Chapter 20

THE ATMOSPHERE IN Leo Seligman’s office was colder than inside a meat locker.

I couldn’t leave quickly enough.

Detectives Phoenix and Flynn caught up with me at the elevator. “We need to have a talk,” Phoenix said. I stuck my hands straight out in front of me, wrists together.

“I’m a size seven and a quarter in handcuffs,” I said.

“How do you know that?” Flynn asked, raising a brow.

“She’s kidding.” With a gentleness that surprised me, Phoenix used one of his large hands to push mine back down. “But we really do need to have another talk,” he said.

WE SETTLED OURSELVES in a booth at a coffee shop on Lexington Avenue, around the corner from the Seagram. The waitress put cups in front of us, filled them and departed.

“This is our second date, guys. Is it my turn to pay?”

“Why do you try to turn everything into a joke?” Phoenix asked.

“Because when I cry, my mascara runs.”

Flynn snorted. “Just like my wife.”

“Look, I swear to you—both of you—I had no idea what was in Damon’s will. We had nothing remotely like a romantic relationship.”

“You two never even kissed?” (Flynn)

“Not with my cooperation.”

“So he was after you.” (Phoenix)

“Now and then. Never with any success. But striking out with me didn’t bother him. His date book was always full.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Flynn asked. “We just heard him leave you at least seven million dollars.”

“No, I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“You make up plots for a living,” Phoenix said, picking up the ball. “Think about this. If you and Radford were not going to get married, then why would he put you in his will? What possible reason could he have?”

“He had no reason whatsoever. He knew I despised him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to have his money.” I stopped talking as I realized something that hadn’t occurred to me.

Phoenix caught the expression on my face. “What are you thinking?”

I didn’t want to tell the truth about what I was thinking, not yet. First I needed some information, so I tried to get it by bluffing.

“I’m amazed you consider me a suspect,” I said. “I couldn’t possibly have murdered Damon, and you should know that.”

Flynn got hot. I had impugned his detective-hood. “Yeah? And just how should we know that?”

“I have an alibi.”

“Who? Who’s your alibi?”

“Alexander Graham Bell,” I said. “Think about it. Joe Niles called me a few minutes after one in the morning. I was home. I couldn’t have shot Damon, pushed him over his balcony just before Joe found him, and got home in time to answer Joe’s call.”

“You had plenty of time,” Flynn said.

“Not even if I flew.”

“You could have crawled and still had plenty of time.”

“Radford didn’t go over the balcony just before Niles got there,” Phoenix said. “According to the medical examiner, Radford was killed sometime between eleven P.M. and midnight. His body couldn’t be seen from the street because of the hedge enclosing the patio. It was Niles’s assumption that Damon crashed just before he got there. And, initially, it was ours.”

“Wrong-o,” said Detective Flynn.

The probable time of death. That’s what I was hoping they’d tell me.

“So,” I said, “I’ve just lost an alibi—and gained a motive.”

“You can help yourself,” Phoenix said. “Send us in another direction.”

“I have no idea who killed him. I can’t just sic you on somebody.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“Okay, guys,” I said. “No more jokes. Just how much trouble am I in here?”

“Take my advice,” Flynn said. “Don’t make any long-term plans.”

I WALKED BACK to West Seventy-Second Street, thinking about what had occurred to me at the coffee shop.

Damon’s money.

There was one word in Damon’s will that nagged at me because I didn’t know what its relevance was. In the general description of his assets—stocks and bonds and real property—I had heard the word “royalties.” As far as I knew, Damon had never written a published book, or a produced screenplay or songs, invented something or done anything for which one might collect royalties.

Finding out what royalties he received might lead me to the source of his fortune.

And that just might provide a clue as to who murdered him.