The Right Jack

"That does it! There's no way we can finish now. You're going to questione verybody again, aren't you? Get 'em all stirred up-"

Alan Knight began to bristle, and to stop him from alerting Flythe of their suspicions, Sigrid interrupted coldly. "I realize this tournament is important to you, Mr. Flythe, but we are investigating three murders here."

Flythe immediately backed down and tried to repair the damage. "It's just that there're so many people and so much money involved, Lieutenant. Makes it complicated. But that's not your problem, of course. Don't worry. We'll work something out."

"I'm sure you will," Sigrid said flatly. "Lowry, Albee, ask the staff to come in, please."

The players listened in shocked silence as Sigrid spoke into the microphone and told them of the young busboy's death. "We know you've had a long morning and that you'll want lunch now. As you leave the room, please show some identification to the officers at the door.

They'll check you off the list and we'll be talking to each of you after lunch."

In an attempt to help the cardplayers remember, she asked the remaining busboys to come forward while she gave a brief description of the dead youth and then introduced Detectives Albee and Lowry, to whom most had already spoken.

"If any of you recall seeing Pernell Johnson during the break or if you spoke to him then, please tell one of these officers before you leave for lunch. Thank you."

A dismayed babble of comments and exclamations arose from the crowd and Ted Flythe took over the mike to promise that he would have a statement for them at two o'clock, after lunch. He stepped down from the podium and called, "Lieutenant?"

He was too late. Sigrid had disappeared into the crowd to join Alan Knight and Mr. George with the busboys, who were having trouble believing that one of their own was so abruptly gone.

"Man, he was right here!" one protestedi ncredulously. "We were jiving him about Terri Pratt."

To Knight's questions, they all shook their heads. As with Mr. George earlier, they were ready to swear that Pernell had seen nothing Friday night.

"We were tight, man," said another. He held up crossed fingers. "Like that. No way he wouldn't have told me. All he could talk about was how things were breaking right, how once Mr. George gave him a good report about putting out the fire, maybe he was go

A different busboy said he'd seen Johnson enter the Bontemps Room after speaking with Miss Baldwin. That was immediately before the ten-thirty break, he thought. Once the break began and people were milling about, no one noticed Johnson again.

"What about Ted Flythe?" Sigrid asked. "Where was he during the break?"

More shrugs, this time punctuated with an undercurrent of knowing snickers.

"Mr. George?"

"Probably upstairs with one of hisg irls. Graphic Games has a suite on eighteen and the maids say he's been keeping the sheets hot, if you'll pardon the expression, Miss."

"I thought Miss Baldwin was his current interest," said Knight.

"The man's a Baskin-Robbins freak," quipped one of the busboys.

"Ice cream?" asked Sigrid as they moved away.

"Thirty-one different flavors," Knight told her.

"Oh."

To avoid the crush of people and reporters, they slipped out the rear service exit and walked along the deserted back corridors.

"Any suggestions?" Sigrid asked Knight.

"Nope. You seem to be covering all the bases. Want me to locate the girlfriends?"

"Flythe's?"

"And Johnson's."

"Later. I'd rather you sat in on the interview with Molly Baldwin, if you don't mind. You can be the good copa nd keep your handkerchief handy. If all else fails," she added dryly, "I'll even tell her you aren't married."

"She looks too scared to care," he gri

"With you and our Russian friend practically waving flags, how could I not?"

Inside the d'Aubigné Room, Sigrid paused by one of the technicians who was dusting the table where the body had been found, looking for usable prints. She gave him Flythe's card, explained what she wanted, and received his promise to develop any fingerprints on the card for comparison with Fred Hamilton's when the FBI passed them on.

A photographer was dispatched to the Bontemps Room.

"Make it look as if you're merely following the usual routine," Sigrid told her, "but try to get a clear profile and

full frontal of Flythe without letting him know it.".

"Gotcha," the girl gri

"I mean it," Sigrid said seriously. "If he's who I think he is, he made J. Edgar Hoover's list fifteen years ago. I don't want him scared into bolting."

"He won't feel a thing," the photographer promised. "Trust me, ma'am."

While Sigrid heard progress reports and detailed an officer to locate Pernell Johnson's girlfriend among the maids, Alan Knight had gone ahead, ostensibly to put Miss Baldwin at ease.

Molly tried to return the smile the naval officer gave her as he put his hat down on the table, smoothed his straw-colored hair, and opened the note pad. He was very friendly looking, she thought, and abruptly found herself wishing he was a police officer and not a Navy lieutenant, one of her cousin's colleagues.

By now she knew that he hadn't known Teejy, but he couldn't have missed hearing that awful Russian bellowing about being T. J. Dixon's cousin; so the mere fact that he was in the Navy made things even more unsettling.

"Do you want coffee or something?" he asked solicitously. "I could probably send for it, if you like."

"No, nothing," she said. He seemed so nice. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad, after all. "Will it be much longer, do you think? There's so much-"

"I'm sure it won't be. Lieutenant Harald's very thorough, but you don't have to worry. You just tell her what you did this morning and that'll be that. They say she can be pretty rough at times, but as long as you're telling the truth, you'll be fine. Okay?"

Molly's heart sank. "Okay," she murmured faintly.

Her small hands clenched into involuntary fists in her lap as she watched Lieutenant Harald's approach. The tall policewoman seated herself across the table. Her wide gray eyes were unsmiling and her voice was professionally cool as she said, "Now then, Ms. Baldwin."

21

EARLIER that day, Sigrid had spoken to Alan Knight of professionalism and objectivity, yet it was not objectivity but the experienced value of thoroughness that now made her question Molly Baldwin as carefully as any of the others. At this point, she truly believed that John Sutton was the intended target of Friday night's explosion; therefore she saw no point in shilly-shallying over minor points.

"Why did you lie about your relationship with Commander Dixon?" she asked the girl baldly.

"I didn't! I really wasn't sure at first it was her and then when I knew…" Her voice died away under Sigrid's openly skeptical gaze.

"I-It's not what you think," Molly stammered.

Alan Knight gave her an encouraging smile. "We're sure it's not, Miss Baldwin, but you have to admit it's a little odd."

Molly turned to him gratefully. "You see, Teejy-that's what I've always called her-we had this awful fight last summer. I was really having trouble finding a decent job after college and she got really uptight and cut off my allowance just like that! It wasn't fair. So I got mad and we hadn't written or anything since. It was a totally unreal summer. I was so broke. Then I landed a job at one of the resort hotels and that led to this. My training probation's up next month. Everything was going pretty good and I thought Madame Ronay would probably offer me a permanent position but I didn't want to tell Teejay until I knew for sure."