”
“As I told Mr. de Ratour, it was just about eight forty.”
“That’s all, Professor Saunders,” the lieutenant said and stood up.
Clearly chastened, Saunders spoke in a supplicating manner. “Lieutenant, regarding that other matter …”
“Oh, yes. We’ll keep you informed as things develop.”
“But …”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss it further. And, like you, I have other things to do.”
Afterward the lieutenant, Alphus, and I met in the interrogation room. “He passed,” I said. “According to Alphus, he’s innocent. At least of that crime.”
The officer looked at Alphus with what I would call a cop stare. “So you really can tell when someone’s lying, huh?”
Alphus nodded and signed “yes.”
“But what if the answer isn’t a yes or no?”
Alphus gave a little pant hoot, held up his thumb, and turned it level.
“My middle name is Chester.”
The thumb went up.
“I have a dentist appointment tomorrow at one o’clock.”
Alphus hesitated. Then his thumb went down.
The lieutenant gave one of his rare laughs. “He’s right. It’s at two o’clock. Damn, I’m a believer.”
He would have been more than a believer had he read the sample of Alphus’s memoir that I perused that evening. On the way home, as a reward, I stopped by a small Italian take-out place and bought him his new favorite — a large pizza with extra cheese and sausage. This he manages to consume in one sitting along with one or two cans of beer.
In fact, I’m starting to notice a decided change in his personality ever since I told him he was one of the “guys.” He has begun wearing a baseball cap with a red B embroidered on the front. He has forsaken wine for beer and no longer fusses about single-malt whiskeys. And, instead of reading, he spends an inordinate amount of time watching baseball on the television.
Not that it matters. In the most recent part of the memoir that he gave me to read, he writes that escaping from the pavilion was easier to dream about than to do. He bided his time and worked, as we used to say, to improve his mind.