Logical, thought Sigrid. "So your computer ensures that spouses or friends don't play each other."
"At least not in the earlier rounds. Towards the end it can't be helped. Of course, we have consolation games, too. The main tournament will go on until tomorrow night, but in another hour or so we'll be in a sort of mini-tournament for people who've been eliminated so far. Tonight we'll start a couple of smaller pools where losers can buy in for five or ten dollars. Our policy is to let as many people keep playing as long as they want to."
"When were the first pairings made?"
"The deadline for entries was two weeks ago. Our corporate office handles all that. I got the printout Monday and sent it over to Miss Baldwin here-was it that afternoon, Molly?"
The girl had been following his every word and Sigrid noted how she colored faintly at the intimacy of his smile, recovered quickly, and said, "The messenger brought it Tuesday morninga nd I hand-carried it straight down to our graphics studio with a rush order. They sent it back up sometime Thursday morning because it was there in the hall when I came by after lunch and that's when I set it inside the d'Aubigné Room."
"Which means that anyone passing through the hall could have seen it and learned who was to sit where for the opening round," Sigrid mused.
"Yes," Molly Baldwin nodded. "Ted-Mr. Flythe told me it was to be kept confidential, but I forgot to tell them downstairs and-"
She looked so miserable that Flythe reached over to pat her hand consolingly. "Don't blame yourself, Molly. For my money, the bomber probably didn't know where to put it till just before we started last night."
"Why do you say that, Mr. Flythe?" Lieutenant Knight asked.
In answer, Flythe caught the eye of one of the Graphic Games crew and signaled for her to come over.
"This is Kelly Underbill," he told them. "Keeper of our cribbage boards.
Now, Kelly, I want you to tell Lieutenant Harald exactly what you told me this morning."
"Sure, Mr. Flythe," beamed the freckle-faced youngster, thrilled to be in the spotlight. Stretching out her shining moment as long as possible, she told her audience that she was entrusted with keeping tabs on the expensive cherry cribbage boards. "The losers can keep the cards if they like, but they have to return the boards because they cost too much to give away."
Graphic Games had provided two hundred and seventy-five boards packed in eleven boxes. That was twenty-five to the box, she explained, and they were packed in five rows with five boards to each stack so it was easy to keep a running count.
"I gave Mr. Flythe three boards on Thursday to put in those glass display cases and when one of them got stolen, I gave him another board to make up for it; so that left me with two hundred and seventy-one.
"Then last night, we had two hundred fifty set out to play with, which left mew ith twenty-one boards, see?"
She waited for their confirmation, and receiving Knight's nod, went on eagerly.
"Well, this morning, when the players decided to go on with the tournament and the policeman in the other room said we could move our stuff, we packed up all the boards and brought them in here. Some of the pegs got lost-we had to send over to the office for extras-but I found two hundred and seventy boards. Of course two of them were broken-from the explosion, I guess.
"I didn't think anything about having that many because I knew one of them'd had the bomb in it; but Nancy Kaiser knew I was worried about keeping up with all the boards-anything missing comes out of my pocket, see?-and she told me that the police had taken one of them for comparison tests or something."
She held out the crumpled receipt her friend had been given by someone in Forensics. Sigrid examined it and then handed it back.
"Well, don't you see?" said the girl. "After one board got stolen, I had twoh undred and seventy-four. There're three on display, one board blew up and the police took one, so I should have only two hundred and sixty-nine." She stopped triumphantly.
"I do see," said Sigrid, leaning back in the gilt-legged chair, conscious of pain returning to her wounded arm. "Whoever stole the first cribbage board brought it back again. Undoubtedly with the bomb inside."
"And switched boards after the tables were set up," concluded Ted Flythe.
"Which was when?"
"Late Friday afternoon," Kelly Underhill replied, hurt by Lieutenant Harald's lack of response to her clever discovery. "We finished around five."
"Then I locked the doors myself," said Molly Baldwin, "and they weren't unlocked until I opened the service door at seven so the stewards could prepare the hospitality table."
"When were the hall doors unlocked?"
"At seven-thirty."
"So it would appear that the switch was made sometime between seven and nine," said Sigrid.
"Assuming no one from Graphic Games was involved," observed Lieutenant Knight.
Before Ted Flythe could take exception to his insinuation, Sigrid felt someone touch her on the shoulder and heard a merry voice say, "Ciao, Sigrid! I thought that was you."
11
DESPITE a round face, blonde bob and frivolous rhinestone-studded, harlequin-shaped, turquoise eyeglasses, Jill Gill was a serious entomologist. She wrote successful, respected children's books; had provided Roman Tramegra with enough material on caterpillar life cycles to write two articles and six fillers; and was, if one could judge by her presence here in the Bontemps Room, a dedicated cribbage player. She was also irrepressibly interested in the personal lives of her friends and artless enough to beam at Sigrid and ask, "Why hasn't Oscar brought you to see me lately? He's not sulking because you and Roman have moved in together, is he?"
Alan Knight's eyebrows lifted in amusement and Elaine Elbee was fascinated.
The police detective had approached Dr. Gill routinely, solely because the woman had played at the far end of
Table 5 the night before. That she had also netted someone personally acquainted with Lieutenant Harald was totally unexpected.
The lieutenant was something of an enigma to Albee. Harald was known to be dedicated and efficient, with a cool, logical approach to her work and an unemotional detachment that discouraged any feminine confidences. She was also known to be unmarried and it was assumed in the department that she led a chaste and probably profoundly dull existence. Detective Tildon seemed to like her, but then Tillie liked everybody. Yet even he could add nothing to their pool of common gossip the few times Lieutenant Harald's name came up in idle discussion.
Driving up to the Maintenon earlier in the afternoon, Jim Lowry had expressed the usual judgment: "When Harald got cut last night, what do you think they found-blood or ice water?"
Elaine Albee, warm and lively and full of youthful charity, had defended the older officer. "I think she was upset about Tillie. She just doesn't parade her feelings."
Now, as the ramifications of Dr. Gill's words sank in, Albee found herself looking at Lieutenant Harald in a different light. She doesn't have to be that plain, Albee realized. With a good haircut, makeup, a few bright colors… I bet her figure's not all that bad in better clothes and-
Lieutenant Harald's slate grey eyes met her speculative stare and Elaine flushed as guiltily as if the lieutenant could read her thoughts.
Now the tall officer stood up and said, "Hello, Jill."
Dr. Jill Gill was another of Oscar Nauman's unexpected, wide-ranging friendships and Sigrid Harald generally enjoyed the entomologist's sunny, good-natured prattling. But not on duty. And certainly not with Alan Knight here to draw unwarranted assumptions or Albee to gape at her as if she suddenly suspected a secret life of wanton debauchery.
"Oh my dear! What's happened to your arm? A break? How awful!" exclaimed Dr. Gill. Her eyes narrowed with concern behind the rhinestone-encrusted glasses.
"Nothing serious," Sigrid replied evenly,e ven though her arm throbbed wretchedly now and she knew she should look around for some water to take another pain tablet. "Detective Albee, why don't you and Dr. Gill sit over at
the table and begin on her statement," she directed frostily. "I'll be right there."
"Certainly, Lieutenant. Dr. Gill?"
As they moved away, she heard Jill ask anxiously, "Was Sigrid shot? Stabbed? Have you worked with her long?"
She could only hope that Elaine Albee would remember this was a witness to a crime and confine her own questions to events of the previous evening.
Before following, she turned back to Ted Flythe and Molly Baldwin. "We'd like a few copies of your original pairings and the seating chart, Mr. Flythe. We'll need to ask the victims' survivors if they recognize any of the names."
"Sure, Lieutenant. Molly, could you Xerox the one on the display easel?"
"I'm afraid it got knocked over and stepped on," Miss Baldwin answered doubtfully. "Detective Albee has it right now, but it's awfully torn."
"No hurry," said Sigrid. "We'll workw ith it for now and perhaps you can supply us with fresh copies tomorrow?"
Flythe nodded and Sigrid asked Molly Baldwin. "Is your calligraphier here today?"
"Yes, he's in the studio. I'll have him come up."
Why don't I go down?" offered Lieutenant Knight. "It'll give me a chance to look over the hotel, trace the board's route back up, see who had access."
"That might be helpful," Sigrid agreed crisply, obscurely relieved that he would not be sitting in on her session with the very talkative Jill Gill.
"I can only stay a minute," warned Dr. Gill as Sigrid approached. "We finished our round early, but they'll be starting again soon." She smoothed her long red-and-black striped skirt around her short legs. "Five minutes late and it's an automatic forfeit."
"I won't keep you," Sigrid assured her. "Just tell us what happened last night."
"Okay, but if you expect the trained-scientist-notes-all shtick, forget it," she said, brushing back the blonde bangs that threatened to flop over her turquoise glasses.
"I was a little late getting here. You know me. Missed out entirely on the hot canapés and barely had time to grab a glass of wine and find my place before La Ronay gave her little welcome speech and left."
"Did you pay any attention to the people at the far end of your table?"
"Not really. I looked them over, of course. Recognized Professor Sutton. Couldn't put a name to him, but I remembered his face from seeing him interviewed on television last spring. Sounded intelligent. Shame to lose him. Vanderlyn College, wasn't he? Do you suppose Oscar knew him?"
"They were friends," Sigrid said, without expression. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything at all?"
"Not really. Well, yes, come to think of it. The woman sitting beside him-Commander Dixon? Very attractive.
Her hair was completely white-bleached, do you suppose?" she wondered aloud. "Because her face was very youthful. At that distance anyhow. I noticed because she kept looking in my direction instead of at the front."
"You thought she knew you?"
"Oh no, she wasn't looking at me. Merely in my direction. Past me, in fact. Toward the refreshment table. But the only people down toward this end were the busboys, the head steward, and that tall, brown-haired girl who just left with that absolutely gorgeous Navy officer. Is he a hare or one of your hounds?"
"He's working with us," Sigrid nodded, "but-"
"My dear, if I were twenty years younger!" her blue eyes twinkled at Elaine Albee behind the rakish swoop of her glasses. "Now you're young enough to set your cap at him," she grinned.
Albee grinned back at the bubbly scientist. "I'm afraid he's already taken, Dr. Gill. You missed his wedding band."
"A bad sign," Jill Gill agreed. "Men who wear their wedding rings always feelm arried. Too bad."
"Could we get back to last night?" Sigrid asked patiently. "Commander Dixon kept looking toward the refreshment table and Ms. Baldwin, and then-?"
"Or the head steward," Dr. Gill reminded her. "He was there, too. Steward… Navy? Perhaps he was a mess steward on her ship once. Or do women officers serve on ships yet?"
"Jill, please?"
"All right, all right," the older woman laughed. "Keep to the subject. La Ronay finished welcoming us. I won't waste a single minute describing how it feels to see a woman the same age as me looking that smashing," she said mischievously. "Even Liz Taylor had the grace to start showing her age when she hit fifty. Not Lucienne Ronay, though. Isn't it disgusting?
"Anyhow, after she left, Mr. Flythe-who's not exactly Homely Henry either, is he?-he reviewed the official rules and then we started to play. I had fantastic luck: three double-double runs in a row! We'd finished our first game and my opponent was shufflingw hen I glanced down the table and saw that Commander Dixon had pushed her chair back and was looking under the table as if she'd dropped something. That's precisely when the bomb went off. After that, it was merry hell for a few minutes."
All laughter had faded from Jill Gill's plump face. "I'm not a medical doctor, but I've had first aid training, of course. There were a pediatrician and a chiropractor in the room. We did what we could until the ambulances came-made a tourniquet for Commander Dixon's arm, lifted the table off that police detective, put a pressure bandage on another man's head-but those two at the very end of the table, Professor Sutton and Mr. Wolferman-they must have died almost immediately. It was hours before the ringing in my ears went away."
She took a deep breath. "Anyhow, your people arrived soon after, so you know the rest."
"Thanks, Jill," said Sigrid. "Too bad you didn't get here when the doors opened. You might have noticeds omeone changing the boards at your table.".
Sigrid had known Jill Gill long enough to discount her disclaimers about her powers of observation. She had learned, to her occasional discomfort, that very little went on in front of those absurd glasses that the scientist didn't notice.
"I've never been early for anything in my entire life," Jill Gill said regretfully.
A small hand bell tinkled at the front of the room to signal the beginning of a new round and she stood reluctantly. "Better go now. Why don't you and Oscar come for dinner next week?"
"You're going to be late for your next deal," Sigrid said.
Dr. Gill laughed. "You don't get out of it that easily. I'll call Oscar tonight."
She trotted away on bright red high heels, her long wool skirt twirling around ankles surprisingly trim for such a plump woman.
Elaine Albee promptly assumed her most professional attitude and tried to look as if she hadn't found Dr. Gill personally interesting as she summarized for the lieutenant the statements she and
Jim Lowry had collected in the blast few hours.
The smudged seating chart lay on the table before them. Albee had highlighted with a yellow marker the names of every one questioned thus far.
A contestant near the end of Table 5, on the opposite side from Jill Gill, had noticed that Tillie had bent down under the table immediately before the explosion.
"That's probably what kept Tillie from being killed outright," Albee speculated. "The table was between him and the bomb when it went off."
So far, no one seemed to have seen the cribbage boards switched.
They had located Haines Froelick's opponent, though, a young electrician who spoke of the older man's politeness and told the detectives that nothing in Mr. Froelick's demeanor had indicated nervousness or jumpy anticipation. The electrician was of the impression that Mr. Froelick had not immediately realized his cousin's proximity to the blast, but admitted that once the explosion occurred, he hadn't noticed Mr. Froelicka gain. Everything was too chaotic.
Val Sutton's opponent, a Japanese businessman named Eisaku Okawara, offered similar testimony when Jim Lowry brought him over to the witness table between rounds. Mr. Okawara spoke excellent English and conscientiously tried to answer their questions, but confessed that occidental facial nuances were a mystery to him. Mrs. Sutton had played skillfully; she had been friendly and smiling. When the blast occurred, she had immediately jumped to her feet and cried,
"John!"
Mr. Okawara thought she had rushed toward the back of the room. He himself had prudently made for the main doors and was standing just inside when Madame Ronay and other hotel staff arrived. There had been much screaming and confusion. Madame Ronay had tripped over the little gilt tripod that held the seating chart. Busboys had rushed past, trampling it beneath their feet as they hurried with fire extinguishers to put out the flames. Then had come the firemen, police, and medical personnel, and Mr. Okawara had slipped away toh is room on the sixth floor without seeing Mrs. Sutton again.
He had been distressed this morning to read in the papers that her husband was one of those killed in the blast.
They let him return to his cards. In the lull, Sigrid caught the eye of one of the busboys and requested a glass of water.
"I could bring you juice, coffee, or tea if you'd rather," offered the slim young black man in a soft Southern voice.
"No, thank you, water's all I want," she said, and when he returned with it, she asked, "Were you on duty here last night?"
"Yes, ma'am. In fact, I was the one that put out the fire. I was just coming in the door when it happened and as soon as I saw the smoke, I grabbed the fire extinguisher there beside the door and ran right over."
"That was quick thinking."
"Well, it was just a small fire," the youth said modestly.
Sigrid shook a tablet from the bottle in her pocket, washed it down with the water, and returned the glass to the young black man. "Before they startedp laying last night, did you see anyone moving the cribbage boards at Table 5? Picking them up or anything?"
"No, ma'am. They already asked us that. Most folks were up at the front or standing 'round the hospitality table eating and drinking. 'Course, I wasn't watching every minute because I had to take out dirty glasses and bring in clean ones, so I guess somebody could have. I didn't see 'em though."
The Right Jack Page 9
