Going Out in Style (6 page)

Janovy opened his mouth hastily to say no, but it was too late. George Drexler had leaped out of his chair, whipped off his whale mitt, and opened a viola case. He took out his instrument lovingly and tightened the bow. Then, with a flourish, he went into what he described as the middle of the first movement of the octet. “And it was
here
,” he said, talking as he played, “that that asshole Fred decided it wouldn’t be allegro moderato anymore—no, no, it would be presto all the way. Can you believe that?”

He whipped through a few more bars and then, with a sheepish glance at Janovy, put his viola away.

“I’m sorry. I love an audience. Susan always yells at me for that. There’s nothing I like better than to play.”

“I see. Very nice, Mr. Drexler. Now, can you tell me exactly when you arrived for the concert, and when you left?”

“Oh, yes. The concert started at eight o’clock. It ended around ten-fifteen, maybe ten-thirty. It was a long drive, so I wasn’t back here until about midnight.”

Janovy noted the times down carefully. “Thank you, Mr. Drexler. What’s the name of the group you played with?”

George said the group was called Philo Harmonia, and gave him the names and addresses of the other members. Then he went into the kitchen and came out holding a plate of fresh-baked bread. “Some cinnamon loaf?” he asked brightly.

Janovy refused and departed hastily, leaving George munching cheerfully on a thick piece of bread spread liberally with jam and butter.

Gretchen and Jessie had returned from their lunch at the Golden Eagle, replete with gossip they had gleaned from the waitress and several other diners, and were sitting in the living room poring over the newspaper when the doorbell rang.

Gretchen said mildly, “I expect that’s the police.”

She went to the door and came back with Detective Janovy firmly in tow. “Jessie, dear,” she said, “will you excuse us for a few minutes? I think we’d be more comfortable in here instead of the dining room.”

“Oh, of course—of course, Gretch—pardon me, I’ll just be a second—now, where did the weekend section go?… and where’s that book I was going to—
aah!
” She
pounced. “I’m off now. What a pleasure meeting you—you know,” she added hastily, “you know, Albert is truly a very nice man, I’m sure he
couldn’t
be involved with—oh!” She had caught Gretchen’s eye. “Well, I’ll just be on my way now … good-bye!” She bustled away, her arms filled with books and papers.

Gretchen laughed quietly. “She’s a dear person. All she lives for is to see me married. She has great hopes for me and Albert.”

Janovy settled down in a big overstuffed chair by the fireplace and cast an approving glance around. The house was cramped, but neat and tidy; it was cosily furnished and some very beautiful watercolors hung on the walls. Gretchen followed his gaze.

“Jessie did those. She’s very good, isn’t she? I particularly like this one.” She indicated a harbor scene with boats and sailing sloops. “That’s from a few years ago, when we went down to Mystic for a few days. We stayed right on the water. I swam and Jessie painted.” She moved across the room with her characteristic abrupt, graceless walk and folded herself stiffly into a chair. “But I don’t think you came here to talk about our summer vacations, did you?”

“No, Dr. Schneider. I’m afraid not. Can you tell me where you were last night?”

Gretchen’s account matched exactly with Albert Whitaker’s. They had left the campus around five forty-five, arrived at the Golden Eagle a little after six, left there for the art gallery at eight and gone to The Painted Man when the gallery closed at ten o’clock. She had gotten home a little after midnight.

“It’s our Friday night routine,” she said dryly.

“You and Dr. Whitaker have been seeing each other for a while?”

A faint spark of some kind of emotion leaped in her eyes. “Nine years.”

“And are you engaged?”

“No, we’re not.”

Janovy waited, but she did not seem disposed to go on. Finally she said with a little shrug, “Well, I don’t really think Albert’s the marrying kind. He’s a confirmed bachelor. You know the type.”

She seemed to be surveying him critically, as if he too were the type. He said, “What was your relationship with his mother?”

“Bella? It was civil, but that’s all. She never took to any of his friends, and she certainly didn’t take to me.”

“And Dr. Whitaker’s feelings toward his mother?”

“Oh, he was always devoted to her. Devoted. I think she pushed him around entirely too much, but Albert never even seemed to notice it.”

“So you were with Dr. Whitaker all evening, then?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, did you tend to stay near him at the art gallery, or were the two of you walking around separately?”

“Oh, we were together.” A faint smile crossed her face. “Albert lives at least ten or fifteen minutes away from the gallery, Detective. I’m quite sure I’d have noticed if he had left for nearly half an hour. No, I was at his side the entire time. A fascinating show—did he tell you? Aboriginal drawings. We’re thinking of scraping together some money to buy some of them.”

It wouldn’t need much scraping, out of sixty million dollars, to find the necessary funds, thought Janovy. “I see. And that’s your story, Dr. Schneider?”

She looked at him in an irritable way. “That’s the truth, Detective.”

“Thank you very much.”

He rose to go, but Gretchen waved him back into his seat. “There’s something else you should know, Detective. Jessie drove by the Whitaker place last night. She says she didn’t see anything, but I thought perhaps she should talk to you anyway.”

“Yes. Thank you. Would you please ask her to come in?”

Gretchen went out into the hallway and came back in a few moments with Jessie, who had a pencil stuck behind her ear, the weekend section in her hand, and a frightened look on her face.

Janovy said, “I understand that you were at the Whitaker house last night, Miss Lowell? What time was that?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she hastened to correct him. “I wasn’t there, actually
there
—I mean, I just drove by in my car. I often take the long way around on my way home from work, and last night I had a lot of things on my mind, especially one little girl who’s turning out to be a real problem. I don’t think she likes her mother very much. I haven’t decided what, if anything, to do about it—”

“Jessie,” said Gretchen.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I’m sorry, Gretch. I drove by there last night. But it was dark, you know. Pitch black. I didn’t
see
anything.”

“What time was that?”

“Oh, let’s see, it must have been a little after six or so. I usually leave work at five-thirty, but last night I was late because everything takes longer to tidy up at the end of the week, doesn’t it? So I left around six, I guess. Not that I look at the clock very much. The one at the center runs fast and so I don’t trust it. I have to remember to use my watch instead. I just got a new watch for my birthday and it keeps time beautifully. You see, it’s gold and silver with a blue dial, I think it’s quite striking—”

“When you went by the Whitakers’, was the porch light on?”

Jessie contemplated this. “Was the porch light on? Yes, you know, I think it was. Oh, I’m sure it was. I only caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, of course.”

“Was anyone parked in the driveway out front?”

Jessie said she didn’t know. She wasn’t sure. She was sure she didn’t know. “It was
dark
, you see. It gets dark at five o’clock these days, doesn’t it? I don’t think I saw a car. Of course the Whitakers have that lovely sweeping driveway out front, but I don’t think I saw anything. I wasn’t looking, you see. I was thinking about little Tiffany, and all the trouble she’s caused, and whether I should call in the child psychologist, I know a very good one, because I think she’s really very
unhappy
—”

“Did you see anyone entering the house?”

Jessie replied firmly that she hadn’t. She hadn’t seen
anything
. She had just swooshed by in her car and glimpsed the house out of the corner of her eye. That was all.

Throughout this interview, Gretchen had been sitting primly in the corner, her hands folded on her lap. Now Jessie cast her an appealing look.

“Is that all, then, Gretch? Because I’m halfway through the paper, and I
did
want to finish before dinnertime.”

“Yes, thanks, Jessie, that’s all. Isn’t it, Detective?”

Janovy got to his feet. “Yes, thank you very much. If you remember anything else, either of you, please give me a call.”

“Oh, we will,” said Gretchen. “We will.”

Janovy sat in his car outside the house for a while. He grew steadily colder as the frigid winter air seeped in. He didn’t like the way the interview had gone. He had the vague feeling that it had been stage-managed
by Gretchen Schneider, and the thought made him very uneasy. Was there something he had missed? Something else he could have asked?

At any rate, Jessie Lowell, whether she realized it or not, had implicated herself. By her own admission, she had been at the scene at just about the time when the murderer had entered the Whitaker house. Who was to say that she had not stopped there herself, gone in, and put the rope around Bella Whitaker’s neck?

Janovy sat there for a long time, feeling the early winter darkness close in on him. Finally he started the car and drove away.

Snooky woke up with a start, from a confused sleep filled with evil dreams and the disembodied heads of people he had known since childhood. Something large, dark and ominous was bending over him. He stared upward, terrified, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

The lights were switched on. Bernard said irritably, “Snooky, what in the world is the matter with you?”

“Oh. It’s you, Bernard. I’m sorry.” Snooky sank back onto the pillows. “I must have been having a nightmare or something.”

“There’s a detective downstairs who’s asking to see you.”

Snooky became aware that his head was throbbing mercilessly and the fact that he had screamed so loudly had not helped. “What time is it?” he whispered.

“Five-thirty. Nearly dinnertime.”

“It’s five-thirty in the afternoon and I have a hangover?”

“Maya gave you some of our best brandy before you took your little nap.”

“Oh … right. Listen, keep the detective busy for a few minutes, will you? I’ll be right down.”

When Snooky came downstairs five minutes later, he found Detective Janovy and Bernard sitting on opposite sides of the living room, staring silently at each other. Misty, a small red fur ball of a dog, was sitting at Bernard’s feet, also staring in a hostile way at the detective.

“Hello. I’m Snooky Randolph.”

“Detective Janovy.” They shook hands.

Bernard rose silently to his feet and moved off in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Brilliant conversationalist, isn’t he?” said Snooky cheerfully. “Keeps us entertained for hours. How can I help you, Detective?”

“If you’ll just answer a few questions about last night.…”

Snooky recounted in full his evening at Le Roi Soleil. He and Bella Whitaker were old friends; they had met years ago, when he was still in college, at a party in New York City. Whenever he came to town to visit his sister, he tried to give Bella a call. “I know the rest of the family, too,” he said. “Albert and Susan. And Great-aunt Etta’s a particular favorite of mine.”

“You arranged to meet Mrs. Whitaker downtown?”

“Yes,” said Snooky. He was going to be in New York during the day, so they had arranged to meet at Le Roi Soleil at eight-thirty.

“Mrs. Whitaker was killed, as you know, on her way out of the house. The earliest she could have been leaving was seven-thirty. It was a two-hour trip by train, so the earliest she could have been at the restaurant was nine-thirty. Was she usually that late?”

Snooky pondered this. “No, not really. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, maybe, but not a whole hour. She must have been detained somehow.”

“Yes. When did you set up this meeting with her?”

“Last Tuesday, on the phone.”