could be very intimidating when she chose to be.
Tolly swiped at some invisible lint on his moleskin slacks. “Obviously, you’ve checked to see if I’ve ever run afoul of the law. Obviously, the answer is yes. You’ve asked me how I support myself. The short answer is that I don’t. I have a checking account in a New York bank with a small cash balance. No income. No investment portfolio. No retirement plan. I’ve been a gypsy my entire adult life. Mostly, my friends are kind enough to take me in.”
“Are you sure they’re not the ones being taken in?”
“I’m not following you, young lady,” he responded politely.
“Is that right? Because trouble sure has an amazing knack for following you around, sir.” Yolie glanced down at the computer printout that Des had passed her. “In ’94 you were charged with passing forged checks belonging to your hostess, a Mimi Over-meyer of Old Westbury, Long Island. The charges were later dropped by Mrs. Overmeyer, but similar charges were leveled the following year in Aspen, Colorado. This time your hostess was a member of the Ford family. In ’96 some valuable jewelry disappeared from your hostess’s horse farm in Jackson, Wyoming. A Degas disappeared six months later in Palm Beach. This list just goes on and on, Mr. Tolliver-a Cartier watch in Maui, a Tiffany diamond bracelet in Montecito. In Beverly Hills we’ve got credit card fraud-”
“Eva loaned me that card,” Tolly objected, after having suffered the rest in composed silence. “Besides, what you’ve failed to mention is that not once have I been convicted of any crime.”
“True that,” Yolie conceded. “But the sheet doesn’t lie. Wherever you’ve stayed some wealthy lady has wound up paying for it. You’re quite the smooth operator, aren’t you?”
“You make me sound like a gentleman thief out of an old Hollywood movie.”
Des was thinking the same thing herself. Didn’t know which movie, but she had a pretty fair idea who would.
“I didn’t say anything about you being a gentleman,” Yolie pointed out, raising her chin at him.
“Young lady, that was not a nice thing to say.”
“We’re just trying to be thorough,” Soave interjected soothingly. “Mrs. Vickers has lost herself a pretty valuable car, and a man is dead.”
“I’m neither a murderer nor a car thief,” Tolly said. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Why did you leave the keys to the Gullwing in the ignition?” asked Yolie.
“Poochie told me to.”
“Sure it wasn’t your idea?”
“Positive.”
“We can subpoena this house’s phone records. Find out who you’ve been in contact with.”
“Go right ahead. You won’t get anywhere. Not regarding me you won’t.”
Soave peered at him. “You have some idea who is behind this?”
“I have my ideas,” Tolly acknowledged. “None I care to share with you.”
Yolie kept right on coming. “I understand Mrs. Vickers has her some mighty tasty artwork around here.”
“Sergeant, this is not you being thorough, merely insulting,” Tolly said to her calmly. “But you’re wasting your breath. I am impervious to insults. You see, I’ve been a queer my whole life.”
“Have you got a man in your life right now?” she inquired.
“I haven’t, no,” he replied wistfully. “In recent years, it’s been my pleasure to befriend a handful of great, kind ladies. Lonely ladies who make me a part of the family. Mind you, other family members tend to have it in for me- witness Claudia.”
“What about her?”
“She despises me, simply put. I’m a rival for her mother’s affections. I’ve encountered this before. If something goes amiss, I’m the fellow they try to pin it on, and you people are only too happy to see it their way. I’m just the sort who you classify as ‘the likely suspect.’ I’m a lone wolf, and I’ve never owned things. As if things legitimize you. The most disreputable people I’ve ever known owned things-multinational corporations, banking empires. Trust me, they’re the criminals in this world. But the law always picks on me. You people are so compliant in that regard. Besides which,” he added pointedly, “Poochie knows all about what’s on that sheet of yours. I’ve told her. And she trusts me completely. She also needs me. Not just because I’m her friend, but because I pull my weight around here. I help out in the yard, shop for her, wash dishes. She has no maid, you know.”
“Claudia told me you’re putting together a book of your photos,” Des said.
Tolly brightened considerably. “My photos are my legacy. Before I go, I want to show your generation what real style was about. What they were about. I was Babe Paley’s favorite, you know. She’d let no other photographer near her. I shot all of the great ones-Jackie Kennedy, C.Z. Guest, Slim Keith. They had such elegance, such breeding.”
“You were a fashion photographer?” asked Yolie.
“I never shot fashion,” he replied crisply. “Although that’s a common misconception, Sergeant, so don’t get too down on yourself for making it. I shot fabulous ladies going about their daily lives. I shot them lunching with friends. I shot them riding horses, throwing charity galas. I was their chronicler, and now that I’m closing in on eighty I want to publish my chronicle. Those ladies are a part of our heritage. They speak to a wonderful bygone era when sophistication and grace ruled our society. Who are our standard bearers now? Paris Hilton? Britney Spears? The Olsen twins?” Tolly let out a discreet snort of disgust. “They’re all gone now, except for Poochie. She’s a national treasure, really. And she’s grown even more beautiful as she’s gotten older. Because of her spirit. She savors every single day of her life.”
“Do you still take pictures, Mr. Tolliver?” Yolie asked.
“Haven’t touched a camera in years. These days, I’m nothing more than a remarkably well-preserved relic.”
“Which brings us back to the subject of how you support yourself.”
“I haven’t a cent, Sergeant, as I’ve already told you. Could I use one of those sweet golden parachutes that the corporate titans are awarded for running their companies into the ground? Absolutely. Instead, I’m relying on Poochie for the roof over my head, for my pocket money, for my everything. I adore that woman. She’s good to me, and I’m good to her. We laugh an awful lot. We’re happy together. I have peace here. I have security. And I didn’t steal her Gullwing. Not worth it to me at this point in my life. Which is not to admit that it ever was. May I be excused now?”
“You can stay right here if you want,” Soave told him. “We’re leaving.”
As soon as they were outside Soave undid his flowered necktie and ripped it from around his throat. “I knew this thing made me look light in the loafers,” he fumed. “I should never have listened to Tawny.”
“You don’t look gay, Rico,” Des assured him.
“You trying to tell me that old guy wasn’t hitting on me?”
“He was simply paying you a compliment. That wasn’t gay code.”
“That there is one sly old boots,” Yolie mused aloud as they crossed the gravel courtyard toward their rides. “Did you believe anything he said?”
“Not a single word,” Soave replied, scowling.
“Dig, how do we know he doesn’t have a young stud on the side?” she suggested. “A partner who does the heavy lifting while he’s being all lovey-dovey.”
“We should definitely check his phone records,” Soave said. “Also his bank account. His and everyone else’s. Maybe we’ll turn up a funky deposit or withdrawal. And, Des, you ought to nose around at your quaint local inns. See if any unattached male guests came and went recently.”
“I’ll get right on it, Rico.”
“So who are you liking for this, the Kershaw brothers?”
“My mind’s still open. But my gut hunch is Pete’s killer wasn’t some out-of-town leather boy who’s hooked up with Guy Tolliver. We’re looking for people who Pete knew. People who were afraid he might blab their identity to someone.”
“Girl, you told us the man barely spoke,” Yolie pointed out.
“I know I did. Just walking it around. Sorry if I’m muddying the water.”
“That’s okay, don’t ever hold back. I had a wise lieutenant once who taught me that.” Soave flashed a grin at Des as they arrived at their cars. “Let’s cowboy up, ladies. Yolie, grab some uniforms and recanvass the neighbors and school bus drivers. Find out if anyone saw Pete on his rounds this morning. And we need to go after the Gullwing hard. If we find the car we find our killers. They had to unload it somewhere. And we’re not talking some
