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Kostmayer finally said something interesting.
“Well, I heard this,” he said, seemingly on the edge of tears. “I only heard it; I don’t know if it’s true or not.”
“We understand, Peter,” Tony Harris said, kindly. “What did you hear?”
“Well, there was talk, and you know people just talk, that a certain two men who knew Pierre, and knew that he was, you know, friends, with Jerome Nelson, were going to get the key to the apartment—you know, the Nelson apartment—from him.”
“Why were they going to do that, Peter?” Tony Harris asked.
“What certain two people, Kostmayer?” Detective Porterfield demanded.
“Well, they were, you know, going to take things,” Kostmayer said.
“What were their names, Kostmayer?” Porterfield said, walking to him and lowering his face to his. “I’m losing my patience with you.”
“I don’t know their names,” Kostmayer said.
He’s lying, Peter Wohl thought, at the exact moment Porterfield put that thought in words: “Bullshit!”
Wohl looked at Quaire, who had his lower lip protruding thoughtfully.
Then Wohl looked at his watch.
“Hell, I have to get out of here,” he said. “I’m due at Marshutz & Sons in fifteen minutes.”
“You going to be a pallbearer? Is that why you’re wearing your uniform?”
“Yeah. And Henry, I need a mourning strip for my badge. Where can I get one?”
“I’ve got one,” Quaire said, taking Wohl’s arm and leading him to. his office. There, he took a small piece of black elastic hatband material from an envelope and stretched it over Wohl’s badge.
“I appreciate it, Henry. I’ll get it back to you.”
“Why don’t you?” Quaire said. “Then the next time, God forbid, we need one, you’ll know where to find one.”
Wohl nodded.
“I’ll let you know whatever else they find out, Peter,” Quaire said.
“As soon as you get it, please. Even at Dutch’s funeral.”
“Sure,” Quaire said.
Wohl shook Quaire’s hand and left.
****
Brewster Cortland Payne II had had some difficulty persuading Amy, Foster, and B.C. to attend the funeral of Captain Richard C. Moffitt.
Amy had caved in more quickly, when her father told her that her mother felt the loss more than she was showing, and that while she wouldn’t ask, would really appreciate having another female along.
Foster and B.C. were a little more difficult. When Brewster Payne raised the subject, he saw his sons were desperately searching for a reason not to go.
Finally, B.C. protested, truthfully, that he had “seen the man only once or twice in my life.”
“He was your brother’s uncle, Brew,” Brewster Payne said, “and your mother’s brother-in-law.”
“You know,” Foster said, thoughtfully, “the only time I ever think that Mother isn’t my—what’s the word?— natural mother is when something like this comes up.”
