'There you are,' Mitch said, irritated that he was now going to have to hear Grabel out after all. His first guess was that the man was going to ask Mitch to help him get his job back. Not too difficult, provided he got himself a shave and took a bath, and checked into AA.
'I didn't want to let them see me,' said Grabel.
'What the hell is this all about, Allen? I mean, you've picked one sweet day to come back here. And look at you.'
'Shut the fuck up, Mitch. And listen.'
As soon as Jenny Bao realized what she'd done she started to replace the fish in the ornamental pond. The Tong Shu used both the Lunar and the Gregorian calendars. According to the Lunar calendar, it was a good period for banishing evil spirits. The problem was that she'd forgotten to consult the Gregorian calendar, according to which the whole afternoon promised to be a bad one for ceremonies. She'd have to come back on Sunday when the auspices were a little more propitious. After she had put her things back in the car she'd go upstairs, find Mitch and tell him the bad news.
'That's the craziest thing I ever heard,' said Mitch. 'What, did you eat the fucking worm in the bottom of the bottle as well?'
'You don't believe me?'
'Christ, Allen, if I believed that story I'd be as nuts as you are. Come on, guy. You need help.'
'I was there, Mitch. I saw it. Sam Gleig went inside the elevator. And then the thing shot up and down. I watched the indicator panel. Bang!
Up it went like a rocket! Bang! Down it came again! The doors opened and there he was, lying on the floor. He might as well have been an egg in a cookie tin. And the fact still remains that Sam Gleig is dead and you don't have a plausible explanation.'
But by this time Mitch had arrived at an explanation that seemed to him to be very plausible. The man had the height, the weight and the strength. If anyone could have taken on Sam Gleig it was him. And with a bottle of whatever inside him, there was no telling what Grabel might have been capable of.
'You think your explanation is better?' Mitch snorted with contempt. 'I can't believe it's taken you all this time to think up a story like that. The elevator murdered him? Jesus, Allen. Anyway, what were you doing here in the first place? And why didn't you stick around and tell someone?'
'I wanted to fix Richardson.'
'What do you mean, fix him?'
'Him. His fucking building. The whole deal. Screw him. Screw the whole fucking program.'
Mitch paused, trying to understand the possible ramifications of what Grabel was saying, and finding his thoughts drawn back to the two policemen upstairs, and to clearing his own name.
'We'll get you a good attorney, Allen,' he said.
Grabel began to back away. Mitch grabbed at him.
'No you don't!' yelled Grabel. 'Leave me alone!'
The punch came from nowhere.
Mitch was vaguely aware of lying on the floor of the garage, feeling as if he had received a powerful electric shock. He heard the sound of receding footsteps, and then finally lost consciousness.
'Who the hell are you?'
Ray Richardson paused on the threshold of the boardroom and frowned at the four strangers seated around the table nursing cups of coffee.
Curtis and Coleman stood up. The last of the workmen they had been interviewing, two painters named Dobbs and Martinez, stayed put.
'I'm Detective Sergeant Curtis and this is Detective Coleman. You must be Mr Richardson.'
Coleman buttoned his jacket and clasped his hands in front of him as if he had been a guest at a wedding.
Ray Richardson nodded sullenly.
Curtis smiled broadly as the rest of the project team filed into the boardroom.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'I just need a little of your time. I know you're extremely busy, but as you probably know a man was killed in this building. I dare say most of you knew him. Now the fact of the matter is that we're no nearer to finding out what happened to him than we were then. So we'd like to ask each of you a few questions. It will only take a few moments.' He glanced at the painters.
'You two can go,' he said. 'And thanks.'
'This isn't very convenient, Sergeant,' said Richardson. 'Couldn't you do this some other time?'
'Well, sir, Mr Bryan said now would be OK.'
'I see,' Richardson said petulantly and threw his notes on to the table.
'And where exactly is Mr Bryan?'
'Search me,' said Curtis. 'He left about twenty mintues ago. I thought he'd gone to find you.'
Richardson decided to lose his temper. 'I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe this. Somebody with a criminal record gets himself murdered and you two characters expect me, my wife and my staff to give a few clues is that it?' He laughed bitterly. 'It's a joke.'
'It is not a joke,' said Curtis, who resented being described as a character. 'For your information, sir, it's a murder investigation. And I'm trying to save you time and publicity. Which is what I understood you wanted.'
Richardson glowered at him.
'Or else I can go down to City Hall, get a court order and have you all come down to New Parker Center and do it there. You're not the only one with good connections, Mr Richardson. I've got the DA on my side, not to mention due process of law, and I don't give a damn that you think this is some kind of joke. Nor do I care that you're trying to complete this eyesore of a building. Nor what it costs.' Curtis thought better of calling Richardson a bastard. 'This is the taking of a human life we're talking about here and I intend to find out how that happened. Is that clear?'
Richardson stood with both hands thrust deep into the pockets of his pants, his chin pointed belligerently at the policeman.
'How dare you speak to me like that,' he said. 'How dare you!'
Curtis was already waving his badge in the architect's face. 'This is how I dare, Mr Richardson. LAPD badge number 1812. Same as the goddamn overture, so you can remember it when you report me to my superiors, OK?'
'You can depend on it.'
Marty Birnbaum, the project manager, tried to defuse the situation.
'Perhaps we'd better just get on with it,' he interrupted smoothly. 'If you two officers would like to move next door, to the kitchen, you could ask your questions in there. Everyone else — take a seat. We can continue with our meeting and take turns leaving the room to speak to these two gentlemen.' He glanced at Curtis and raised his eyebrows.
'How does that sound?'
'That sounds fine, sir. Just fine.'
Then, seeing Declan Bennett appear in the doorway, Birnbaum thought it would be better to get rid of Richardson altogether. Less trouble that way.
'Ray, I could be wrong, but I don't believe you ever spoke to Sam Gleig, did you?'
Richardson was still standing with his hands in his pockets and looking like a disappointed child.
'No, Marty,' he said quietly, as if somehow a dream had been shattered. 'I never did.'
Coleman and Curtis exchanged a look.
'Well that figures,' murmured Coleman.
'Joan? Did you ever speak to him?'
'No,' she said. 'I never did either. I don't think I could even tell you what he looked like.'
The project team started to sit down.
'In that case there's not much point in your staying,' said Birnbaum. To Curtis, 'Mr and Mrs Richardson are flying to London tonight.'
'I guess it's been that kind of day,' said Curtis.
'You'd best get off to the airport, Ray. I'll wrap the meeting up. No need for you to stick it out. If that's all right with the sergeant?'