'Why don't you phone?'
'I can try. I have the number of her hotel in Pendleton. Do you want to wait in the living room?'
'Sure.'
'Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee or tea?'
Anthony glanced at Yoshida. The forensic expert shook his head.
'No, thanks,' Anthony told the houseman.
Anthony knew where the living room was from his official visit to the estate on the evening of the murder, but he let Allen direct him to it. The vast room was dominated by a massive stone fireplace. A Persian carpet, similar to the carpet in the entry hall, lay over the hardwood floor. Yoshida tried to be nonchalant, but as soon as Allen was gone, he said, 'This room is almost as big as my house. We're in the wrong business, Lou.'
'I don't know, Gary. The owner's dead and we're still ticking.'
Anthony and Yoshida settled themselves on one of the large sofas that flanked the fireplace, and waited for the houseman to return. A fire had not been laid in the grate and the room was chilly. Anthony was beginning to regret turning down the offer of coffee when Allen reentered the room. The policemen stood up and met him halfway.
'I'm sorry. Ms. Crease has already left the hotel and I have no idea when I'll be able to talk to her.'
'Thanks for trying, but we really do have to see the room.'
'I thought the investigation was complete.'
'For the most part, but we have a few loose ends to tie up.'
'I don't want to impede your investigation, but without Ms. Crease's permission . . . ,' Allen said hesitantly.
Anthony tired of diplomacy. He was all for civility, but he was used to getting his way, like most policemen.
'Look,' Anthony said sharply, 'this is an official police investigation into the death of your employer and Senator Crease's husband. You're telling me the bedroom is going to be cleaned tomorrow. By the time you talk to Senator Crease any evidence in that room will be destroyed. We need to get into the bedroom and we need to do it now.'
'All right,' Allen said reluctantly. 'You can go up. The room is locked. I'll get the key for you.'
'Thanks. We won't be long.'
Anthony knew the way to the bedroom and he did not want the houseman tagging along, so Anthony told Allen that there was no need for him to accompany them. He sensed that Allen was relieved that he would not have to reenter the bedroom.
As soon as Yoshida opened the door, Anthony started to envy Allen. The room had been sealed and the windows were closed. The stench of death still hung in the stale air.
Anthony took a step into the bedroom, but Yoshida held out his arm to block him. Anthony stepped back into the corridor as Yoshida switched on the lights. The forensic expert stood in the doorway and slowly surveyed the room. He was carrying the Hoyt file in an attache case. When he had seen what he wanted to see from the doorway, Yoshida walked over to the bed and set down the attache on Lamar Hoyt's end table. Then he took out the crime scene photographs and the lab -reports and shuffled through them. Every so often, he compared a photograph to the section of the room it portrayed. When he was through with the photographs, Yoshida began studying sections of the room. He stood at the door to the bathroom for a while, then inspected the armoire that stood opposite the foot of the bed against the south wall. After he was shot, Martin Jablonski had crumpled to the floor with his feet almost touching the side of the armoire that faced the west wall. A fine spray of blood that discolored the west-facing side of the armoire about six feet above the carpet attracted Yoshida's attention.
Occasionally, Yoshida made notes on a yellow pad.
Other times he asked Anthony to hold one end of a roll of string over a particular patch of blood while he unrolled the string and straightened it at some point before squatting down and sighting back along it toward Anthony. Sometimes Yoshida employed a tape measure. Except to clarify Yoshida's instructions, Anthony kept quiet, even though he was anxious to learn Yoshida's conclusions.
Yoshida put everything back in the attache and snapped the locks closed. Anthony looked at him expectantly. Yoshida looked very grim. He explained his conclusions to Anthony with scientific detachment while walking the detective through every step in his reasoning and showing him the physical evidence that supported his opinion. Anthony's mood grew more morose with each new detail.
When Yoshida was through, Anthony told him to wait in the living room while he went in search of James Allen. The detective found the houseman in the kitchen. A huge, tiled center island with several stove lights dominated the room. Anthony spotted two dishwashers and two ovens. Copperware hung from the ceiling. Allen was seated at a large wooden table polishing silverware. He stood up when Anthony entered.
'Are you through, sir?'
'Just about. I wanted to ask a few questions, though.'
'Please.'
'How long did you work for Mr. Hoyt?'
'A long time. Mr. Hoyt first employed me in the West Side Home of Heavenly Rest. When he purchased this estate, he asked me if I would work for him here.'
'Was Mr. Hoyt a good employer?'
'He was the best, sir,' Allen answered. He paused and it was clear to Anthony that the houseman was struggling.
'I want to be completely honest, Detective. I don't want you thinking that I have concealed information. When I was a young man . . . well, sir, I killed a man. There is no other way to put it.'
Allen looked down, embarrassed by his confession.
'I was convicted of manslaughter and I served two years in prison. I was twenty when I was paroled. I was a high school dropout with no job skills who bore the stigma of a felony conviction. No one would hire me. I was sleeping in missions, barely able to keep myself together. I seriously considered suicide on more than one occasion. Then Mr. Hoyt hired me. He . . . well, sir, it would be quite accurate to say that he saved my life. Simply giving me a job would have been enough, but he did much more. When my mother grew ill, Mr. Hoyt paid for her care and he financed my education.'
Allen looked directly into Anthony's eyes. 'Mr. Hoyt was not merely my employer. He was my savior. His death has been very hard on me.'
'I appreciate your candor.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'If you worked for Mr. Hoyt since you were twenty, I guess you were with him through all three marriages.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I gather that the first two were pretty stormy toward the end.'
'They were.'
'How about his marriage to the senator? Did Mr. Hoyt and Senator Crease get along?'
Allen looked uncomfortable. 'I shouldn't be discussing Mr. Hoyt's private life.'
Anthony nodded. 'I appreciate that, but this is a murder investigation and it's suddenly become important that I learn a little more than I already know about the personal life of Mr. Hoyt and Ellen Crease.'
'Really, Detective Anthony, I don't feel it s proper for me to comment.'
Anthony placed his slablike forearms on the kitchen table and leaned forward slightly.
'Mr. Allen, there is no place for delicacy here. Martin Jablonski splattered your boss's brains all over his expensive bed linens. Life doesn't get more indelicate than that. What I want to know is why he did that. If you respect Mr. Hoyt as much as you seem to, you'd want to help me out here.'
Allen looked confused. 'I thought Mr. Hoyt was killed during a burglary. What possible relevance could the state of his marriage have to your investigation?'
'Let's just say that we're looking into other possibilities.'
'And you suspect Ms. Crease?'
'I'm afraid that I can't go into that.'
Allen considered the implications of Anthony's answer. Then he said, 'For most of their marriage, Mr. Hoyt
