Fletch's Fortune Part 28

"Well, I'll tell you, Fletch. Crystal has the intelligence and imagination to do murder, and get away with it."

"I know."

"I'd hate to have her as an enemy."

"Me too."

"I s.h.i.+ver at the thought. I'd rather have a boa constrictor in bed with me. This Captain Andrew Neale, who's running this investigation, what do you think of him?"

"He's no Inspector Francis Xavier Flynn."

"Sometimes I think Inspector Francis Xavier Flynn isn't, either."

Flynn was the only person working for the Boston Police Department with the rank of Inspector.

"I think Neale's all right," Fletch said. "He's working under enormous pressure here-the press all over the place-trying to interview professional interviewers. He's under time pressure. He can keep us here only another twenty-four hours or so."

"Is there anyone else, Fletch, with motive and opportunity?"

"Probably dozens. Robert McConnell is here."

"McConnell. Oh, yeah. He was what's-his-face's press aide. Wanted to go with him to the White House."

"Yeah. And Daddy March endorsed the other candidate, coast-to-coast, which may have made the difference, gave Bob his job back, and sat him in a corner, where he remains to this day."

"Bob could do it."

"Murder?"

"Very sullen kind of guy anyway. Big sense of injustice. Always too quick to shove back, even when n.o.body's shoved him."

"I noticed."

"We'll do some b.g. on him, too. Who's this guy Stuart Poynton mentions in tomorrow's column?"

"Poynton mentions someone? The desk clerk?"

"I've got the wire copy here. He mentions someone named Joseph Molinaro."

"Never heard of him. I wonder what his name really is."

"I'll read it to you. 'In the investigation of the Walter March murder, local police will issue a national advisory Thursday that they wish to question Joseph Molinaro, twenty-eight, a Caucasian. It is not known that Molinaro was at the scene of the crime at the time the crime was committed. Andrew Neale, in charge of the investigation, would give no reason for the advisory.' Mean anything to you, Fletch?"

"Yeah. It means Poynton conned some poor slob into doing some legwork for him."

"Fletch, sitting back here in the ivory tower of the Boston Star. Boston Star...."

"If that's an ivory tower, I'm a lollipop."

"I can lick you anytime."

"Ho, ho."

"My vast brain keeps turning to Junior."

"As the murderer?"

"Walter March, Junior."

"I doubt it."

"Living under Daddy's thumb all his life...."

"I've talked with him."

"That was a very heavy thumb."

"I don't think Junior's that eager to step into the batter's box, if you get me. Mostly he seems scared."

"Scared he might get caught?"

"He's drinking heavily."

"He's been a self-indulgent drinker for years, now."

"I doubt he could organize himself enough."

"How much organization does it take to put a scissors in your daddy's back?"

Fletch remembered the stabbing motion Junior made, sitting next to him in the bar, and the insane look in his eyes as he did it.

Fletch said, "Maybe. Now, would you like to know who the murderer is?"

Jack Saunders chuckled. "No, thanks."

"No?"

"That night, during the Charlestown fires, you had it figured out the arsonist was a young gas station attendant who worked in a garage at the corner of Breed and Acorn streets and got off work at six o'clock."

"It was a good guess. Well worked-out."

"Only the arsonist was a forty-three-year-old baker deputized by Christ."

"We all goof up once in a while."

"I think I can stand the suspense on this one a little longer."

"Anyway, Christ hadn't told me."

"If you get a story, you'll call me?"

"Sure, Jack, sure. Anything for 'old times' sake.' "

Twenty-eight.

From TAPE Station 5 Suite 3 (Donald Gibbs and Robert Englehardt) (Donald Gibbs and Robert Englehardt) "Snow, beautiful snow!"

From his voice, Fletch guessed Don had had plenty of something.

"Who'd ever expect snow in Virginia this time of year?"

Fletch couldn't make out what Englehardt muttered.

"Who'd ever think my dear old department headie, Bobby Englehardt, would travel through the South with snow in his attache case? Good thing it didn't melt!"

Another unintelligible mutter from Englehardt.

"Well, I've got a surprise for you, too, dear old department headie," Gibbs said. "'What's that?' you ask with one voice. Well! I've got a surprise for you! 'Member those two sweet little things in Billy-Bobby's boo-boo-bar lounge? 'Sweet little things,' you say together. Well, sir, I had the p.i.s.s-pa-cacity to invite them up! To our glorious journalists' suite. This very night! This very hour! This very minute! In fact, for twenty minutes ago."

"You did?"

"I did. Where the h.e.l.l are they? Got to live like journalists, right? Wild, wild, wicked women! Live it up!"

"I invited someone, too." Englehardt's voice sounded surprisingly cautious.

"You did? We gonna have four broads? Four naked, writhing girls? All in the same room?"

"The lifeguard," Englehardt said.

"The lifeguard? Which lifeguard? The boy lifeguard? There weren't any other type. I looked."

Englehardt muttered something. There was a silence from Gibbs.

Then Englehardt said, "What's the matter, Don? Don't you like a change?"

"Jesus. Two girls and a boy. And us. For a f.u.c.k party. An orgy. Bob...."

"Take it calm, Gibbs."

"Where's the bourbon? I want the bourbon. Back of my nose feels funny."

The doorbell in the suite was ringing.

"And the Lord High Mayor ate pomegranates," Don Gibbs said. "Surprising fellas, department heads. Lifeguards with snow on. Boy lifeguards."

"... Confront new situations," Englehardt said. "Part of your training. Field training."

"Never saw anything about it in the manual."

Englehardt said, "You can do it that way, too."

Fletch's own phone was ringing.

"h.e.l.lo?"

He had turned the volume down on his machine.

It was Freddie Arbuthnot.

"Fletcher, I thought I'd be more subtle. Meet you for a swim? Or have you about had it for today?"

"Are you in your room?"

"Yes."

"Can't you hear my tape recorder?"

"That's how I knew you were still awake."

"Then you should be able to figure out I'm working very hard. On my travel piece."

"By now, I think, you'd have said everything there is to say about Italy."

"You can never say enough about Italy. A gorgeous country filled with gorgeous people...."

"All work and no play...."

"Makes jack."

"Why don't you stop working, and come for a swim? We can have the pool all to ourselves."

"What time is it in your room?"

"Midnight. Twelve-thirty-five. What time is it in yours?"

"My dear young lady. Crystal Faoni got very cold in that pool during the mid-afternoon."

"And with all her insulation."

"She was chilled."

"I saw your efforts to warm her up."