Good King Sauerkraut (20 page)

King watched woodenly as Mimi and Rae exchanged puzzled looks. Mimi swallowed and said, “Then Gregory and Dennis … are you saying their deaths were accidents after all?”

Malecki snorted. “No way.”

“Then what—”

“Mrs. Hargrove,” Marian Larch said firmly. “Four people were staying in that apartment. Two of them died at the same time under circumstances that can only be called bizarre. The other two were ostensibly out of the apartment at the time, and both have alibis that have gaping holes in them. You say you were on your way back from the airport when the two deaths occurred, and there's no way of proving that. Mr. Sarcowicz says he was wandering the streets until the muggers got him in the park. Since neither—”

“Now wait a minute!” Mimi cried, her voice high. “What exactly are you saying?”

The detective looked back and forth between Mimi and King. “I thought it was clear. What we're saying is that Gregory Dillard and Dennis Cox were killed by one of you two.”

King sat at the poker table in the apartment's games room, his chin sunk on his chest and his arms folded. The games room also had a billiards table, but right then it was in shadow. The room's only illumination came from a lamp suspended from the ceiling, spilling a pool of light directly on to the poker table and him—
just like an old-timey police station
, King thought in irritation.

Across from him and just far enough back from the table to be out of the pool of light sat Marian Larch. Ivan Malecki had stayed in the office with Mimi, where he was undoubtedly giving her the third degree or whatever it was called nowadays. Rae Borchard had delivered a blistering denunciation of police methods before rushing off to notify Warren Osterman and get them a lawyer and do whatever else she could think to do.

“Five days,” said Sergeant Larch out of the shadow, “we've wasted five whole days. Around here it's a rule of thumb that if you don't crack a homicide in three days, chances are good your perp will walk. And we just spent
five days
on a wild goose chase.”

King felt she was waiting for him to say something. “Is that my fault?” he asked in a tone of injured innocence.

“Yours or Mimi's. You want Mimi to take the blame for something you did?”

“I never murdered anyone. And neither did Mimi—you're on the wrong track.”

“With Dennis Cox out of the way, now you've got Keystone Robotics all to yourself. Was that your motive—plain old greed?”

“Dammit, Sergeant, you couldn't be more wrong! I
needed
Dennis—I can't run Keystone by myself! And I'm not even going to try. I've already got a new partner.”

“Who?”

“Gale Fredericks. You met her … ah, Saturday.”

“Uh-huh. So it's all set, is it.” Not buying it.

“It's in the works. I called my lawyer on Monday and instructed him to draw up new partnership papers. You can check with him.”

“Oh, that's a good idea.” Only lightly sarcastic. Marian Larch leaned into the circle of light with a pen and notebook in her hands. “Name?”

King told her the lawyer's name and watched her write it down.

“Not Howard J. M. Liebermann?”

Ah, so she did know about the will
. “No, my lawyer in Pittsburgh,” he said, thinking this was as good an opening as any. “Gale's going to be working on the project. I know she can handle that, I'm sure of it.”

The sergeant picked up her cue. “Meaning you're not sure she can handle Keystone? Why'd you make her a partner if you're unsure of her?”

King sighed, deeply. “Sergeant Larch, Gale Fredericks is the best young designer I know—she's already better than Dennis Cox ever was, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have working with me. But she doesn't have Dennis's experience.” He went on to explain about Dennis's unique combination of talents, his hands-on experience in robot design that meshed with a superior business sense to make him an ideal partner. He said it was a combination he knew of in no other person. “Gale and I may end up hiring someone to manage Keystone for us, but first we want to try it without having to rely on an outsider to keep us solvent. So you see, Sergeant, I don't profit from my partner's death. In fact, it's going to work a hardship on me.”

She asked questions. She wanted to know financial details, and King gave them to her as fully and as honestly as he could. He knew once she checked into them, she'd find Dennis's death was costing him money—the amount he had to put up to buy his dead partner's share of the business before he signed it over to Gale for the token sum of one dollar. He would come out looking like a white knight valiantly struggling to save his business.

Or maybe not. “You and Gale Fredericks,” Sergeant Larch said, “you got something going, have you?”

King felt his face tighten up in annoyance. “No, we do not have ‘something going'.”

“You're giving her half your business. Half of Keystone Robotics is going to a partner who can't pay for it. You don't run into that kind of generosity very often.”

“I
need
Gale—the same way I needed Dennis. Can't you understand that?”

“Dennis might have been in the way. You get rid of him, there's room for Gale.”

“Sergeant, you have a nasty and suspicious mind.”

“I'm paid to be suspicious. And nasty too, come to think of it.” The grilling went on—about his plans for Keystone, his plans for the weapons platform, about his movements on the day Dennis and Gregory had died. She asked what he thought of the other members of the team; in an only slightly exaggerated display of openness, King let her know that while he and Mimi had once been at odds in the past, he'd never had any reason to dislike Gregory Dillard. Or want him dead.

But it took a lot to satisfy Sergeant Marian Larch. She leaned on him hard, questioning every little remark he made. She hinted the police were unimpressed by the theory that Gregory had been lured into leaning out the window by a one-footed pigeon. She hinted at conspiracy, at the possibility that King and Mimi were in it together. She came back to Gale and told him that if they were lovers, the Pittsburgh police would find it out for her. Then she wanted to know if he and Mimi were lovers. And then, god help him, she wanted to know if he and
Dennis
had been lovers.

In two hours the only break she allowed him was five minutes to go to the bathroom. The interrogation ended only when Rae Borchard showed up with a MechoTech lawyer in tow. The lawyer, obviously comfortable only with corporate law, solemnly warned both King and Mimi not to talk to the police until they could get a criminal lawyer to advise them. Mimi and King exchanged a sour look; it was a little late for that. But neither Marian Larch nor Ivan Malecki argued the point; King had the feeling they'd accomplished what they came there to accomplish—which was the simple intimidating of their two suspects.

Sergeant Larch smiled sweetly at King as she left. “See you tomorrow,” she purred.

When they were gone, and the MechoTech lawyer as well, Rae Borchard said, “Don't talk to her, King. Or to the other one, either. I don't know what they could be thinking of—this is terrible.”

Mimi looked exhausted. “I've never had anyone say things to me like that in my life. That Sergeant Malecki accused me of sleeping with both Gregory and Dennis, of trying to get rid of my SmartSoft partners, of—”

“I don't know what you're worried about,” King snapped, his temper frayed. “They have eight witnesses who saw a
man
standing at the apartment window when it happened.”

“But only one of them thought to count the floors,” Mimi answered mournfully, “and now that one's saying he's not sure he counted right.”

“What?”

“That's what Sergeant Malecki told me. There may not have been any third man in that apartment at all.”

“Oh … I didn't know that. Somehow Sergeant Larch neglected to mention that little fact.”

Mimi sniffed disconsolately. “So now the police are thinking the killer could have been either a woman or a man. They're thinking it could have been me.”

“Don't talk to them,” Rae repeated. “Either of you.”

So the floor-counting witness was having second thoughts
, King mused. Well, well … wasn't that interesting. Now the police were thinking it could very well have been Mimi who killed Dennis and Gregory. Why not? King liked that.

It could have been
Mimi
.

10

King fully expected to find Marian Larch camped on his doorstep the next morning, but she wasn't there. Nor was the other one, Ivan Malecki—much to Mimi's relief. Rae Borchard had set up a ten o'clock appointment for them with a criminal lawyer; with luck, they could avoid the police all morning.

Since King's and Mimi's status had changed from potential victims to that of murder suspects, the police's earlier instruction that they stay in the apartment for their own protection was tacitly lifted. Mimi was nervous about venturing away from the safety of the apartment building, though; King had to talk her into going out for breakfast. Their behavior had to be the same; it would set the police to wondering if she acted afraid and he didn't.

“They're bound to be following us,” Mimi said as they turned on to Fifth Avenue.

“I know.” King was counting on their following, on their seeing that neither of their suspects was afraid to be alone with the other.

They chose a coffee shop at random off Fifth Avenue and slid into the only empty booth. A waitress appeared, shooting covert glances at King's face. His bruises had faded considerably, but he was still marked up enough to attract attention; their waitress, who was very young, was having trouble not staring. King ordered fruit juice and coffee and pancakes and sausages, but Mimi wanted only tea and a glass of tonic water. “Queasy this morning,” she explained.

They sat in glum silence until the waitress brought their orders, determinedly not looking at King. King polished off his breakfast quickly and wiped his mouth. “Mimi, we have to talk.”

She just looked at him, not even trying to hide her depression.

“The police are wrong. I know I didn't kill Dennis and Gregory—and I sure as hell don't think you did. Larch and Malecki are way off base.”

“Rae Borchard.”

“She didn't kill them either.
Nobody
killed them, Mimi. It was just two freak accidents—tragic and stupid, but still accidents. And if the police weren't so conditioned to looking for homicides under every bush, they'd see both deaths were accidents.”

“Speaking of,” Mimi said, staring over his shoulder.

King turned to see their two police detectives approaching their table. He groaned as Marian Larch sat down next to him and said, “Move over, King—you're taking up too much room.” Ivan Malecki slid in next to Mimi and asked the waitress to bring them coffee.

“Can't we even have breakfast without being harassed?” King complained.

“What harrassed?” the woman next to him said. “We're just having coffee with you.”

“We don't have to talk to you!” Mimi said defiantly.

Sergeant Larch looked at her partner in mock resignation. “Why do they always say that?”

Sergeant Malecki made a face. “They hear it on TV alia time,” he answered with a long-suffering air.

“Well, she's right,” King grumbled. “We
don't
have to talk to you. In fact, we're on our way to see our lawyer.”

“Howard J. M. Liebermann?” Sergeant Larch asked innocently.

That was the second time she'd mentioned him; she'd brought his name up yesterday as well
. “No, a criminal lawyer. Why I went to see Liebermann is my own business.”

“You made out your will,” Malecki said.

Bingo!
King made a show of being angry. “You've been checking up on me.”

“We always check up on people we think are killers.”

“Don't be idiotic!” Mimi snapped. “If he's worried enough to make out a will, then he's not a killer!”

Ah, Mimi, I love you!

“Unless that's just what he wants us to think,” Sergeant Larch remarked.

But Marian, I'm none too fond of you
.

“What about you?” Sergeant Malecki asked Mimi. “Why didn't you make out a will too?”

“I already have a will,” Mimi said through clenched teeth.

The young waitress showed up with coffee, and this time King caught her sneaking a peek at him. She turned pink and laughed. “What's the other guy look like?”

“Not a scratch on him,” King answered, a little put out. “A Sumo wrestler beat me up when I wouldn't give him my seat on the subway.”

She frowned, believing him. “How can people get away with things like that?”

King jerked a thumb in Marian Larch's direction. “Ask her. She's a detective.”

“Really?” The waitress's face lit up. “You're a private investigator?”

“A public investigator,” Marian Larch said. “NYPD.”

The waitress looked disappointed. When she'd gone, Sergeants Larch and Malecki started a lively conversation about the current state of professional wrestling; they gave it their full attention, effectively excluding King and Mimi. When they'd finished their coffee, the two detectives smiled cheerfully, said goodbye, and left.

Mimi looked astonished. “Now what was that all about?”

“They're just letting us know they're around,” King said. “I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot of those two.”

She made a gesture of annoyance—and knocked over King's glass that still had an inch of fruit juice in it. King jerked sideways in the booth to escape the juice that spilled over the tabletop in his direction.

“Oh! Did it get on you?”