MASS MURDER (47 page)

“Thank you, Ms
.…uh?”

“Chambers.
My name is Sydney Chambers.
Cory should be home in a few minutes.
We’re going to the theater tonight.”

“Thank you, Ms. Chambers.
It shouldn’t take long.”

The suffocating smell of cigarette smoke permeated the room
,
and
a
new carton of Pall Malls sat on the kitchen counter.
While the room was filled with high-end steel-framed leather sectionals and several expensive pieces of artwork, it was clear Cory Poindexter wasn’t much of a housekeeper.
A trash container filled with empty beer bottles sat next to the refrigerator while the sink overflowed with dirty dishes.
Clothes were tossed carelessly on the floor
,
and a pair of dirty Nike tennis shoes sat underneath the couch.
A pair of women’s bikini underwear hung from one of the bar stools.
The girl allowed Giorgio to notice the panties and then coyly lifted them off the sto
ol and folded them in her hands.

“Did Cory mention anything about the murder that night?” he asked, conscious that she was staring at him.
He didn’t figure she could give him anything of note, but occasionally he’d had luck with offhand remarks made by secondary players.

“No,” she answered in her slow, Southern drawl.
“Just that some poor woman had gotten herself strangled.”
She played with the lace panties in her hands, slipping her fingers through the leg holes.

Giorgio
’s eyes
focused on the Nike shoes.
“Mr. Poindexter has boats for feet,” he joked, commenting on the size.

“Size twelve
-
something.
You know what they say?”
She smiled seductively, letting the question hang in the air.
When he only smiled, she finally asked, “
You’re that actor, aren’t you?”

She drew the last word out as if she were talking about a baby lamb.
The question took Giorgio by surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“You were in that play the other night.
You played a judge or something.”
She leaned over and grabbed a piece of paper off the glass coffee table, thrusting it in his face.
It was the program from
“
Witness for the Prosecution
”
.

“Oh, yes,” he faltered.
“I was the prosecutor.”

“You were good,” she said, finally bunching the panties up in her hands.
“I didn’t think I’d like that play, but Cory’s boss took us for opening night.
He loves the theater and invites Cory all the time.
We kind of have to go.
How’d that guy get stabbed in the end, anyway?
It looked real.”

This was not the murder Giorgio wished to discuss, but he didn’t know how to get off
the subject without being rude.

“Oh, it’s just a bunch of stage business.
If I told you, you’d be disappointed at how simple it was.”

Just then the door opened and Cory Poindexter walked in dressed in a crisp tan suit and blue silk tie.
He carried a slim briefcase and his car keys.
His mouth nearly dropped open at seeing Giorgio comfortably situated in his living room talking to his girlfriend.

“What are you doing here?”
He said this more gruffly than he probably intended.

“I had some questions,” Giorgio replied
.

The young man eyed him before handing his keys to the girl.
“Go get
the mail.”

She stuffed the panties between the seat cushions of the sofa and moved obediently toward the door.
“He was in that play, Cory.
He’s the guy with the wig.”
She giggled as she left the room.

“We’re going out soon.
What do you need to know?”
He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.
“I’d offer you one, but as I said, we’re leaving.”
The look on his face implied he enj
oyed the opportunity to be rude.

Giorgio decided to be blunt.
“You said you took a walk the night of the murder.
Where did you go?”

“I told you,” he said in between swigs.
“Just around the building.”

“But you
stayed close to the building?”

Giorgio watched him.
The man seemed to be calculating his answer but his nervousness showed as he tapped the side of the beer can with his index finger.

“I stayed on the path.
I wasn’t walking around in the flower beds if that’s what you’re getting at.
I went for a walk, not
a hike.”

Giorgio wondered if Poindexter had ever competed in sports since he clearly didn’t like losing.
He appeared casual, leaning against the counter, but the tightness in his jaw indicated he was anything but relaxed.
The two men locked eyes as if in combat u
ntil Giorgio broke the silence.

“You probably weren’t aware that we found a footprint.”

Giorgio was lying about the footprint, but he thought he might score a point here if his luck held.

“I hadn’t heard.”

“Yes,” Giorgio began to wander around the apartment, casually looking at the artwork.
“It was approximately a size eleven and a half.
Maybe twelve.”

He stopped at the end of the sofa where the tennis shoes sat and turned to catch Poindexter staring down at the shoes.
Poindexter looked up with the expression of an angry cur.
He pushed
himself away from the counter.

“I did
n’t kill that girl, Detective.”

The tone of his voice warned Giorgio to back off.
Giorgio ignored it.

“Oh, I’m sorry.
I wasn’t referring to the murder of that young woman.
The footprint was taken out in the vegetable garden
…
where we found another body
. A young man named Jeff
Dorman
.”

Poindexter’s facial muscles seemed to freeze in place.
He’d been caught off g
uard and didn’t like the angle.

“Who’s Jeff
Dorman
?” he asked tight lipped.

Giorgio began to circle the living room, making Poindexter rotate to follow him.
“Another conference attendee.
But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know who you’re tal
king about,” Poindexter replied.

“You were seen talking to him.”

“I talked to a lot of people.
That’s what you do at a conference.
It doesn’t mean I knew them all.”

Giorgio moved to where the ashtray sat on the counter.
“Where did you go that night when the man you were walking with went inside?”

“I stayed outside and had a cigarette.
There’s no crime in that.”

Giorgio lifted one of the cigarette butts out of the ashtray.
“I picked up a half smoked
Pall Mall
ne
ar where Mr.
Dorman
was buried.”

Poindexter stepped in and grabbed the ashtray, throwing the whole thing into the nearby trashcan.
“It’s a common brand.”

Giorgio looked directly at Poindexter.
“I suppose.”
He let his hand drop and deftly dropped the butt into his pocket.

Poindexter moved in close.
“Detective, if you want to arrest somebody you should talk with the people who were outside that night.”

Giorgio brightened up.
“Who would that be?”

“There was a monk hidden up in the trees having a cigarette.”

“How do you know it was a monk?”

“Because he was wearing robes.
It was just before I went back inside.”
He paused as if figuring out the details.
“I came down
…
I mean around the northeast corner of the building and saw a flash of light.
I looked up and could just barely see a monk standing under that large oak tree.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so,” he faltered, moving away from Giorgio.

“What about the person you said you saw from the window upstairs?”

“It was just a shadow moving in the direction of the west parking lot.”
This comment was made with confidence, making Giorgio believe he may have, in fact, seen someone.

“Was it another monk?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped.
“
I just saw a figure in the dark.
Now,
if you don’t mind, Detective.”

Poindexter started toward the door, but Giorgio felt like driving the needle in more deeply to s
ee if he might yet hit a nerve.

“You know we found mud all over the floor in your room.”

Poindexter stopped and turned, his face revealing a low level of fear.

“We shouldn’t have any trouble matching it to the garden
s because of the
high clay content.”
Giorgio began to move towards the door as if ready to leave.
“Vegetable gardens also use insecticides and fertilizers.
Shouldn’t be hard to see if that’s where the mud in your room came from.”

“I told you I took a walk,” Poi
ndexter scowled. “
Perhaps I stepped off the path into a flower bed.”
He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket.
When he noticed the
Pall Mall
brand
name he quickly put them back.

“But you just said that you di
dn’t step into any flower beds.”

“I said I couldn’t remember!” he nearly shouted.
He pointed a finger at Giorgio’s chest. “Listen, Detective, you ought to be out running down real clues and not over here
harassing me about dirty shoes.”

The game had gained mome
ntum, but Giorgio didn’t budge.

“I suppose the fact you changed out of your tuxedo into casual clothes that night would be a fact more to your liking.”
Giorgio held Poindexter’s gaze even though he had no testimony about a change in clothes.
The look on Poindexter’s f
ace told him he’d hit pay dirt.