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Washington nodded.
"Ranging from a simple, that is to say, unplanned, mugging, some thug lurking in the parking garage for whoever might come his way to someone who knew about the dinner party in the Union League-"
"How would someone know about that?" Detweiler said, interrupting.
"I'm sure it was in the society columns of the newspapers," Washington went on. "That might explain the shotgun."
"Excuse me?"
"Muggers are rarely armed with anything more than a knife. Aprofessional thief, for lack of a better word, who went to the Penn Services Parking Garage knowing that there would be a number of wellto-do people using it at that time, would be more likely to take a shotgun with him. Not intending to shoot anyone but for its psychological effect."
"Yes," Detweiler said.
"And his plans could have gone astray, and he found himself having to use it."
"Yes, I see," Detweiler said.
"Was your daughter wearing any valuable jewelry, Mr. Detweiler?"
"I don't think so," Detweiler said. "She doesn't have any. Some pearls. All girls have pearls. But nothing really valuable." He looked at Matt and grinned. "Matt hasn't seen fit to offer her an engagement ring yet…"
"A brooch? A pin of some sort?" Washington said, pursuing the matter.
"She has a pin, a brooch"-he gestured at his chest to show where a female would wear such an ornament-"from my wife's mother. She could have been wearing that. It has some rubies or whatever, in a band ofwhat do they call those little diamonds?-chips?"
"I believe so," Washington said.
"She could have been wearing that," Detweiler said.
"There was no such pin in her personal effects," Washington said. "Do you happen to know where she kept it?"
"In her room, I suppose," Detweiler said. "Do you think we should check to see if it's there?"
"I think we should," Washington said.
Detweiler led them up a narrow flight of stairs from the serving pantry to the second floor and then into Penelope's bedroom. There was a Moroccan leather jewelry case, sort of a miniature chest of drawers, on a vanity table. Detweiler went to it and searched through it and found nothing.
"It's not here," he said. "But let me check with my wife. She needed a lay-down when we came back from the hospital."
Washington nodded sympathetically.
"I hate to disturb her," he said.
"Nonsense, she'd want to help," Detweiler said, and walked out of the room.
Washington immediately picked up a wastebasket beside the vanity table and dumped the contents on the floor. He squatted and flicked through with his fingers, picking up a couple of items and putting them in his pocket. Then, very quickly, he was erect again.
"Fix that," he ordered, and moved toward a double mirrored-door closet. Matt set the wastebasket upright and began to replace what Washington had dumped on the floor.
When he was finished, he turned to see what Washington was
doing. He was methodically patting down the clothing hanging in the closet, dipping his hands in every pocket. Matt saw him stuffing small itemsincluding what, at quick glance, appeared to be some sort of plastic vial-in his pocket.
And then Mrs. H. Richard Detweiler appeared in the doorway, just a moment after Washington had slid closed the mirrored door.
"I think this is what you were looking for," she said, holding up a gold brooch.
"Hello, Mrs. Detweiler," Matt said. "Mrs. Detweiler, this is Detective Washington."
