“Mr. Cullrane gave it to me. In case someone calls for him.”
“Does he receive many calls?”
“Here? No.”
“The calls he does receive. From anyone in particular?”
“It’s not my place to give out that information. You’ll have to ask him.”
“I take it he spends a lot of his time with Ms. Coyne?”
“Yes.” Tight-lipped.
I asked for the address. She gave it to me, along with the singer’s phone number. I wasn’t going to get any more out of her about Jeremy Cullrane, so I moved on to a different subject.
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Pollexfen?”
She stiffened again. “Tell you? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you think it’s possible she had anything to do with the theft?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Eliminate Mr. Pollexfen and Mr. Cullrane, and yourself and the housekeeper, and Mrs. Pollexfen is the only one left.”
“Yes. That’s true.”
“So you do think she could be involved.”
“I didn’t say that. Please don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Are the two of you on friendly terms?”
“Friendly? I hardly know the woman.”
“That’s right, she’s not here much during the day, is she?”
“Not much, no.”
“Spends most of her time shopping.”
“Shopping,” Brenda Koehler said.
She didn’t put any emphasis on the word, but it came out through lips pinched even more tightly; I had the impression of disapproval and scorn. As if she knew or had her suspicions that Angelina Pollexfen spent her days doing something more than spending her husband’s money.
“Does she have other outside interests?” I asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“What about money? Her husband give her carte blanche or put limits on her spending?”
“She has credit cards. Several.”
“Uses them all regularly, does she?”
“I can’t tell you that without Mr. Pollexfen’s permission.”
“Run up any large debts?”
The thin lips pinched again. But all she said was, “Please don’t ask me any more questions about financial matters. I don’t have the authority to answer them.”
I’d run out of questions, period. Trying to extract specific information from Brenda Koehler in these surroundings was pretty much a wasted effort. The perfect discreet employee. But insecure nonetheless; she’d continued to glance at the closed door every third or fourth question the entire time we’d been talking.
I put an end to the interview, left her, and went out to the front parlor where Pollexfen had said he’d be waiting. He was sitting in an armchair reading one of his mystery books the way I read my pulps-carefully, with it open only about a third of the way so as not to strain the binding. When I came in, he bookmarked his place and hoisted himself, wincing, to his feet.
“Damn arthritis,” he said. “Hell to grow old, isn’t it?”
“Better than the alternative.”
“Trite but true. Did Brenda have anything illuminating to tell you?”
“Not really.”
“I didn’t think she would. My wife still isn’t home. You’re welcome to wait, if you like.”
“No, thanks. Another time.”
“Come back tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure she’s here.”
“Thanks, but I’d prefer to talk to her somewhere else. Your brother-in-law as well. You have no objections?”
“Of course not. Suppose I arrange for you to have lunch with Angelina?”
“Lunch isn’t necessary.”
“She’ll be downtown anyway. As usual. And one has to eat.”
“All right, then. If she’s agreeable.”
“She will be,” Pollexfen said. “As for Jeremy, you’ll have to make your own arrangements.” He added meaningly, “If you can catch him.”
I t was four thirty when I drove away from Sea Cliff. Tamara would still be at the agency, but I didn’t feel like fighting crosstown traffic. Easier to phone her, then take the shorter route home through the park and on up to Diamond Heights.
When I reached the Palace of the Legion of Honor I pulled over into the main parking lot to make the call. The Henderson case first-I asked Tamara if Jake had checked in yet.
“Few minutes ago,” she said. “He thinks the stalker’s motive might have something to do with the father, Lloyd Henderson.”
“Because of the grave desecration?”
“Yep. Only problem with that is, the man’s been dead five years. Doesn’t seem likely somebody’d all of a sudden decide to go after his sons.”
“You look into the father’s background yet?”
“Doing that now. Another model citizen. Dentist. Retired four years before he died. What could a dentist’ve done that’d make some dude start slinging acid?”
“Fillings gone bad, maybe.”
She laughed. “Hey, who says you don’t have a sense of humor. Every now and then you get off a funny line.”
“By accident, no doubt.” I went on to fill her in on the interview with Gregory Pollexfen.
She said, “Rich people,” in her scornful way. “So what’s your take? Man swipe his own books?”
“Possible, but it seems to be another case of no motive. Unless you’ve come up with facts I don’t know about yet.”
“Nope. Rivera was right-Pollexfen’s a financial rock. Got more money than you or I will ever see.”
“How about the others in the menage?”
“Well, Jeremy Cullrane’s no angel. Been in trouble before.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Assault case a few years ago-argument with the husband of a woman he was shagging that led to a brawl. Husband pressed charges but dropped them later. One other mark on Cullrane’s record: arrest five years ago for aggravated assault, charges dropped for lack of evidence.”
“A sweetheart.”
“Yeah. And a loser. Considers himself a player, but he doesn’t play real well. Reputed to’ve dropped a bundle in a deal that went sour five years ago, right before the assault arrest.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Details a little hazy, but I’ll find out.”
“His own money?”
“Not unless he’s been dealing drugs on the side.”
“Could be Pollexfen’s. Through his sister.”
“Well, the Cullranes grew up lower middle class in Fresno, so no financial resources there. With his business record, doesn’t seem too likely he’d have friends or connections for big-bucks loans.”
“Promoter, right? Booking agent for club acts?”
“Among other things,” Tamara said.
“Where’s his office?”
“Doesn’t have one. There’s a listing-Jeremy Cullrane Associates, on Geary. But it’s just a mail drop-I
