“I have clients here. I will not leave them without legal protection.”
“Would anyone else like to leave?”
No one moved.
“Then I must tell you, as Mr. McCarthy certainly would have, that you have the right to ignore any questions I may ask you. I shall question each person in turn, and I would appreciate it if the others did not interfere. Except, of course, Mr. McCarthy, who will be duty-bound to advise his clients not to answer when he feels they should not answer.”
“I’m not sure I want to answer any of your damned questions,” Hennesy said.
“As you please, Congressman. I’ll start with Mrs. Goldberg.”
Beckman had moved behind them. He sat on the piano bench, his notebook out.
“Do you ride, Mrs. Goldberg? I mean horseback.”
Della Goldberg observed him with interest, smiling slightly. “As a matter of fact, I do. I mean, I try. It’s silly at my age, but most of the things one does out here are silly.”
“Where do you ride?”
“In Malibu. My husband and I keep horses at the Grandview Corral.”
“And you both ride?”
“We both try.”
“Thank you. And you, Mr. McCarthy, do you ride?”
McCarthy stared at him, his face set.
“Of course he does,” Mrs. Cooper said, “and I don’t blame him for refusing to answer a stupid question like that. And I ride, if you intend to ask me that dumb question. At the same Grandview Corral.”
“I ride occasionally,” Ranier volunteered. “I don’t know why you want to know and I couldn’t care less. At Crushanks, in the Valley.”
“And you, Mr. Hennesy?”
“I think I’ve had enough of your nonsense, Masuto. I didn’t like you when I met you this afternoon, and I like you less now. The abuse of police power is one of the things I like least in this democracy of ours. To have a very mournful occasion like this turned into a circus is more than I can endure. I think I’ll leave.” He stood up. “Will you join me?” he asked Mrs. Cooper.
“As a matter of fact, I was thinking the same thing.” She rose too.
“I’ll go with you,” McCarthy said, and to Ranier, “I’d advise you to do the same thing, Bill.”
“I’ll stay,” Ranier decided.
McCarthy, Hennesy, and Mrs. Cooper left the room. Masuto heard the door slam as they departed from the house, and Wainwright took the moment to whisper to Masuto that he was going home. “It’s your ballgame, Masao,” he said. “I’m going to get to the city manager tonight, before McCarthy shits all over us. And be careful,” he added, dropping his voice still further. “We got McCarthy and we got the congressman, and those are two mean bastards. So for God’s sake, keep it cool and don’t involve us in any lawsuits. And don’t make any arrests. These people aren’t going anywhere.”
The Goldbergs, Miss Newman, and Ranier sat quietly, waiting. When Wainwright had left, Joe Goldberg said, “What now, Sergeant? I’ll admit I am an appropriate candidate for murdering the Angel, if I had enough guts to murder anyone, which I haven’t, but poor Mikey I would kill only for his stupidity, and no one kills because someone they love is stupid.”
“Mikey wasn’t so stupid,” Della Goldberg protested. “He was trusting.”
“Which, carried to the extremes he carried it to, was simply another form of stupidity.”
“Will you two stop!” Miss Newman cried. “You just can’t stand the fact that Mike decided he didn’t need another mother and father. Calling him stupid because he loved people and trusted them!”
“I think you’d better go home, Miss Newman,” Masuto said gently. “You’ve had a long, terrible day.” And to Beckman, “Take her outside, Sy, and have a squad car drive her home.”
“I have my car here,” she muttered, the tears beginning.
“All right, if you wish. And please give Detective Beckman your address and phone number.”
“Anything more?” Goldberg asked after the girl and Beckman had gone.
“Yes. Do you know whether Hennesy rides?”
“He rides,” Ranier put in.
“What is this riding business?” Goldberg asked. “How does it fit in?”
“I’m not sure I know.”
Beckman came in then and told Masuto that Kelly had asked whether he could go to his room. “He sleeps over the garage.”
“Yes, he can go.” And then to Ranier, “How do you know Hennesy rides?”
“I was once a guest out at Albermarle, near San Fernando. They told me he keeps a horse there.”
“That would cost a bundle,” Goldberg remarked. “Hennesy doesn’t have a pot to pee in.”
“Hennesy’s on the take. When he needs money, he gets money. All right, I don’t smell of roses. It takes one to know one.”
“What kind of take?” Masuto asked.
“I can give you a list of what a congressman can do for you as long as your arm. He does it.”
Keller, the FBI man, spoke up for the first time since he had entered the room and said, “That’s a serious accusation, Mr. Ranier.”
Ranier looked at Masuto hopelessly. “Is he kidding?”
“I think not. He’s a federal officer.”
“And you work in this town,” Ranier said to Keller, “and you never heard that Roy Hennesy is a crook?”
“Come on, Bill,” Goldberg said, “you don’t call a man a crook until you can quote chapter and verse. Anyway, I’ve had enough of this whole thing. My wife and I would like to leave, Sergeant.”
“If you wish, of course.”
As he rose, he asked, “Are we still suspects?”
“Did you or your wife kill the Bartons?”
“You know damn well we didn’t!”
Masuto shrugged. “At this point, I know so little.”
The Goldbergs departed, leaving Masuto with Ranier and Keller. Ranier rose, took a few paces, leaned over the piano with his back to the two men, and then turned to Masuto and said, “I want to talk to you.”
“Very well.”
“Alone.”
“All right.” And to Keller, he said, “You might as well tie it up for the night, Mr. Keller. We’ve lost everyone except Mr. Ranier, and he wants privacy.”
Keller was not to be dismissed so easily. “Those are very serious charges, Mr. Ranier, and directed against a congressman, they become even more serious. Unless you can back them up with hard evidence, they are certainly actionable.”
“Screw him!” Ranier said angrily. “If Hennesy wants to sue me, let him sue me. I don’t give a damn. If your goddamn Justice Department knew its ass from its elbow, you wouldn’t have people like Hennesy making a career out of the take!”
“I don’t think this ought to go any further tonight,” Masuto told them. “We’re all tired and upset. If you want to go into this with Mr. Ranier, I suggest you do it tomorrow.”
Keller seemed ready to stand his ground. Then he nodded. “All right, I’ll take it downtown, and then we’ll see. Good night, Sergeant.” He showed his displeasure by not even glancing at Ranier as he left.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” Ranier said.
“You wanted to talk, Mr. Ranier.”
Ranier dropped into a chair and put his face in his hands. Tired, Masuto sat facing him. Masuto waited. He rarely urged anyone to speak; it was better to wait.
When Ranier looked up, his face was drained. It was the thin, parched face of a man who had run all his life without ever catching up with himself. “You got me pegged for Angel’s murder,” he said finally. “You got me pegged for Mike’s murder.”
“What makes you think so?” Masuto asked.
