Part 11 (1/2)
It was pretty much what I'd told Kim Kline. No doubt, her reports were among those Declan had been watching. ”So, what are the theories?” I asked him. ”Who are the other suspects?”
”Your cook, for one.”
This was not news, and the way I waved away the information told Declan that. ”He has an alibi.”
”Good. I'd hate to see George locked up for twenty years. You'd have to teach someone else to fry bologna.”
I hoped my pasted-on smile conveyed my opinion of that plan.
”I was thinking about suspects when I watched the retrospective of Jack's career last night,” Declan went on. ”They featured his most sensational reports.”
”Do you think there's something there that explains why he was killed?”
”I don't know. The old stories, that's all water under the bridge, so to speak. The people he exposed in them-people like your George-have already been shown to be dishonest. So it's not like any of those people would have anything to gain by silencing Jack. I guess one of them could still be angry, though. Is George angry?”
”Don't you think he has the right to be?”
”They showed a couple minutes of footage from that story last night. And some others, too. George claims he was framed, right? That Jack Lancer trumped up that whole story about how his place was filthy and rat infested? If that's true, then maybe Jack did it to someone else, too. That could explain why someone might have a grudge against the Lance of Justice.”
”Or somebody could have been trying to keep him quiet and not report some new story.” This was not a new thought. After all, I'd asked Kim what kinds of stories Jack had been working on at the time of his death.
Declan nodded. ”Good point. The stories he was working on currently, well, those would be stories about people he hadn't exposed yet. Those people might have more invested in making sure Jack kept his mouth shut.”
Again, my mind flashed to Kim. ”It might be possible to find out what Jack was working on,” I said.
Admiration gleamed in Declan's eyes. ”That's why you let that reporter in the restaurant yesterday.”
”I didn't exactly pump her for information,” I lied.
His sandwich finished, Declan sat back. ”What did you find out?”
”Not much.” I hated to admit it. ”She thinks there might be a personal motive. It seems Jack Lancer was something of a ladies' man.”
”I'm not surprised. It's the whole TV thing. Some people are powerless to resist the pull of stardom.”
Apparently roguish gift shop owners also made the list. Myra showed up, her blusher touched up since last she was at the table, and she had a fresh coating of lipstick.
”Can I get you anything else?” she asked Declan and not me.
He tipped back in his chair, the better to see the refrigerated case near the cash register. ”Peanut b.u.t.ter pie for me,” he said. ”Laurel will have-”
”Nothing, really.” I'd already decided to take the second half of my sandwich home. ”I'm stuffed.”
”She'll try the key lime pie,” he said.
I waited until Myra was gone. ”Are you always so bossy?” I asked him.
”It's one of my most endearing qualities.”
”What if I don't want to try the key lime pie?”
”Then you wouldn't be able to be objective about it when you find out it's Caf-Fiends' biggest seller.”
”And you know this how?”
He jiggled his eyebrows. ”Myra. She'd do anything for me.”
”Like tell you which menu items sell and which don't.”
”That, and other things. Like the fact that the night Jack was killed, she saw a car parked out front of the Terminal.”
”Really?” I thought this through. ”But Myra said she hadn't seen you in a while.”
”To Myra, a day without seeing me is a while.”
”So, yesterday you were here asking what she might have seen the night of the murder.”
”I thought it was worth a try.”
”Why?”
”My cousin was in jail, remember.”
”And you decided to get him out.”
”It's what I do.”
”And this car, did Myra catch a license plate number? A color? A make?”
”You sound like Gus Oberlin.” The way Declan said this, I knew it wasn't a compliment. I also knew that though Myra may have claimed to see that car, she didn't have the particulars to back up her story.
”It might have been my car,” I said.
”No. She saw it earlier. Before you got here.”
”Then it could have been Owen's.”
”Owen doesn't have a car.”
”You think it was the killer's?”
Declan's shoulders rose and fell. ”If we knew, we'd have this case wrapped up.”
”So that's why you've been b.u.t.tering up poor Myra.”
”Have I? Been b.u.t.tering her up?” This was a new thought for him. ”I thought I was just being friendly.”