“I don’t know him like you do — in fact I hadn’t seen him for years until last week, and then again today. But I’d have to agree that he comes across as a stand-up kind of guy. And he knows how to zing Megan, which has to count for something somewhere.”
“I sense my sister hasn’t captivated you.”
“Bingo. Speaking of your sister, whom we apparently can’t avoid, what’s your analysis of her well-tailored friend Pamsett, beyond what you told me the other day?”
“What you’re really asking me is: Could Edward have done Linville in? I’d have to plead ignorance on that one. As I told you, I really don’t know Edward very well, but I have a hard time picturing him picking up a tire iron in some dark, greasy garage. He’d get his hands dirty, to say nothing of the possibility of soiling his four-hundred-dollar sport coat.”
“He does seem pretty far removed from grease and violence,” I admitted.
“And besides,” Lily said, “what would his motive be?”
“He doesn’t seem the type, but might he have been playing hero for Megan by avenging her for what was done to her daughter?”
“How could he play hero if she didn’t know about it? I mean, killers don’t usually go around bragging, even to their lady-friends. And even in the unlikely event that (a) Edward Pamsett did kill Linville, and (b) Megan knew about it, she would hardly sacrifice her son to protect Pamsett. That much I can say for my sister.”
“Point taken. While we’re on the subject, how would you describe Megan’s relationship with Pamsett?”
Lily took a sip of Zinfandel and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Good question. It’s possible that passion exists there that I’m not picking up on, but I really doubt it, knowing her and observing him. I think it’s a case of each of them having someone to go to society functions with. They both eat up that type of thing — benefits, black-tie stuff, you know.”
“Sure. Just the kinds of things you’re always trying to get me to.”
“Right, and Megan has a damn sight more success with Edward than I have with you.”
“What do you mean? Just last month we went to that costume nonsense at the Churchill.”
“Right. And remember how you whined about it?”
“That’s just because I didn’t like the idea of dressing as Henry the Eighth. Anyway, you think Megan and Pamsett are platonic pals who mainly provide each other with half of a couple so that dinner parties they go to come out with even numbers?”
“Seems reasonable. Plus the fact that they genuinely get along. Edward is laid-back and easygoing, as you probably could tell, being, by your own admission, a shrewd judge of character. He’s one of those rare people who can put up with Megan and her irascibility, and do so cheerfully. Also, he’s a decent-looking escort, what with that wavy salt-and-pepper Hollywood hair and all. Kind of a cross between Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Ronald Colman, and every bit as debonair as both of them.”
“I wish somebody would describe me that way sometime.”
“Oh, stop with that. I’ve already told you that you’ve got savoir vivre. Isn’t that enough to salve your insecurities?”
“I’ll try to let it comfort me,” I sniffed. “Megan told Wolfe that on the night Linville was killed, she spent a couple of hours at Pamsett’s place, just talking.”
“Actually, I don’t doubt that,” Lily said. “She’s told me a couple of times that one of the things she likes most about Edward is that he’s a wonderful listener. She was probably over there talking the poor sap’s leg off.”
“That gives her an alibi at least for the earlier portion of the evening.”
“Which, from the tone of your voice, doesn’t exactly please you.”
“Oh, maybe so, but the time after midnight is still at least partly unaccounted for. Let me pose an academic question: If — and I’m only saying if — Megan wasn’t at Pamsett’s abode at all on Wednesday night, would he lie for her and say that she was?”
Lily looked down at her nearly clean plate and wrinkled the loveliest forehead on the eastern seaboard. She thought for several heartbeats before looking up. “Interesting academic question. You like to express opinions in odds,” she said, “so I’ll speak your language. I’d say it’s two-to-one that, yes, he’d lie for her if she asked him to. But if I may be allowed to anticipate your next question, I’d also give you five-to-two that she didn’t ask him to tell a story for her because she was at his place when she says she was.”
“You’re quite an anticipator,” I told her. “Or is there such a word?”
“Probably, but on that, I’ll yield to your boss — words are his department. Now I’ll anticipate your next move: Be it tonight or tomorrow, you are going to pay a visit to Mr. Pamsett.”
“I’ve become totally transparent!” I said. “The woman can read my mind.”
“It took you long enough to figure that out. Why do you think I’m always one step ahead of you — except of course when I don’t want to be?”
“I’ve always wondered,” I admitted. “Do you want to be one step ahead of me now?”
My answer was a wink and a smile. I returned the smile and we ordered dessert.
Twenty
It was almost eleven when I climbed out of a cab in front of the brownstone. I rang the bell, knowing the bolt would be on at that hour, and within seconds Fritz pulled open the door. “Archie, there is a man waiting for you in the front room,” he said in a whisper as I entered the hall. “He has been in there for more than two hours. He wanted to see Mr. Wolfe, but he was up in the plant rooms when the gentleman came and he didn’t want to be disturbed. When I told Mr. Wolfe his name, he told me to let him in and have him wait for you.”
“Why don’t you tell me his name?” I asked impatiently. “And stop whispering; you know as well as I do that the front-room door is soundproofed.”
Fritz colored, as he does when I chide him about anything. “He is Edward Pamsett. Very much the gentleman, very nicely dressed. I have looked in on him many times, to see if he would like to keep on waiting, and he always says yes. He is reading magazines in there. He doesn’t even want coffee or anything else to drink. I have made the offer three times.”
“Where’s Mr. Wolfe?”
“Up in his bedroom. He was in the office reading until about ten minutes ago. I told him when he went upstairs that Mr. Pamsett was still here, and he told me to allow him to remain for thirty more minutes, and then, if you hadn’t returned, to request that he leave.”
“All right. I’ll see him now. Thanks.” Fritz nodded and went off to the kitchen, where I knew he would remain as long as we had a visitor in the house. He hates the idea that a guest might request food and not be able to get it, or worse yet, might have to rely on me to rustle something up. Fritz does not place great faith in my culinary abilities.
“Good evening,” I said, opening the door to the front room.
“Oh... yes... Mr. Goodwin,” Edward Pamsett said, dropping the magazines and springing to his feet. “Do you remember me? We met at Megan James’s last week.”
“Of course I do, Mr. Pamsett,” I said, admiring his summer-weight double-breasted blue blazer with color-coordinated silk challis tie and dark blue handkerchief cascading out of his breast pocket. “I understand you’ve been waiting for some time.”
“I... yes, yes. I apologize for not calling for an appointment. I should have, of course, but... well, although you may not believe this, sometimes I’m rather impulsive.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Why don’t we go into the office to talk?” I opened the connecting door, steering him through and over to the red leather chair. “Now, what brings you here on a Sunday night?” I asked brightly, sliding into my desk chair and pivoting to face him.