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"The key Ondine found opened one of Claudia's two safes. The one it fit was cleverly hidden inside a storage cupboard in the corner of the conference room Detective Toscana has been using. The other, the reason Claudia de Vries was in the bathhouse at that hour of the night, was in a very clever compartment beneath one of the mud baths. That safe had a combination lock. When we emptied the mud bath, we found the keys to the bathhouse door-you may have seen how heavily locked she kept that building-but not the safe key. That is because Claudia's killer knew there was a safe and recognized the key for what it was. However, either the killer knew as well that the safe was in the conference room and therefore inaccessible until the police cleared out, or else made the mistake of murdering Claudia before finding out where the safe was. Hanging onto the key would have been dangerous-if the police did a complete search of the grounds and found it, they'd know it had something to do with Claudia's death-so the killer gave it to Howard Fondulac. He was a drunk, but he wasn't stupid; he knew that he was being set up to take the fall and in fact told Detective Toscana as much, but he couldn't very well reveal the details without giving away his own illegal activities.
"The only person who fits into this combination of inside knowledge and incomplete details is Hilda Finch. She gave Howard the key, knowing that eventually she could get the location of the safe out of Raoul, but in the end, Raoul did not know his wife had a second safe. The one in the conference room did contain a great deal of moderately secret material, but it was primarily a decoy. The bathhouse safe was where Claudia kept her real treasures-blackmail evidence and correspondence going back more than twenty years: letters, bank statements, blood tests, records of drunk-driving and prostitution arrests for dozens of people. And by the way, the material in both has been seized, but it will remain confidential. You have my word on that, any of you who might be concerned."
Phyllis Talmadge made a small noise and slumped into her chair, causing those around her to speculate what sort of document bearing her name might be inside one of those safes.
"Anybody got a cigarette?" Phyllis asked the room at large. When no one reached for a pack, she sighed gustily. "You know, until three days ago, I hadn't smoked in nearly twenty years. How's that for a health spa?"
(So much for the psychic's testimony that she'd smelled cigarettes before she was conked and thrown in the lake, Vince thought grumpily, leaving his packet firmly in his pocket. She'd been sucking mints to hide not booze but smokes.)
"So," Emilio was finishing up, "you understand why I have told you rather more than I would normally have done, by means of asking you to keep the gossip to a minimum. The press outside does not know of the familial links between several of the famous individuals here, and although the right to privacy is generally regarded in this country as a mild jest, I appeal to you to grant it to those who have already suffered enough. I leave it to your sense of honor. Of course," he added, his voice and eyes going hard as diamonds, "I need hardly add that if I am aware of a leak originating in this room, the DEA will be most attentive to the individual involved, for a long, long time. Thank you for your time, and now I think Detective Toscana will need to take yet another set of statements from a number of you."
Close on to midnight, there was no one else in the swimming pool. When Caroline had first stood with that once again pristine stretch of blue water at her feet she had nearly drawn back: It would be a long time before she was entirely comfortable with solitude, and the locked door to the ominous mud room still bore the police seal. But Douglas offered to stay with her, to float around quietly at the other side of the pool. That compromise reassured her, and the strong, steady laps she had swum in the silky water soothed her further. Soon, very soon, she would have to approach Doug with the offer to free him from marriage to a psychopath's daughter-ironic, really, considering his own efforts in practically the same cause. But not now, not here; it was more than time for a small fraction of the relaxation and ease she had come here to find.
When the three figures at the far end of the echoing, chlorine-scented room caught her eye, she was startled, but not badly so, and although she glanced to the side to make certain that Douglas was there (and he was, standing protectively upright in the hip-deep water), she put her head down and continued her measured strokes to the end, where she surfaced to prop her arms on the rim of the pool.
"We need to talk with you, Caroline." It was, strangely, King David who spoke, not the beautiful DEA agent whom she had decided had to be the rock star's lover. She looked from Emilio to Lauren Sullivan, then dropped back underwater to swim to the side and pull herself out. Retrieving her terry cloth robe from the bench, she belted it on and swept her wet hair back from her face.
"About what?" About how devastating it was to have a mother who murdered and blackmailed and God knew what else without a qualm? About the link she had to this stu
The tattooed eyes gave a quick sideways glance to where Douglas stood. Doug Blessing, whose own looks and charisma faded in their presence as a star in daylight. She held out one hand to her husband, her eyes defiantly on those of the rocker, who nodded and waited until Douglas had sloshed from the pool and joined them.
"Let's sit down," the singer suggested. They sat, on two facing benches. His words, though spoken in a low voice, reverberated back from the mosaic tile scenes that lined the room, and as the blue water grew still again, the universe seemed to contract to where the five of them sat.
Caroline could not bear it. She seized the initiative and spoke first. "If you're here to tell me that Lauren Sullivan is my half sister, I already know it. And Lauren," she went on, forcing herself to meet that world-famous gaze, "I promise never to tell a soul that my mother had anything to do with you. I'd probably deny her myself, if I could. Is that all you wanted?"
"No," said the actress, her sultry voice ripe with some intense but unidentifiable emotion. "Dad, do you want to…?"
She was, Caroline saw in disbelief, speaking to King David, who stirred and reached into a pocket.
" 'Dad!' Did you call him-but… you told me you're, what? Forty-four?" Caroline objected, staring incredulously at the rock star. Even for someone as wild as King David, fathering a child at the age of, what? seven or eight? was a bit hard to believe.
He laughed, checked the two photographs he had taken from his pocket, and handed one of them to Caroline. "Detective Toscana found these on Hilda Finch when he arrested her."
Caroline dried her fingers on her robe and took the faded snapshot by its white-bordered corner. It showed a red-haired young man, in profile. She turned it over and read, in a girl's handwriting, "Tad Blake."