Were some of the monkeys following me? It was hard to tell, because if you looked up in the hall, the whole ceiling appeared to be in vague motion, between the monkeys, the parrots, and the vines. Still, several monkeys did seem to be swinging purposefully along behind me.
Maybe we were just going in the same direction.
Several monkeys did pop into Salome’s lair shortly after I finished crawling through the doorway.
“We’re—”
“Closed, I know,” I said. “If you’re not going to let anyone see Salome, why not just take her home?”
“I’m trying to,” Brad said. “I’ve been trying to reach Mrs. Willner all day.”
“Why don’t you try again?”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
“Go use a pay phone,” I said. “I’ll guard the door until you get back.”
Brad hesitated.
“You let my father do it,” I pointed out. “Trust me, I’m at least as responsible as he is.”
He nodded, and disappeared through the vine-covered opening.
Spike and Salome had already inspected and decided to ignore me. I untied Spike’s leash and led him over to stand with me just inside the opening. He growled a little, but once he saw I wasn’t taking him away from Salome, he calmed down.
A few minutes later, Concubine Aimee crawled out from under the vines, giggling.
“I don’t see why we can’t—” she was saying, as she emerged from the opening. She stopped, still on her hands and knees, when she saw me, but she didn’t know quite how to react until she heard the door slam behind her.
“What’s going on?” she said.
Her voice must have disturbed Spike’s rapt contemplation of Salome. He whirled and snapped at her, growling. She backed away, hastily, still on her knees.
“You can stand up if you like,” I said, tying Spike to a sturdy vine. “You’d be more comfortable.”
“What’s going on here?” she said, looking from me to Salome as if she wasn’t sure which made her most nervous.
“Just a little friendly conversation,” I said. “I overheard you talking to Walker Morris just now, and I’m —”
“If you think you can bully me into talking to the police, you’re wrong,” she said, sticking her chin out in a stubborn gesture.
“Nobody’s trying to bully you,” I said.
Not yet, anyway.
“You don’t understand,” she said.
“I understand perfectly,” I said. “Walker only wants you to tell the police the truth. Which I gather is that you and he were together when the QB’s murder took place. Is that true?”
She crossed her arms.
“Is it true that you and Walker can alibi each other?”
“I don’t need an alibi,” she said, startled.
“How do you know?” I said. “The police are still investigating.”
She looked a little less smug, and crossed her arms a little tighter, which made her look more defensive than defiant.
“And that’s why it’s so important for you to talk to the police now—while they’re still looking for the killer.”
“My boyfriend would kill me.”
“If you tell the police that, they’ll try to keep it quiet. But what happens if you don’t tell them and they arrest Walker?”
“He’ll find another way to prove his innocence,” she said.
“Maybe. But first he’ll tell the police he was with you, and they’ll interrogate you. And when you tell different stories, the police will start looking for evidence to see which of you lied. They’ll ask everyone in the hotel if they saw the two of you together. They could even look for DNA evidence in whatever room you were in. And even if they don’t find witnesses or DNA, the press will find out about it, and they’ll put it all over the front page—the whole world will know they’re looking. Including, of course, your boyfriend.”
She looked a little stricken. I also noticed that she was holding her nametag so I couldn’t see it. And she’d started to glance around as if looking for an escape. Evidently she still thought she could vanish into the crowd. Time to enlighten her.
“Imagine the headlines,” I said. “‘Local Woman Denies Affair with TV Star. Loudoun County Police continue to investigate allegations that Ms. Amy Goldman of Fribble Lane, Alexandria, is actually the mystery woman named as Walker Morris’s alibi in the—’”
“How do you know—” she began, and then her hands flew over her mouth.
“It was easy,” I said. “And if you think it’s easy for me, imagine what a snap it would be for the police.”
I’d produced a change in attitude, but frozen panic wasn’t necessarily an improvement over her previous stubbornness.
“Go and talk to the police,” I said, as gently as I could. “Tell them why you were afraid to talk. They’ll understand, and they’ll try to protect your secret.”
She nodded. She didn’t look happy, but she looked resigned.
“You want me to go with you and make sure they understand how important it is to keep this quiet?”
She nodded with greater enthusiasm. I moved Spike back away from the door, and she followed me meekly through the opening.
I led her up to the rooms where the police were still encamped, intending to turn her over to the kindly sergeant. I wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that Detective Foley and his partner were there, too.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Foley said, when I’d explained, as briefly as possible, why we were there. Amy seemed to have lost her voice from fright and was losing the battle not to cry.
I followed Foley out into the hall while his partner and the sergeant fetched tissues and a Diet Pepsi for Amy.
“Thank you,” Foley said. “I think. You’re sure all you did was talk her into coming here?”
“I didn’t talk her into lying, if that’s what you mean,” I said. “I have no idea if she’s telling the truth—that’s your problem.”
“You think we’re doing a bad job on this investigation?” Foley asked. “You think we need your help?”
“I have no idea—” I began.
“We may not be the NYPD, but we’re not some hick outfit,” he said. “If we don’t have something in-house, we can call on the state or the FBI. Every forensic and investigative tool available to modern American law enforcement is at our disposal. We have a dozen trained professional police officers working full time on this case. You people come out here from Hollyweird with your—”
“Foley, I only brought you a witness,” I said. “I happened to overhear her arguing with Walker, and I convinced her to come forward and tell the truth. If I hear anything else you can use, I’ll come and tell you that, too. And for your information, I don’t live in Hollywood. I came up for the weekend from Caerphilly, which in case you’ve never heard of it, makes Loudoun County look like Metropolis.”
“Just don’t bring me any more damned parrot surveillance tapes,” Foley said, as he turned on his heel and strode back into the room.
Nice to know I hadn’t single-handedly provoked his ire, I thought, as I headed for the stairs. More of a family project.
But something Foley had said stuck in my mind.
