Too Many Murders

picture’s finances from preproduction to in the can and theater distribution. By the time she was twenty-one, Myron had resolved, Sophia would be fit to wear the hat of a Hollywood producer, if such was her inclination, or else be well on her way to managing all of his many business activities.

Myron knew Carmine guessed at his plans for Sophia, but they had never spoken of them; Carmine was too sensitive of Sophia’s position to make the first overtures, and Myron was too cagey. If his dear friend Carmine had any real idea of the extent of his business empire, Myron knew he wouldn’t want Sophia burdened with a tenth so much. But the Sophia Carmine knew was a shadowy figure; it was Myron who had been to all intents and purposes her permanent father between her second and her sixteenth birthday, so it was Myron who knew her far better.

Besides, Myron was still hale and hearty, and blithely expected to live for many years to come. Therefore he failed to see why he should take Carmine into his confidence while the girl herself happily pursued the life of a sixteen-year-old in a loving home and at a good school. What didn’t occur to him was that, newly deprived of his beloved child and inexpressibly lonely, he was ripe for someone enterprising to pluck him.

Knowing himself always welcome at Carmine’s, he took a few days off every time he visited New York City and appeared at the house on East Circle. This visit, however, was a surprise; the latest film, featuring no fewer than three top stars, was still in a state of flux. His excuse was that the money for it was in New York, but to Carmine it rang false; the money was always in New York. No, Myron was here because the death of Desmond Skeps was making headlines.

When Carmine walked in, Myron was seated in a large chair in the living room with a glass of Kentucky straight bourbon and soda near at hand, reading a copy of this week’s News magazine.

At fifty, he was older than Carmine, and his famed ability to attract beautiful women was a by-product of the power he wielded rather than any remarkable good looks. He was bald enough to keep what hair he still owned cut very close to his scalp; his long and clever face had a firm mouth and greenish-grey eyes that, Sophia insisted, saw clear through to the soul. When he stood to give Carmine a hug, he was revealed as a short man with a slender body that bore no sign of the fleshpots he adored.

The hug over, he brandished the magazine at Carmine. “Have you seen this?” he demanded.

“Only in passing,” Carmine said, kissing his wife, who came to join them carrying her own tipple, gin and tonic. Sophia was on her heels and gave him a glass of bourbon made exactly how he liked it, diluted with soda but not drowned.

“You must read Karnowski’s article on the Reds,” Myron said, subsiding into his chair. “It’s been years since I’ve seen anything this good, especially on the historical side. He’s given detailed sketches of every member of the Central Committee who’s ever aspired to the secretaryship since Stalin died, and his portrait of Stalin himself is riveting. I’d love to know his sources-there’s material in here I’ve never seen at all.”

“Under ordinary circumstances I’d be buried in it,” Carmine said ruefully, “but not at the moment. Too much on my plate.”

“So I hear.”

“Little pitchers,” warned Carmine, rolling his eyes at Sophia. “Which New York banker is holding you to ransom, Myron?”

“No one you’d know.” Myron looked uneasy, then shrugged. “I guess I’d better get it off my chest right now,” he said, his tone defensive. “I’m divorcing Sandra.”

“Myron!” Desdemona gave a gasp. “What on earth has the poor creature done after so many years?”

“Nothing, really. I just got tired of her shenanigans,” said Myron, still sounding defensive.

“What will Sandra do?” Desdemona asked, looking sideways at Sophia, who sat with an expressionless face and a glass of Tab she wasn’t drinking.

“She’ll be fine, honest! I’ve settled twenty million on her, but in a way that means no money-hungry guy can grab it, even by marriage and community property. She gets to take the housekeeper and the maids, so her habit’s safe.”

Sophia found her voice. “Daddy, why?” she asked.

Carmine didn’t make the mistake of thinking the question was directed at him; Sophia called both men “Daddy.”

“I told you, honey. I just got tired of her.”

“I don’t believe that! You got tired of Sandra years ago! What’s changed?”

Here it comes, thought Carmine, sipping his drink.

Myron coughed, looked shy. “Um-well… I met a lady. A real lady.”

“Ohhh!” Sophia’s eyes went round, then something fierce and intensely proprietary flashed into them; by the time she gazed at Myron it was gone, replaced by a limpid curiosity. “Tell us more, Daddy, please!”

“Her name is Dr. Erica Davenport, and she’s the chief legal officer attached to Cornucopia. She lives right here in Holloman! It’s early days yet, but I figured with the death of her boss, Desmond Skeps, she can probably do with some moral support. When I called her from L.A. she sounded harassed. She didn’t ask me to come, but I have anyway.”

Carmine swallowed. “Myron, this could be a conflict. You should have stayed on the West Coast,” he said.

“But Erica’s my friend!” Myron protested.

“And a possible suspect in her boss’s death. I can’t stop your seeing her, Myron, but she can’t come anywhere near my home, surely you see that!”

“Oh, potties!” said Myron, using an expletive he had picked up somewhere and thought innocuous enough for Sophia’s ears.

“You’re in love, that’s why you want a divorce,” Desdemona said, gathering empty glasses.

“Do you think so?”

“I do. One more drink, then we eat. Roast leg of New Zealand lamb with all the trimmings.”

She and Sophia left for the kitchen. Carmine stared at his beloved friend sternly. “Myron, I don’t need this complication.”

“I’m sorry, Carmine. I didn’t think! I just wanted to be at Erica’s side.”

“As long as you understand the limitations.”

“I do, now that you’ve spelled them out. I’ll take Erica to lunch tomorrow and explain.”

“No, you won’t. Like all the other suspects, she has to be in the Cornucopia building tomorrow, all day. Maybe into the night as well. I suggest you explain matters on the phone, and hope that I’m done with her in time to take her to dinner.”

“Shit!”

“Be it on your own head, Myron. And don’t expect to get much sympathy from Sophia.”

“Fuck!”

“Your vocabulary’s going downhill, old friend. So what’s so exciting about this News magazine article?”

“Weren’t you listening? Just that it’s the best article on the Reds in years, especially about the Central Committee members. In case you’ve forgotten, Carmine, this country is in the middle of a cold war with the USSR.”

“No, I hadn’t forgotten that. But at the moment my city seems in the middle of a hot war against persons unknown. And here come our second drinks, so let’s go back to News magazine.”

Since everybody present at the meeting knew how little progress had been made, the only man in attendance who wasn’t surprised at its being called was Carmine. The only woman, Delia Carstairs, had a very good idea what was going down, but her function was to take minutes, not make comments.

“We’re going about this the wrong way,” Carmine said after John Silvestri opened the proceedings. “From today on, the department goes back to normal insofar as it can. Larry, you and your guys will take over Holloman’s routine crimes-by which I mean crimes unconnected to the twelve deaths of April third. If we don’t pay them any attention, we’ll be swamped by robberies and domestic violence as well as biker and militant and other gang feuds. Get out there and let the local hoods know we haven’t overlooked them. You did great work on the three shootings and the prostitute, Larry, but that’s ground to a halt, and I’m not wasting our manpower chasing leads that go nowhere. So thanks very much, guys, but I won’t need you anymore.”

Significantly, Larry Pisano and his men didn’t look at all indignant. Rather, they looked relieved. In being sent