Page 110 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

I think he was out there when I went home at three yesterday.
Sometimes I come here in the morning and find him asleep on the
carpet and an empty Jack Daniels bottle by the tub.”
My eyes bugged. “You mean he drowned? Or had a heart attack?
Or fell asleep and was poached like an egg?”
She made a sound I did not understand, grimacing. “Miss Sliner: I
did not look at him so closely! I could smell the alcohol. Then I
called the emergency number on the kitchen phone.”
I looked at my watch. Less than two hours ago: the law moved
fast when it wanted to. I fumbled in my purse for my personal
organizer. Somebody else had to be notified, and not the press—at
least not until Troglo Films had an official statement. Nick Krotz
could earn his keep for once; let him deal with the studio heads.
Family: that was easy; Fish had no close relatives but his son, Tim R.
Lane, who happened to be in town at a number I had just recorded
the day before. Maybe Alma had already called Tim; she could find
him in Fish’s phone book, the one in—
“Excuse me. I’ll have to ask you not to make any calls yet. In fact,
I would appreciate seeing your phone and PDA.”
I looked up, startled. A tall severe-looking woman in last decade’s
business suit stood next to me. How had I not heard her cross the
tiled kitchen floor? I glanced downward. She was wearing a sort of
slipper with rubber soles, not a shoe with heels.
“I’m Lieutenant Labelle Gramercy, metropolitan police. I will take
your statement, Ms. Sliner. I have already spoken with Ms. del Banco.
Oh, look out: your purse is falling!”
She was looking at me when she said those words, but her sudden
movement was toward the kitchen counter, where Alma had left her
bag. Indeed, the policewoman’s right hand swiped unsuccessfully at
the now-tumbling embroidered cloth shoulder bag. This apparently
clumsy attempt blocked us from seeing her left side or where the
purse had been perched before its surrender to a mysterious lateral
force of gravity. I don’t recall its position being particularly
precarious.
Alma got down off her stool in a hurry, spry for her age but not
her occupation; I sat, dumfounded by yet another shock. It occurred
to me that my belongings had been examined by the police because I
arrived after they did; maybe Alma had been sitting here unsearched.

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