A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(89)

Kemper listened to all of this and then took about a minute to clip and light up another Havana, puffing thoughtfully to get it primed. He sat back, took a sip of his stinger, and said, “Wilson filled me in on some of this. Now, I don’t like it that you talked to Beth. I told you I didn’t want her learning about this garbage.”

“She was going to learn it whether you wanted her to or not. Better she heard it from us and not some rag.”

Kemper looked him over but gave no opinion on this. He said, “Now, about this Fraser girl.”

“What about her?”

“Any thoughts on who might have killed her?”

“Not yet. Have the cops talked to you?”

“Me? Why would they talk to me?”

Archer had had enough. He put his drink down and took his time lighting a cigarette from his new pack of Luckys. He waved out the match and put it in the ashtray.

“Look, I might have just started working with Willie, but I haven’t fallen off a turnip truck since I was five. And to my knowledge, no one’s removed my brain. So why don’t we just jump over the horseshit and get straight on to one essential fact. Namely, that you had a strong motive to kill the lady, and that means the cops, even the bullshit ones in this town, will want to talk to you at some point.”

“You haven’t been in town long enough to know if the cops are bullshit.”

“I’m a fast learner, and it wasn’t that hard, actually.”

“But they don’t know about the blackmail attempt on me.”

“There is no guarantee that will remain the case. And the fact that you hired us to look into it? You think us snooping around will go unnoticed? So why don’t you drop your alibi on me and see if it passes muster.”

“I don’t like your attitude, Archer. As a general rule, people do not talk to me in that manner.”

“Well, as a general rule, most guys I talk to aren’t accused of having an affair with a woman who ended up murdered.”

“I told you that I wasn’t having an affair.”

“And you’re sticking to that?”

“Yes!”

“Do you know what your wife thinks?”

He sipped his stinger before responding. “I know, generally.”

“Well, specifically, I don’t think she believes your side of the story. Now, she probably hopes you haven’t cheated on her, but that’s all it is, a hope. So if the cops come to question her and she spills what she really thinks, the cops will be headed your way and that brings us back to: Do you have an alibi?”

“Why would they go to her?”

“I’ll assume you’re not really playing me for a dope and you actually want an answer, so here goes and listen closely. Your wife also has a motive to kill Ruby, and it’s one of the oldest ones in the book: She thought you were sleeping with the woman. But she apparently has an alibi. She was at a dinner with friends from five to midnight.”

His face clouded. “I see. When was the girl killed?”

“Say around ten.”

Kemper’s eyes eased to slits. He finished the stinger faster than he should have and looked around for the cocktail waitress to place an order for an encore.

She rushed over, bent low to flash some cleavage, batted her baby blues, and said in response to his order, “Coming right up, Mr. Kemper.”

She swept away, apparently giddy with the prospect of serving the man cognac laced with crème de menthe.

Archer, who had watched this interaction closely, eyed the man and said, “All the gals come on to you like that?”

Kemper waved his Havana around like it was a wand that would make Archer and all of the man’s problems just vanish. “I’m young, I’m wealthy, I’m well connected.”

“And you’re easy on the eyes,” interjected Archer flatly. “Just in case you were too modest to say that.”

“You have a quicker tongue than I initially gave you credit for, Archer. I’m also married to the loveliest, richest woman in town. So naturally, some gals out there see me as a challenge. Can they get me to violate my marriage vows?”

“So, can they?”

“I’m a man, Archer. I’m not saying I’m any better than I am in that regard.”

“Okay, now hopefully for the last time, do you have an alibi for the time Fraser was murdered?”

“I was with Wilson Sheen. We had dinner at the office and then we had a meeting there to go over campaign issues. I didn’t leave there until well after eleven.”

“Anybody else vouch for that?”

“No, but isn’t he enough?”

“You better hope he is. And after that?”

“What does that matter? You said she died around ten.”

“Just to satisfy my own curiosity.”

“I went home.”

“Anyone see you there? The Chinaman butler? Adam Stover, the chauffeur?”

“No.”

“How about your wife?”

“You said she was at a dinner.”

“How about later, when you went to bed?”

“We maintain separate bedrooms.”

“Why is that?”

“None of your damn business.”