Katherine opened her eyes. “What…?”
“Apparently what happened”—Abrams shut off the electric burner—“he never brewed the tea, obviously. That might have saved him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He began eating one of those large dry biscuits, without butter or jam… His mouth and perhaps throat were dry — saliva output is diminished in older persons. Perhaps his throat muscles hadn’t done any food-swallowing since last night… in people his age this is not an uncommon accident.”
“Accident?”
“He choked to death on a biscuit. I can see part of it lodged in his throat.”
She stared at Abrams, then at Arnold. She didn’t speak for some time, then said, “Do you believe that?”
“No. He was murdered. One of the best I’ve seen.” Abrams rubbed his chin, then said, “He was held by at least two men who probably wore padded gloves so they wouldn’t leave fingerprints or marks on his skin. They may have put alum in his mouth to dry him up, and maybe poured a topical anesthetic in to dull the senses in his throat. Probably, though, they just held his esophagus in a tight grip so he couldn’t swallow. They rammed the biscuit down his throat and held him until he suffocated to death. Nice people.”
Katherine took a deep breath.
Abrams said matter-of-factly, “The medical examiner will have a bad time with this one. But if he knows he’s looking at murder, he may turn something up.” Abrams lit a cigarette. “I wonder why these people are bothering with phony accidents?” He thought a moment, then said, “Probably to buy time. So all the alarms don’t start going off automatically.”
She nodded, “Partly true. But also, the preferred method is to make it look like an accident. There’s a certain pride… in coming up with refinements… It’s standard tradecraft.”
“Really? Are there awards?” He threw his cigarette down and stepped on it. “Well, this is the fourth time there’s been no clear evidence of murder. Carbury vanished without a trace, Brompton Hall burned, Arnold accidentally choked. Christ, even a cop can see a pattern here.”
She looked at him. “The fourth?”
“Oh… my drunken stumble from the roof.”
“You were on the roof. That man tried to kill you.”
Abrams nodded.
“What… how the hell did you get on the roof?”
“Fire escape.”
“You know what I mean.”
“It might be more revealing to question how I came to be at the town house in the first place.”
She hesitated, then said, “Claudia suggested it to me. She likes you.”
Abrams didn’t answer.
Katherine added, “To be honest and more precise, Mr. O’Brien and Peter also suggested you stay there, quite independently of Claudia and each other, I presume.”
Abrams again said nothing.
Katherine seemed to be coming out of the shock of seeing Arnold’s body. Her tone was curt. “But what brought you to the roof?”
“Fate.”
She said, “You know… Tony… it’s not always a good policy to keep your own counsel. Sometimes people need help.”
“I suppose, Kate, that anyone who deals with you people needs all the help he can get. But not from the source of the problem.”
She seemed put off, but said evenly, “Why would anyone want to kill you?”
“I don’t know, but it’s always flattering.” Abrams picked up the telephone on Arnold’s desk and dialed the town house.
A man’s voice answered, “Yeah?” which was, Abrams knew, how a detective answered the phone at the scene of the crime. Abrams said, “Captain Spinelli.”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Abrams.”
“Yeah. Hold on.”
“Yeah.”
Spinelli came on the line. “How’d this happen, Abrams?”
“Beats me. Listen, I hate to ruin your Saturday, but I have another corpse.”
“Get off it.”
“RCA Building. Firm of O’Brien, et al. Room marked ‘Dead Files.’ The guard will direct you. Sign in.”
There was a long silence, then Spinelli said, “What the fuck is going on with you? What are you, Abrams, some kind of dark cloud?”
“Let’s have lunch.”
“My ass. You stay away from me. No… stay there.”
“Sorry, have to run. Listen, it looks like an accidental food choking, but it’s not. Tell the ME, okay? And remember, this is still funny stuff. Watch your ass. Arrivederci.” He hung up and turned to Katherine. “Is it worth looking for files, or should we assume they’re gone?”
She was studying the file sign-out book. “Arnold removed fourteen files”—she looked around Arnold’s work area—“but they’re not here.”
Abrams nodded.
Katherine thought a moment. “Arnold knew at least one of the people or he wouldn’t have unlocked the door.”
“True.”
“Someone who had access to this room.”
“How many people is that?”
“Dozens. English, Americans, some French, and even a few Germans. Plus a team of Israeli Nazi-hunters.”
“Do you have that list?”
She looked at Arnold. “He kept it in his mind. Every group had only their partial list.”
Abrams thought a moment, then said, “He didn’t know he was in danger immediately. He spoke to the person or persons he let in… They would have exchanged words about the stack of files he was collecting. Perhaps they let him complete the task. They knew what he was doing, why he was here on a Saturday. They knew you’d be along shortly.”
Her eyes suddenly darted into the dark recesses of the aisles of cabinets. She spoke in a hushed tone. “Could they still be here?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it.” He thought again. “At some point, Arnold may have sensed he was in danger… and he may have—” Abrams stared at the desk a moment, then carefully moved some of the papers and tea things on the desk. “Nothing here… they would have spotted any message he tried to leave.” Abrams turned over the body, quickly and expertly examining the pockets, shoes, socks, and clothing. “Nothing I can find… ”
Katherine stood near him. She said, “Maybe we should… look around.”
“No. Let’s go before New York’s finest arrive.”
They left the room and walked quickly down the brightly lit corridor. At the elevator bank, Katherine approached the guard. “Did anyone other than Arnold Brin go down this corridor?”
The guard shook his head. “But then, there’re fire stairs down there too.”
Katherine looked at the sign-in book. Four names appeared over hers and Abrams’: Arnold Brin’s and the three attorneys’. “Are these men still in the office?”
“I think so. I never saw them leave.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Abrams as they waited for the elevator. “Arnold would not have let any of those three men in.”
Abrams nodded. “It doesn’t seem difficult to get past that guard. Do you know him?”
“Yes. He’s been here for years… which doesn’t mean very much.”
“No,” said Abrams, “it doesn’t.” He thought a moment. “Cops ask questions like that — new employees, new domestic help… prime suspects. In your game, people are planted two decades before to unlock a door or throw a light switch at a critical moment.”
“That’s somewhat exaggerated, but—”
“Still, Spinelli will check out the guard and the three attorneys.”
The elevator came and they entered. Katherine said, “I feel terrible about Arnold. He wouldn’t have been here if I hadn’t asked him to come in.”