'Cream? Sugar?'
'No,' said Aiden.
'Cold water,' said Mac.
'I let Ann have a few days off,' she said as the two police officers sat. 'She was really disturbed by the shooting. I'll go get the coffee. I've got a fresh pot started. Frankly, I think she's afraid to come here till the killer is caught. Ann's a gem. I'd hate to lose her.'
Louisa Cormier hurried out of the room.
'Anything on the Alberta Spanio killing?' Aiden asked.
'There's always something,' Mac said, looking out the window.
Monet had done London, bright and glittering, misty from fog, damp from rain, he thought. Had he ever done New York? What would Monet have seen had he looked out of this window on this day?
Before Louisa Cormier returned, Aiden told Mac that she had re-searched Lutnikov's apartment.
'No sign that he wrote any fiction,' she said. 'No manuscripts, no sheets in drawers, just what's on the ribbon.'
Mac nodded, his mind taking in what he was being told but also wandering out across the rooftops toward the gray skyline.
Louisa Cormier came back with the coffee and a glass of ice water. She had nothing for herself. When she sat, she ran a hand through her hair.
'Long night,' she said. 'I have a deadline on a new Pat Fantome novel.
'If you read any of my books, you'll see I'm nothing like Pat unless I'm writing. I leave Pat in my office when I get up from my computer and I become Louisa Cormier everywhere else unless I'm doing a book signing or a talk. Then, I think I let a lot of Pat Fantome take over. I'm grateful to Pat, but she's difficult to live with, driven. I, on the other hand…' and she dismissed the rest of the sentence with the wave of her hand.
Aiden sipped the coffee. It was hot, good, exotic. Mac swirled the water in his glass, watching the ice cubes.
'Oh, no,' said Louisa Cormier with a laugh at their expressions. 'I'm not delusional. There is no Pat Fantome, not really. It's just a mode of thinking I adopt when I write. There are a few similarities between Pat and me, but there are far, far more differences. But you didn't come here to talk about me or Pat. You have questions about poor Mr. Lutnikov.'
Mac finally took a drink of water and paused before going on.
'Do you own a gun?' he asked.
Louisa Cormier looked startled and put her right hand to her neck, touching a thin gold band.
'A… yes,' she said. 'A Walther. It's in the office in my desk. You want to see it?'
'Please,' said Mac.
'You suspect me of killing Mr. Lutnikov?' she asked, amused.
'We're checking everyone who uses the elevator,' said Aiden.
'What more could a mystery writer ask than for material to knock at her door?' said the woman. 'I'll get it.'
Louisa Cormier, now clearly interested, hurried off toward the closed door to her office.
Mac's phone went off. He answered it, said, 'Yes,' and listened before saying, 'I'll get there as soon as I can. Half an hour.'
He hung up as Louisa Cormier came out of the office, gun held by the barrel in one hand. She held out the gun to Mac but he told her to put it on the table.
'I have a permit somewhere,' Louisa said. 'Ann could find it when…'
'I don't think that will be necessary,' said Mac.
Aiden put on a fresh pair of gloves and reached for the weapon. Louisa Cormier watched in fascination. After examining the gun, Aiden said, 'It's a Walther P22 with a three-quarter-inch barrel. Hasn't been fired recently.'
'I don't think it's ever been fired,' Louisa said. 'It exists in that drawer to satisfy a request from my agent who, I believe, likes me very much, but loves his fifteen percent even more.'
'A few questions,' said Mac, as Aiden handed the gun back to Louisa Cormier after checking the magazine, which was indeed full. Louisa placed it on the table and sat forward eagerly, clasping her hands on her lap.
'Have you ever been in Charles Lutnikov's apartment?' asked Mac.
'No,' said Louisa. 'Let me think. No, I don't think so.'
'Has he ever been in this apartment?' Mac asked.
'A few times. Actually, whenever a new book of mine comes out, he comes, or should I say came, up rather shyly and asked for an autograph.'
'Agent Burn found your books in Mr. Lutnikov's apartment,' said Mac. 'They were unread.'
'That doesn't surprise me,' she said. 'He was a collector. Signed, unread first editions. He bought another copy to read. He was quite open about that.'
'We didn't find any other copies of your books in his apartment,' said Aiden.
'He gave them away to other tenants after he read them. After all, he had untouched first editions. My God. This is fascinating.'
'Did Lutnikov ever show you any of his writing?' asked Mac.
'His writing? I think he wrote catalogue copy. Why on earth would he show me that?'
'No fiction?' asked Aiden. 'Short stories? Poetry?
'No. And to tell the truth, had he done so I would have politely told him I was far too busy to read his work and that I seldom read any fiction, not even that of my closest friends. If he had persisted, as a few do, I would have told him that my agent and editor had told me never to read an unpublished manuscript because I might be accused later of plagiarism. You'd be amazed at how many frivolous lawsuits are filed against me, which is why I contribute significantly to a lobby for tort reform.'
'You're working on a book now?' asked Mac.
'Should have it finished in a week or so.'
'You work on your computer?' asked Mac.
'I know writers, Dutch Leonard, Loren Estleman, who still use typewriters, but I don't understand why,' Louisa said.
'What kind of paper do you use?' asked Aiden.
'In my printer?'
'Yes,' said Aiden.
'I really don't know. Something good. Ann gets it at a stationery store on Forty-fourth.'
'May we have a sheet of it?' asked Mac.
'A sheet of my computer… yes, of course. Is that all?'
'Yes,' said Mac. 'We're finished for now.'
He rose, and so did the two women. Louisa Cormier, gun in her right hand, made another trip to her office and came back with several sheets of paper which she handed to Mac. The gun was gone.
'You should know that I don't give my publisher a printed copy of my books,' she said. 'Haven't for God knows how many years. I just E-mail the finished manuscript in, and they print it and give it to the copy editor.'
'So you have all your manuscripts in files on your computer?' asked Mac.
Louisa Cormier looked at him quizzically.
'Yes, on my hard drive. I also keep a backup floppy disk copy which I lock in my fireproof wall safe.'
'Thanks,' said Mac. 'A last question or two. Do you own another gun?'
Louisa Cormier looked mildly amused.
'No.'
'Have you ever fired a gun?'
'Yes, as part of my research. My character Pat Fantome is an ex-police officer with a very good aim. I think it helps to know how it feels to fire a gun. I go to Drietch's Range on Fifty-eighth.'
'We'll find it,' said Mac. 'One more question. Do you have any idea how Lutnikov's blood got on the carpet outside your elevator door?'
'No. I'm really a suspect, aren't I?' She seemed pleased by the possibility.
