Death of a Blue Movie Star (Rune 2)

"So, you think I killed Shelly, do you? That I planted a bomb so I'd get the insurance money."

"I didn't say that."

Traub paced. Intermission was over; he was looking around once more. "That's pretty good detective work this cookie's done, don't you think? She's a star, she's a regular little Sherlock Holmes. Well, you got me, honey. Yep, yep. The insurance company paid off. I got myself a check for five hundred thousand dollars."

Rune didn't answer.

Traub set the tear gas down. He looked at Rune, then took a key out of his pocket and walked behind his desk. Rune leaned forward, putting her weight on the balls of her feet. He was going for a gun. He could just shoot her like a burglar and the police wouldn't do anything.

Traub glanced at her. "On your mark, get set ... I don't think she can make it in time."

He grinned and pulled out the black pistol.

Enjoyed the sight of her eyes widening.

"Here's a present for our little Ms. Detective."

Rune winced. When it looked like he was going to pull the trigger she'd just dive forward, grab the tear gas and hope for the best.

Then Traub's other hand emerged with a piece of paper.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

"I don't know about her but the suspense is killing me. Is she going to read it? Is she going to make a paper airplane?"

Rune took the sheet of paper and read:

Dear Mr. Traub:

With intense, heartfelt gratitude, we acknowledge receipt of your check in the amount of $400,000. Your generosity will go very far in supporting research to find a cure for this terrible affliction and in easing the burden of those whose lives have been affected by it....

The letter was signed by the director of the New York AIDS Coalition.

"Oh."

Traub dropped the gun in the drawer. "'Oh,' she says. 'Oh ...' Well, you know, there's still a hundred of the insurance proceeds unaccounted for. But since I personally take home a hundred fifty a year cash, off the books, you can probably deduce that I ain't gonna kill my biggest star to pick up fucking chicken feed. Oh, by the way, my personal property insurance has a hundred thousand deductible so with the repairs to the floor downstairs this whole thing was a wash for me."

"I'm sorry."

He tossed the tear gas

to her. "I think it's time for our little detective to leave. Let's give her a big round of applause."

Throughout the interview Arthur Tucker never quite got over the shock that two police officers were questioning him as a suspect in a murder case.

They were polite as they asked him questions about Shelly Lowe. They tried to make it seem casual but there was something they were trying to get at. Something they knew.

What? he thought desperately. He felt vulnerable--as if they could see into his mind but he had no clue as to what they were thinking.

One of the officers glanced up at Tucker's medals. "You in the service, sir?"

"I was in the Rangers."

"You ever do demolition?"

He shrugged. "We all knew how to use bangalore torpedoes, grenades. But that was forty years ago.... Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with those bombs?"

"Nosir. We're just looking into what happened to Ms. Lowe."