Page 114 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

I admit my tone betrayed bitterness, not the right feeling to
express toward the recently departed. But none of this would be
inaccessible to the police; if anything, the confusion of personal and
professional life typical of “industry” people would soon have Ms.
Gramercy begging for a rewrite of Fish’s sordid story.
“Well, I never met the woman: just impressions formed from
talking with Tim.”
Now the morning fog was dissipating and it was getting too bright
next to the pool. I was standing with the sun in my face: the dear
lieutenant must have guided me into a position where she could best
study my tics and twitches. She could just as well read my pores
under the eaves, where I at least had a chance of not getting them
zapped with any more ultraviolet light than necessary.
“Would you mind if we moved into the shade?”
Fish had a cabana next to the house on the west side. The cops
were busy in there, too; it occurred to me that they wouldn’t find
anything but the dirty laundry he always left for Alma to pick up and
wash the next morning. But the passageway between the buildings,
used mainly by the domestic help to carry things in and out of the
property, did not get morning sunlight. Lieutenant Gramercy
followed me down the brick pathway; I stopped in front of the gate
to the driveway, on a concrete pad reserved most of the week for
trash barrels.
She was back in my PDA, scanning the appointment calendar.
Why wasn’t there a little red button one could push to erase the
whole damned thing? Wouldn’t matter—I had it all backed up at
home on my PC, and urban folklore had it that you could never, ever
wipe out all traces of anything you desperately didn’t want to keep.
“Last night you called Wynn R. Luce. And several nights prior to
that.”
“Someone I’m seeing. No connection to Fish, Troglo Films or
anyone else you might find listed in there.” God, I hoped she
wouldn’t dig into that: Wynn had been a real trouble-maker before he
found a good woman (me).
Then it struck me: Labelle must already have perused Fish’s
address book and requested the usage history of every telephone in
the house and his four automobiles—if they happened to be on the

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