Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(74)
Mrs. Trumbo sat herself in a large wing chair opposite them. “Now, Agent Cinelli, Chief Wilde, say what you have to say.” She looked down at her watch. “I have a pot roast in the oven for dinner, and it needs watching.”
Wilde said, “Mrs. Filly told us you disliked Major Trumbo as much as she did. She told us he was a cheater, and that’s how he met you.”
“That’s right. I met him when he came to Baltimore on business and stayed at the Wilson, the hotel I managed. He was very smooth. Until after we married.” She snorted.
Pippa pointed to the urn on the mantel. “Then why did you put his urn in a place of honor?”
Mrs. Trumbo shrugged. “It was the most expensive urn the funeral home had, perfect for the mantel, a lovely reminder the old coot’s dead. Do you know, I picture him in that urn sailing down the River Styx, on his way to hell. It’s enough to make me smile.
“Now, you said you wanted to talk, so talk. I have a pot roast in the oven, as I told you. By the way, will you be staying here tonight, Agent Cinelli, or will you be going back to Chief Wilde’s lovely little cottage?”
Pippa said, “Since you serve such wonderful breakfasts, Mrs. Trumbo, I’ll be staying in my honeymoon suite. You mentioned you spoke with Mrs. Filly about our visit to her this morning.”
“Of course, Maude called me right away. She thought nothing this exciting had happened in St. Lumis in years.” Mrs. Trumbo sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her ample bosom, and waited.
“Mrs. Trumbo, no one here in St. Lumis knew I was an FBI agent, not even Chief Wilde. As he said, I was here undercover. Yet within a day and a half, someone found out who I was and attacked me. Did you happen to see anyone go into my room while I was out at the Halloween party at Leveler’s Inn?”
Mrs. Trumbo gave her the stink eye. “So the two of you think I’m a dim bulb? Why not say it right out? You have the gall to wonder if I snooped around in your honeymoon suite, found out who you really were, and then told everyone the FBI had invaded St. Lumis?”
Wilde said, “So did you, Mrs. Trumbo?”
“Well, of course I went into her room Saturday night. I go into everyone’s room to straighten up, make sure there are clean towels, fluff pillows, and the like. Saturday night was no exception. Did I search your things? Of course not. Neither would my daily woman, who does all the deep cleaning. I do not search my guests’ rooms. And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t brag about it.”
Pippa said, “Mrs. Trumbo, I left my tablet on the table by the sofa. I was in a hurry so I suppose I could have left it on, which I try never to do, and that’s on me if I did. Did you look in my tablet, Mrs. Trumbo? Happen to notice what I was reading?”
“No, I did not.”
Pippa hardened her voice. “Then tell me this, Mrs. Trumbo. Do you know of anyone other than yourself or your daily woman who could have gone up to my room?”
Mrs. Trumbo drew a deep breath. “All right, I remember Grizzlie Cole was here to check on the heating in the guest rooms. You know old Grizzlie, Chief. He was here for only a half hour, made a few adjustments, and charged me thirty bucks. Thirty bucks! It’s a crime.”
Wilde said, “So besides Grizzlie, only guests went up those stairs?”
“That’s right.”
“Did anyone come in and ask about Ms. Cinelli?”
“No, no one.”
Pippa said, “Mrs. Filly mentioned you had a son, a textile artist who works on a loom. He lives in Baltimore.”
“That’s right. He’s very talented. Baltimore is his home. But he visits me on occasion.” She studied Pippa a moment. “Tell me, Agent Cinelli. Did you bring your gun into my house? Would I have seen your gun if I’d gone searching?”
Her sarcasm made Pippa smile. “No, ma’am. I had my gun with me until the man struck me down and took it, along with my cell phone and my wallet.”
“I don’t suppose you saw the person who struck you?”
Pippa started to say no, but instead, “His face? I tried to do a sketch with Mrs. Trout, but I didn’t see him well enough. I might recognize his voice, though. It’s pretty clear he’s involved with whoever sent the FBI the bizarre Major Trumbo puzzle.”
“Maude told me someone sent that silly puzzle in three parts, in red boxes of all things. Of course, I have an original puzzle here somewhere, but I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do such a thing.”
Pippa said, “Mrs. Trumbo, do you remember meeting a young woman named Marsia Gay, perhaps at the Wilson hotel in Baltimore when you were manager there? Since I don’t have my cell phone, Chief Wilde can call up her photo on his.”
Wilde had no trouble finding a photo of a Marsia Gay and handed his cell to Mrs. Trumbo. Mrs. Trumbo looked at the photo, studied it a moment, then shook her head.
48
HOOVER BUILDING
CRIMINAL APPREHENSION UNIT
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Savich was on his feet in an instant. “What? Who did you find, Sherlock?”
Ruth said, “Dillon, we found Gary Duvall, the guy whose blood was at Zoltan’s house. Not twenty minutes after Sherlock put out the BOLO, we got a call from Porterville, Virginia, about forty minutes northeast of Richmond. A Porterville police officer named Theodore Janko saw the BOLO, realized he’d seen Duvall bent over, walking up the outside stairs to the second floor and into a side door of a Dr. Milton Hodges’s office on High Street. He called it in to his chief, Walt Collette, who called us.”