Page 156 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Jury-rigged

“Let’s see if this is what you intend, Duncan.” She followed my
notes with her index finger, in other situations a lethal weapon. No
fingernail polish had ever covered those perennially-filed short nails.
Maybe it would create aerodynamic drag. “Pershing was at an all-
night poker game in a hotel on the other side of town. It didn’t break
up until about seven-thirty a.m. You have four other upstanding
citizens ready, willing and able to swear that he didn’t leave their sight
for more than five minutes. You interrogated them Monday
afternoon. Good. Their connections to the Simulian family—and to
each other—can be uncovered with a bit of spadework. Did you
determine how often Pershing indulges in this form of recreation?”
“To paraphrase him, as often as he can line up cronies with
enough cash to buy a pile of chips. In practice, about once a month.”
“How long in advance had this gathering been planned? Did you
check the hotel’s reservation system? Is it tamper-proof?”
How the hell could I know that without being a computer
engineer? “The documents—reservation, desk register, room service
and check-out receipts—are all in order. Nothing missing or out of
sequence, no missing blank forms or skeleton keys. The doors to the
fire stairs at the end of each hall cannot be opened without triggering
an alarm. That system, at least, showed no sign of activation or
alteration. The hotel does have back-ups of its daily transaction files,
if anyone wants to subpoena them.”
“Can we trust the management there not to scratch those tapes?” I
nodded. I was covered. She made a note in her computer. “Next is
Rommel. He claims infirmity: a bout of the malaria he contracted at a
Black Sea resort twenty years ago kept him house-bound that night,
sweating under the sheets of his sickbed. A doctor who saw him the
preceding Friday told you the symptoms were completely consistent
with that diagnosis. His patient was weak at that time and needed
about a week more to recover. The receptionist in the medical office
identified Rommel as the person keeping the appointment. It was
made the day before, just after the verdict against Sherman. The
doctor’s records confirm his statements about the prescription for
bed rest. A neat paper trail of delivery receipts from the nearest
Russian restaurant supports his taking that advice. You found doctors
in other cities, named by Rommel, with similar experience treating his
recurrent condition. The Laika’s Balalaika delivery man told you that

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