McNally's Bluff by Lawrence Sanders, Vincent Lardo Read Free Book Online Page A

driveway and delivery area.
    Oscar shot me a puzzled look and I began my precis of the evening by describing the carnival attractions Hayes had treated us to before presenting his wife as Venus, followed by the search for the goal.
    “What time did they leave?” Oscar asked the man who was acting as spokesperson for the trio.
    “Couldn’t say, exactly,” he answered. “We got here at seven and were told to begin setting out the buffet upstairs when the actors left, not at any specific time.”
    “Let’s sit, Lieutenant,” I interrupted, “and I’ll tell you the what and when of this remarkable evening at Le Maze.”
    Having sampled most of the hors d’oeuvres, a kind waiter sliced us a few choice pieces of the filet and a baguette to go with it. The bread and meat had cooled but we made no fuss. Noblesse oblige, don’t-you-know.
    Oscar pocketed the notebook he had been scribbling on as I spoke and said, “Do you think they’re all done upstairs?”
    A glance at Mickey’s hands told me the new day was an hour old. “I should hope so, and it looks like the crew in here is also ready to call it quits.” I stood up. “After you, Lieutenant.”
    A man had been posted to stand vigil at the entrance to the maze and another at the front door. The big house was strangely quiet how when a few short hours ago it had resounded with the excited rumble of some fifty partygoers and the fatuous music of an organ grinder.
    Except for the last of the caterers who had just finished sweeping the great room, it was empty save for the sparse furnishings and the huge, garish carnival posters lining the walls. The giant images of Marlena Marvel looking down on a deserted fairway were macabre to say the least.
    Hayes was waiting for us in the solarium, a room common folks call a screened-in porch, with Al Rogoff in charge. “The maid took something to calm her,” Al told us as we entered. “She’s snoring and I couldn’t rouse her. Sorry, Lieutenant.”
    “A barbiturate,” Hayes snapped. Either the guy was incapable of polite conversation or he had been a professional barker for so long he couldn’t distinguish between making a simple statement and hawking snake oil for thinning hair. Seated on an ornate divan he looked the size of a schoolboy done up in tux pants and a frilly shirt. Hair disheveled and eyes weepy, he was the embodiment of the grieving widower or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
    Hayes had remarkably good skin that was so cleanshaven one wondered if he was devoid of facial hair, again bringing to mind a boy rather than a man who was at least sixty years old. With that baby-doll complexion and those brilliant blue eyes I would say Matthew Hayes was quite the successful Romeo in his day and perhaps still was.
    “Nothing illegal,” Hayes went on. “In our business the drug is a staple of the medicine cabinet like peroxide and Band-Aids.” Explaining the peculiarities of his profession to the police was not a novelty for the master of Le Maze. “What happened to Marlena?” he suddenly blurted.
    “If you mean how did she die, we don’t know, Mr. Hayes. There are no marks on her body...”
    “How did she get in the maze?” He rudely cut Oscar short.
    Taking charge of the interview Oscar lectured, “I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Hayes. Your job is to answer them. Is that clear?”
    Hayes gave a shrug, leaned back on his divan causing his feet to rise above the floor, and sulked.
    “You put on a show here tonight, is that right?” Oscar began, taking the notebook from his jacket pocket.
    “That’s what I do, Lieutenant. Put on shows. I thought this town could do with a good swift kick in the arse to get them off their high horses.”
    The man was cantankerous and uncouth. The former can be forgiven, but not the latter.
    “Who are the actors you hired for this show?”
    “They’re not actors,” Hayes protested. “They’re carny folks, down here on tour. I hired them for the evening.”
    “How