Chouchou turned out to be the artist himself, who now emerged from upstairs, where presumably his living quarters were located. Howard White was a tall man, with distinguished white hair and a long, impassive, tan face. I would have guessed he was in his early sixties, and I don’t think I would have been far off.
“Greetings, Mrs. Kingsley—Mr. Kingsley,” he said in clipped tones as he shook hands with our humans, then held out those same hands for Sebastian to squirt some clear liquid from a bottle, then efficiently wipe them with disinfectant wipes. The whole process passed so quickly that it was obvious this was a common thing in the White household. “How may I be of assistance?” he asked.
Sebastian gestured to a brown leather sofa, which looked more like a work of art than an actual comfy couch, and our humans carefully took a seat, with Mr. White and Sebastian taking up position on the opposing sofa.
The artist then seemed to notice myself and Dooley for the first time, for he made a face and expressed his abhorrence by saying,“Cats! Nobody told me there would be cats!”
And here I thought all humans loved cats.
“They’re perfectly groomed specimens,” Sebastian assured the big man. “I’ve checked them myself and they’re clean—no sign of lice or parasites of any kind.” He handed Mr. White a document, which I recognized as the form Odelia had had to fill out before she could be allowed to meet with the famous designer.
The designer waved it away.“Fine, fine,” he said impatiently. He rested his perfectly manicured hands in his lap and sat back with a serene expression on his face. “Please begin,” he said, and awaited further proceedings.
“We’re investigating the death of Michael Madison,” said Chase. “A man you’re probably familiar with.”
“Of course,” said the designer, inclining his head. “Michael and I go way back.”
“Which is why it came as something of a shock to us,” said Odelia, “that Michael wrote critically about your latest collection. An article that probably didn’t go down well with you, sir?”
“That’s correct,” said the designer. “When I read the article, I was shocked.Glimmer has been a mainstay in my career going back forty years, and I’ve always had an excellent working relationship with its subsequent editors.”
“Before Michael Madison became CEO of the entire Advantage group, he worked as editor-in-chief forGlimmer,” Sebastian explained.
“And in that capacity he never had a bad word to say about my work,” said Howard with a frown.
“And then all of a sudden he was promoted CEO of the group, andGlimmer’s attitude toward our work took a violent turn,” said Sebastian. “Isn’t that true, chouchou?”
“Almost as if Michael felt he had something to prove now that he was in charge. It’s very unusual, you see, that a CEO would get involved in the day-to-day business of producing copy for his flagship magazine.”
“He didn’t even have the guts to write the piece under his own name,” Sebastian scoffed. “He used a pseudonym. At first we thought another editor had written it.”
“Gary Rapp.”
“Yes. But it was Michael, all right. Writing this dreadful hatchet piece.”
“So I called him,” said Howard. “I wanted to know what he thought he was doing. First he denied having written the piece. Claimed he hadn’t even read it, and was going to ‘investigate,’ before getting back to me.”
“He never got back to us,” said Sebastian.
“And so I paid him a visit in his lair.”
“He wasn’t happy.”
“I wasn’t happy. And I gave it to him with both barrels.”
“Do you know what his excuse was?” asked Sebastian, quirking a finely penciled eyebrow. “He saidGlimmer had to move with the times. That they couldn’t cater to dinosaurs forever, and had to focus on new, moreexciting designers. And since no one dared to write the truth, he figured he’d do it himself.”
“I’m not a dinosaur,” said Howard White, lifting his chin.
“Of course not, chouchou,” Sebastian assured him. “If anyone is a dinosaur in this story, it’s Michael Madison.”
“Was,” said Chase.
“Yes, was,” said Sebastian, demurely casting down his eyes.
“I like to think I’ve always kept my finger on the pulse of the fashion industry,” said Howard. “Tried hard not to get stuck in the past. But obviously Michael thought differently, and decided to fire a shot across the bow. Let me know that I was now officially a has-been. A talentless hack. An old fossil.” He carefully studied his fingers. “Look who’s the has-been now,” he said softly.
“I guess Michael simply couldn’t take the pressure,” said Sebastian, and there was a touch of satisfaction in his tone. “It’s one thing to be an editor, but something else to be in charge of the entire company. Especially in an industry in decline. Just like in the rest of the publishing industry, circulation of Advantage Publishing’s magazines has been dropping precipitously. It’s not inconceivable that at some point, if they don’t manage to turn things around, they’ll be extinct.”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” said Howard. “It would be a bad thing for the fashion industry if magazines likeGlimmer andGlitter go out of business.”
“The thing is,” said Chase now, as he leaned forward, “that it’s entirely possible that Michael Madison didn’t kill himself.” He let his statement hang in the air for a moment, before dropping his bombshell. “But that he was, in fact, murdered.”
Howard’s cool demeanor cracked a little. “Murdered!” he exclaimed.
“Well, what do you know?” said Sebastian, looking oddly pleased.
“But I thought he jumped? Left a suicide note?” said Howard.
“We have reason to believe that he may have been pushed. And that whoever killed him faked that suicide note.”
“But…” Howard turned to his assistant/partner. “Did you know about this?”
“Absolutely not, chouchou,” Sebastian assured the older man. “I had no idea.”
Howard turned a pair of keen eyes on Chase.“So that’s why you’re here. To ask me if I’m the one who killed Michael Madison.” He smirked a little. “So are you going to arrest me? Are you here to slap a pair of handcuffs on my wrists?”
“Oh, dear,” said Sebastian, who was thoroughly enjoying the drama.
“We’re not here to make an arrest today,” Chase assured the designer. “We’re simply talking to all the people that knew Michael Madison.”
“Especially the ones with a reason to kill him?” asked Howard.
“Well…” said Chase. “You did have a public spat.”
“More than a spat,” said Howard. “I told him that if he ever talked to me like that again, or wrote an article like that about me or my work, I’d sue him for defamation of character and slander. And I told him that if he wanted to make an enemy out of me, he’d better think long and hard first, because I could make life difficult for him, the same way he was trying to make life difficult for me.”
“How were you going to make life difficult for Michael?” asked Odelia.
Howard shared a cautious look with Sebastian. They were on tricky ground now, and both seemed to realize it.“Glimmer always got the best seats in the house at any of my fashion shows,” Howard explained. “They got invites to pre-shows, exclusive previews, behind-the-scenes interviews, access to me and my team, the whole shebang. And since we all know that exclusivity and access sells copies, this was a good deal for both of us. If Michael was going to continue this hostile attitude of his, all of that would be a thing of the past.Glimmer would get the same treatment as the rest of the written press. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“We were also thinking about denyingGlimmer access to our models, photographers, designers,” said Sebastian. “A strict omert? across the board.”
“If Michael really thought I was an old has-been, that wouldn’t have mattered to him orGlimmer,” said Howard. “But if not…” He gave us a meaningful look.