That night, romance was definitely in the air at the Bistro. An engagement party was occupying one of the larger private rooms, with a mainly young crowd celebrating the prospective bride and groom with drinks and laughter. In the bar, I spied Juan and Bridget staring starry-eyed at each other while she awaited her cocktail orders. And A.W. seemed to have mistaken his purpose for being on the premises, spending more time guarding Cassandra’s body than mine.
Gin and Ted arrived at eight on the dot.
I’d decided we would dine in the small room upstairs at the front of the building, where, if a table is placed in exactly the right spot, the diners might get a glimpse of moonlight on the Hudson through the surrounding buildings.
Ted and I had duck breast with port sauce, and Gin, weight-watching, settled for scallops sautéed with garlic and herbs. I was happy to note that Ted’s condition on Wednesday had been a one-shot. Gin and I were doing the lion’s share of the wine drinking.
We were sipping after-dinner coffees when she asked, “Who’s that big blond guy who’s been pokin’ his head through the door every twenty minutes?”
“My bodyguard,” I said. I was feeling full and satisfied and considerably mellowed by more than a few glasses of French red Rhône.
“Then everything I’ve been hearin’ is true,” Gin said. “The guy who killed Rudy and Phil is now gunning for you.”
“At this point, the only gun has been loaded with paintballs,” I said. “If Felix really wanted to kill me, I’d be in a wooden box by now. So I don’t know if I’m worried or not.”
“Billy,” Ted said, “I’m going to need some quotes from you for the piece I’m writing.”
“I’m not that drunk,” I said. “In fact, everything I say from now on about anything is off the record.”
“I thought we were pals.”
“We are. And because of that, I don’t think it’s healthy for you to pursue this piece on Rudy’s murder. In fact, you probably need a bodyguard more than I do.”
“What are you talking about?” Ted said.
“Keep turning over Rudy’s bones and you’ll eventually catch the attention of some nasty people. If you haven’t already.”
“Meaning what?”
“Nothing you don’t know,” I said. “Three of the guys who were at your table at that Irish pub in Kabul are dead. That leaves just you and the other two Touchstone guards.”
Ted brushed the hair from his forehead. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind.
“What?” I asked.
“I found out yesterday. Fredricks was killed in a sniper attack. Okay, I’m scared now. Billy, if you’ve got any idea what the hell is going on, tell me. Off the fucking record, if that’s how you want it.”
“That’s how I want it,” I said, and told him what I’d learned from the commander about Rudy’s mission and what I’d surmised.
“You’re saying Carl Kelstoe hired the infamous Felix the Cat to kill Rudy,” Ted said, brushing his hair back from his eyes for the hundredth time that night.
I nodded.
“Why murder Phil Bruno?” Gin asked. “And why threaten you?”
“I can’t figure the Phil connection,” I said. “He taped Hall passing something to Rudy in the Irish pub. But I don’t see how Kelstoe or anybody else would have known about that. Phil himself hadn’t been aware of what he’d shot until he and I discovered it two nights before his murder. And I don’t know why that video would have made Kelstoe nervous enough to turn Felix loose on Phil.”
“Maybe Felix had his own reason,” Ted said. “Phil was in Kabul for several days. From what I’ve heard about Felix, nobody knows what he looks like. What if he just happened to step into one of Phil’s pan shots and wanted to make sure nobody ever saw that footage?”
“Not bad,” I said.
“And let’s say Felix has been stalking Phil and saw him with you,” Ted said. “That would have put you on Felix’s list, too.”
“Lucky me.”
“Maybe ah’m missin’ something,” Gin said, “but assuming Felix set fire to Phil’s building to destroy all of his tapes and films, why didn’t he set fire to Rudy’s building? Why’d he go to all the trouble of poisoning Rudy’s food? And how’d he get the food, anyway, Billy? Wouldn’t that mean that Felix had to come to this restaurant, buy the dinner, treat it with poison, and then get Rudy to let him into his condo with it? How did he get into Rudy’s building without the security camera picking him up or the doorman seeing him?”
“Here are some of the answers,” I said. “I’ve been told that when Rudy was expecting a visitor and he didn’t want the guard or the camera to notice, he’d leave the building’s alley service entrance unlocked. Let’s say that night he was expecting Carl Kelstoe with the cash to purchase the recordings. Felix picked up the dinner from here, doctored it, and handed it off to Kelstoe, who made a gift of it to Rudy.”
“Or Felix went in Kelstoe’s place,” Ted said. “Rudy lets him in and surprise, surprise! Felix takes the so-called evidence and, instead of paying Rudy money, forces him to eat the poisoned food.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “According to the detectives, Rudy ate quite a lot of the dinner and washed it down with wine. Doesn’t sound like he was forced.”
“Another thing the cops told us,” Gin said, “the killer trashed Rudy’s apartment. Like he was looking for something. So maybe Rudy died without telling Felix or Kelstoe or whoever where the recordings were. And they tried to find ’em. And maybe they didn’t.”
Thanks to my brush with the fake cop, I tended to agree with “didn’t.” What I still found puzzling was the sequence of events on the night of the murder.
Rudy had an appointment to meet someone who was going to make it possible for him to quit WBC and marry Melody. That someone—probably Carl Kelstoe or Felix—purchased the food from the Bistro, poisoned it. Rudy was expecting a visitor, had told the visitor about the unlocked alley door. Had trusted the visitor enough to devour the food that was brought. For some reason the visitor had left after his death. When Gretch arrived, the place was still relatively in order. But when the cops showed up the next day, it was a mess.
I couldn’t think of a reason why Gretch would lie about the condition of the apartment, even if she had killed Rudy because he’d been unfaithful. That left only three possible conclusions:
1. Whoever poisoned Rudy didn’t know or care about the recordings, and, consequently, whoever cared about the recordings arrived after his death and after Gretchen’s visit to trash-search the place. Or …
2. Whoever killed Rudy and cared about the recordings was in the condo when Gretchen arrived and waited for her to leave to trash-search the place. Or …
3. Whoever killed Rudy cared about the recordings but for some unknown reason left the apartment and came back later for the trash-search.
“Well, what about it, Billy?” Gin said. Her face was flushed, eyes glistening. I’d evidently tuned out of the conversation.
“Hmmm,” I said, wondering what I’d missed.
Ted filled me in. “You really think it could still be hidden in Rudy’s apartment?”
“Let’s go see,” Gin said.
“Bad idea,” I said.
“Why?” Gin asked. “The cops are through with the crime scene by now. If they’d come across anything like a recording of somebody settin’ up a hit in Iraq, they wouldn’t still be on your case, Billy.”
“But they are. And they’re saying a prayer each night for a reason to arrest me. Finding me at the scene of the crime would be like Christmas for them.”
“Okay, you stay here and be a good boy,” Gin said. “We’ll go find the flash drive, won’t we, Ted?”
“I don’t know, Gin. I can see the headlines now: ‘Fifteen-Million-Dollar Woman Arrested at Crime Scene,’ and in much smaller type, ‘Hack Reporter Boyfriend Also Apprehended.’”
“You guys are wusses,” she said, getting up too quickly and wobbling a little. “I’ll go by myself.”
Ted and I watched her weave toward the door. “I can’t let her do this alone,” he said, and went after her.
Sighing, I got up and joined them.
“Here’s the deal,” I said. “We go to the apartment. If there’s still police tape on the door, we turn around and call it a night. No police tape, we’ll go in and look around.”
“We’d still have to break in,” Ted said.
“Not literally,” I said. “I know where Rudy kept a spare key.” Thanks to Gretchen.
“Well, that’s perfect, then,” Gin said and hiccuped.
The dining room was nearly deserted. Just the busboys trying not to look daggers at the couples at two tables who were lingering over their after-dinner drinks.
As we headed toward the front door I spied A.W. sitting at the bar with Cassandra. I’d decided to bring him along, just in case we were to run into a shadowy, self-promoting hit man. But as I took a step toward him, both he and Cassandra, totally engrossed in each other, suddenly roared with laughter over something she’d just said.
It was the first time I’d ever heard her laugh.
Instead of disturbing them, I led Gin and Ted away from the happy couple to the exit at the rear. I considered my decision romantic, but, as I would learn, sneaking out on my bodyguard was an act of wine-induced hubris and sheer stupidity.