“Shall I make some coffee?” Matthew asked. It seemed to him he needed an excuse to remain present in the conversation.
“You know what? I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” the detective said. The uniformed officer shook her head.
Matthew made the coffee. When he brought it into the living room, Charlie was telling Fernandez about the Millstream’s reputation as a singles scene, which appeared to be news to the detective.
“I’ll have to remember to stay away,” he joked, tapping his wedding ring.
Matthew handed him his coffee and sat on an ottoman. Chloe was perched next to him on the edge of one of the sofas. It was clear to Matthew that she was agitated, and he wondered what could be bothering her, beyond the obvious.
“Matt,” Charlie said, “I was just telling these guys you were there the same time as Grollier.”
“Right.”
“Did you see him?” the detective asked.
“You know, I’m thinking maybe I did. He’s… he was big, right?”
“Two hundred and twenty pounds, give or take. Beard. Good head of hair.”
“Right. There was a rather hefty guy there, though I don’t remember seeing him talk on the phone. I’m pretty sure he had a beard. And he was kind of extrovert.”
“Meaning?”
Charlie said: “Outgoing, uninhibited.”
“No,” the detective said, “I mean, what form did his extrovert behavior take?”
“Well, he talked a lot.”
“To anyone in particular?”
“Hmm.” Matthew frowned as if trying to remember. He needed a moment to calculate how much he could safely tell the detective. His instinct had been to say as little as possible, but it occurred to him the barman would have already described the scene, so there was probably little to be gained from holding back, and he certainly didn’t want to risk seeming evasive.
“Well, he was asking about the fireworks, and people were telling him how great they always were.”
“Did you hear him invite anyone to go along with him?”
The barman must have said something about the “posse.”
“Yes, I think he was trying to get people to go with him. I don’t know how seriously…”
“Did he ask you?”
“Me? No, but I was on my way out by then.”
“Why was that?”
“No reason. I mean, there was no one there that particularly interested me.”
“So to speak,” Charlie said with a chuckle.
“So you left?”
“Yes.”
“How long had you been there?”
“Maybe forty-five minutes?” It had been more like twenty, but he thought that would seem oddly short. “But you know, I think when I left he was actually talking to one person in particular, a woman.”
Fernandez waited for him to continue.
“She had a book, I think. He was asking her about it.”
“Could you describe her?”
“Youngish-maybe late twenties. Kind of straight mousy hair, down to about her shoulders.”
“Do you remember anything about the book?”
He debated whether to remember.
“I don’t, actually. Sorry.”
“But you heard them talk about it?”
“Yes. I think maybe… maybe he was saying something about a film adaptation? I’m not sure…”
“Did he say any names-directors, actresses?”
Matthew frowned.
“Gosh, I wish I could remember.”
The detective gave an accomodating shrug.
“Would you say he was trying to pick her up?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
He could sense Chloe flinching beside him. It had been a cruel thing to say, but it was in her interest, as well as his own, to push the story as far away from any connection to her as possible.
Charlie spoke:
“I mean, you guys don’t need me to tell you how to do your job, but it might be worth asking the barman if he remembers the book this woman was reading, if you’re trying to track her down. Barmen notice that kind of thing.”
The detective gazed at him mildly for a moment.
“That’s a good idea.”
“Maybe she could shed some light on this call Grollier got at the bar,” Charlied continued, “because that’s the real question you want answered here, isn’t it? And why he left in such a hurry right after?”
“We’d certainly be interested in knowing that.”
“The obvious inference, to me,” Charlie said, “assuming you haven’t traced the call-”
The detective kept his face impassive.
“-is that he was using a cash-only phone, which suggests either he was involved in something criminal, which I highly doubt, or else he was having some kind of clandestine relationship, in which case presumably there’d be traces in the house.”
“Wasn’t he living with that actress?” Matthew put in.
“Rachel Turpin, yeah,” Charlie said. “But people do have affairs, you know. Maybe he was seeing someone up here.” He laughed, pleased at his powers of deduction, and turned to the detective. “Did you guys think about that? Maybe that’s why he was in Aurelia in the first place!”
Chloe, who’d been silent until now, said in a calm voice:
“Then why would he be picking up random women at the Millstream?”
That seemed to flummox Charlie.
“Good point, Chlo. Unless he was just some kind of compulsive philanderer…” He turned back to the detective. “Anyway, all I’m saying, for what it’s worth, is I personally don’t think this mysterious phone call could have had anything to do with him getting killed. Because what would the scenario be? Someone luring him back to the house in order to murder him, which they did by stabbing him in the throat? That just sounds ridiculous.”
The detective turned to Chloe.
“You say you talked to Mr. Grollier at this fund-raising event, when was it, two years ago?”
“About that.”
“How would you describe him?”
“Well… we didn’t talk for long. I actually didn’t even remember I’d met him at all till my husband reminded me.”
“Do you remember what you talked about?”
“No. I’m sure it was just, you know, party conversation.”
“And he didn’t make any particular impression on you?”
Chloe frowned.
“I seem to remember he was funny.”
“He made you laugh?”
“I guess he must have.”
“Had you seen any of his movies?”
Chloe hesitated fractionally.
“No.”
“But you’ve seen them since?”
She looked at the detective, seeming to wonder how she’d prompted that question.
Lie, Matthew told her silently.
“Not that I recall,” she said. “We haven’t, have we, Charlie?”
“Definitely not.”
She turned back to the detective:
“I didn’t think so.”
“And he never contacted you again after that meeting?”
She looked at Fernandez with an expression of placid indifference, as if she had no idea what he was driving at, and no interest in trying to guess.
“No,” she said.
Attagirl! Matthew wanted to tell her. She’d been nervous, but when it came to it, her performance had been flawless.
The detective finished his coffee and set his mug down on the table next to the Scrabble board. He looked back through the pages of his notebook.
“You know what?” He smiled at each of them. “I think we’re done.”
He put his notepad away.
“You’ve been extremely helpful. Thank you all.”
He leaned forward to get out of his seat. As he was rising, though, something seemed to stall him. The uniformed officer, who’d been sitting silently in the window seat, had just taken out her handkerchief again and blown her nose. Whether or not that had anything to do with it wasn’t clear to Matthew, but some new thought appeared to register on the detective’s face as he came to a halt, his unfolding body suspended midway between sitting and standing, his balding head angling back down toward the coffee table, staring at it. Slowly, carefully, as though an abrupt move might cause whatever it was he’d thought or seen to vanish, he lowered himself back down into the sofa.