'Three days.'
'How did you find out about it?'
'Craig Docherty told me. He'd taken some photographs of the two of them.'
'What was your reaction?'
'Complete surprise. I never expected it.'
'I see.' Mahoney paused. 'Did you discuss this knowledge with John Chalfont?'
'Yes. On Thursday evening. At his apartment.'
'What did you talk about?'
'I told him I knew about Frank and him. I asked him whether he had killed Frank. He said he hadn't, and that you had proof that he couldn't have been at Marsh House when Frank was killed.' I looked inquiringly at Mahoney as I said this, but he gave no reaction. 'He talked about what he felt for Frank. I asked him whether he had any clue as to who might have murdered him.'
Mahoney gave a half-smile. I bet he thought that was funny. 'And did he have any ideas?'
'No. At least not then. But he did leave a message on my answering machine yesterday night that he had found out something interesting about BioOne. He wanted to see me at eight o'clock tonight to talk about it. That's why I went to see him.'
'I see. Can you let us have the tape from the machine?'
I shrugged. 'OK.'
'Thank you. Have you any idea what he might have found out?'
'No.'
'None at all?'
I shrugged. 'No.'
'As you know, John Chalfont was shot in the back. There was no sign that anyone broke into the apartment. We think it's likely the murderer was someone he knew. Just like it was with Frank Cook.' Mahoney paused. 'Mr Ayot, did you shoot John Chalfont?'
I looked Mahoney straight in the eye. 'No, I didn't.' I thought for a moment. 'Anyway, if I did kill him, what did I do with the gun?'
Cole answered. 'You could have disposed of it when you ran outside to wait for the police to arrive.'
'Have you found it?' I asked.
'We're looking,' said Cole.
'What about the man I saw leave the building?'
'He lives there. He was just going out for the evening. When he got home he told us all about you.'
Mahoney spoke again. 'Did John Chalfont suggest that he had found something that could implicate you in the murder of Frank Cook?'
'No!' I replied. I turned to Cole. I'd let this go far enough. 'I want to speak to my lawyer.'
Cole nodded.
A spark of irritation flared in Mahoney's eyes. 'We'll talk later,' he said, and left the room.
It took a while to track down Gardner Phillips. He was at his weekend house somewhere or other. I finally got through to him. As expected, he told me to keep quiet until he got there.
Which took two hours, spent alone in the poxy interview room. At least it wasn't a cell.
As I waited for Phillips, my optimism that they would let me go slipped away. I began to panic that I would never see freedom again. I had been afraid I would end up behind bars for Frank's murder; now it looked like it would be for John's. If they didn't get me for one, they'd get me for the other. My luck was constantly running against me. And now Mahoney was involved, he would do his best to keep me in here.
Phillips had said there was no chance of bail in a murder investigation. At least I was alone in this interview room. But jail, real jail with murderers, drugs, violence, rape, AIDS, seemed much much closer.
Phillips arrived at last, wearing a jacket and tie and looking as cool as if this were a regularly scheduled meeting on a Monday morning. I was hugely relieved to see him.
I quickly explained what had happened. 'Are they going to let me out?' I asked when I had finished.
'You bet they are.' He looked angry. 'They haven't arrested you yet. There's nothing to stop you from leaving right away. I'll go and talk to them.'
He was back twenty minutes later.
'OK, let's go.'
'They don't want to keep me here?'
'They can't. They don't have enough evidence. They're as suspicious as hell, but they haven't got enough to charge you.'
'It sounded to me as though they were getting close.'
'That's the way they like to make it sound,' said Phillips. 'But they couldn't find the gun anywhere in or around the building. The gallery owner confirmed that you had tried to get in as he was closing up last night at eight o'clock. And one of the residents thinks they heard something that sounded like it might have been a shot at about seven forty. It just made no sense that you would have shot John Chalfont, run downstairs, made the gun disappear, tried to get into the gallery, run back upstairs to look at him, and then waited for the cops.'
I smiled. 'Thanks.'
'We're not out of the woods yet. I'd say you're still very much on the suspect list.'
'Great,' I said. 'I've heard that somewhere before.'
Phillips's voice became stern. 'You know you shouldn't have spoken to them at all. They can't make you go anywhere or do anything unless they're willing to arrest you.'
'But I thought if I told them what had happened they'd forget about me and go after whoever did kill John.'
'It didn't work out like that, did it?'
I sighed. 'I suppose not. Sorry.'
He drove me back to my apartment, dropped me off, and took the tape from my answering machine away with him to give to the police. I went straight for the shower, trying to wash off the evening in the police station.
That Mahoney had tried to tie me into John's murder didn't surprise me at all. And I knew Gardner Phillips was right: he wouldn't give up.
Would the police ask Lisa about Frank and John? I had no idea how she would handle that except that somehow, I felt sure, she would hold me responsible.
Inevitably, the press got hold of the story. John's father was a well-known figure, John's murder a big story. It hadn't taken them long to link this murder with Frank's, and my apartment was soon besieged by reporters wielding notebooks and mikes. I braved them, giving them terse comments that said nothing. The newspapers and the TV bulletins were rife with speculation, but the police were staying tight-lipped about any connection between the two murders. Fortunately, they also said nothing about me.
It was only when the press had gone that the full significance of John's murder really sank in. Until then I had been more worried about the police and Gardner Phillips and the questions I was being asked. Now I thought about John. It seemed so unfair. He was the archetypal nice guy, friendly to anyone and everyone. Only now that he was gone did I realize how much I'd liked him. His relationship with Frank didn't change the way I felt about him. If anything, the knowledge that he had meant so much to Frank confirmed that he must have been a good person. I would miss him.
I saw again those dull blue eyes, the pale face, the trickle of blood, the absolute stillness of death.
A cold feeling of revulsion and fear crept over me. People around me were being killed. Seemingly normal, harmless human beings.
Like Mahoney, I was sure that the two murders were connected. And also like Mahoney, I suspected I might be close to the connection. But I didn't know how. For the first time since Frank had died, I sensed that my own life was in danger.
If Frank and John both knew something and had died for it, then I was in danger of stumbling on the same thing. But I couldn't turn back. Not if I wanted Lisa back. And I now had somewhere new to look.
BioOne.
