Colleen McCullough - Too Many Murders

“Two years, this time. I’ve had three previous wives.”

“Any of them last longer than two years?”

“My first, Aki. We were married twenty-one years.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Two boys by Aki, a boy by Michelle, a boy by Debbie, and another boy by Candy, my present wife.”

“Lots of alimony.”

“I can afford it.”

He’s into bimbos, thought Carmine, wondering what had sent him off the rails after twenty-one years. Man, won’t there be a squabble after he dies, with all those boys! Obviously he had the money to hire professional killers, but it wouldn’t be in the service of Uncle Joe Stalin’s heirs. With nothing to suggest the espionage and the murder were connected, Frederick H. Collins’s name would remain written on the list stored inside Carmine’s mind.

Then it was down two more floors to the offices of Landmark Machines, whose managing director was Mr. Augustus Barraclough Purvey. Not like the other pair, Smith and Collins. Purvey was Brooks Brothers from head to foot, wore a polka-dot bow tie and very expensive loafers. His thick, waving hair was greying, his smooth-skinned face was attractive, and his dark blue eyes looked directly into those seeking his. Carmine liked him much better than he had Smith or Collins.

The only top-secret modification Landmark had lost to the Communists was a new gunsight, Purvey said.

“Our real aim,” he went on, “is years away-namely, to link artillery fire to computers able to calculate the target precisely. It’s colossally complicated, and will require our sending up satellites whose function is to plot the globe. So it’s not exclusively Cornucopia. In fact, we only have a little corner of it. Everyone’s involved, from NASA on down.”

“What effect would concrete knowledge of the project have on Russian or Chinese defense plans?” Carmine asked.

“Serious, very serious. They smell something , but there are just too many cheeses on the board.”

“What if Ulysses knows?”

“Knows what? The thing I’ve just outlined to you, Captain, is so speculative and-and- ephemeral that I for one have no faith in our ability to do it.”

“I thank you for your candor, Mr. Purvey. Now to other things. Are you married?”

“I was, but not for the last ten years.” Purvey grinned. “In my opinion, women aren’t worth the pain. I’d want a quiet meal at home, she’d want to go to a party or a reception, get her picture in the society pages. My fault! I should have married one of my own kind. Instead I married a cocktail waitress. I mean, I don’t mind a party or a reception, but not every goddamn night!”

“Any children?”

“No. They would have slowed her down.”

“Do you date?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Erica Davenport. She’s my regular. Socially acceptable, a good blind for a guy who’s still a sucker for cocktail waitresses. Erica’s a good sport.”

“What do you spend your money on, Mr. Purvey?”

“Donzi motorboats. I’ve got a cabin on Moosehead Lake in Maine-Connecticut’s lakes are too crowded.”

“How do you make it way up to Maine for a weekend?”

“Fly my Sikorsky helicopter-I’m loyal to the locals.”

“Do you travel regularly to anywhere else?”

“New York City. I have an apartment on East Seventy-eighth.”

“Do you have a favorite cocktail waitress?”

“No, sir! I learned my lesson. Nowadays I cruise.”

“Thank you, Mr. Purvey.”

Carmine descended six more floors to Dormus, apparently so successful that it occupied three of them.

Here he met blue jeans, Caterpillar boots, a faded shirt and no tie at all. Mr. Wallace Grierson dressed the part of a turbine engineer, and carried it off convincingly. He was not unlike Ted Kelly in build-very tall and muscularly heavy-but he had fair and freckled skin, a mop of sandy curls, and shrewd grey eyes. Carmine liked him on sight.

“I’m only here, Captain, because I was ordered to be here,” he announced across the acreage of his boots, up on the desk. “By rights I should be at my factory.”

“Sorry about that, Mr. Grierson,” Carmine said, sitting down. “I didn’t think there were any hands-on executives, at least on a board level. What’s so different about Dormus?”

“Nothing. I’m the difference. Unlike those tailor’s dummies, I actually qualified as an engineer, and nobody else is going to run Dormus, including on the shop floor.”

“Have you lost any top-secret items to the Reds?”

The question didn’t faze him in the least. “In two separate divisions, Captain. The first, development of the ramjet, which pushes standard-wing planes up over Mach two. The second, our rocket division, where the leaks have been hot and heavy. It was the discovery of my governor on a Russian rocket that opened this whole can of worms, and I am fit to be tied! If Ulysses isn’t put out of business soon, Cornucopia is dead.”

“Are defense contracts so vital to Cornucopia?”

“Hell, yes! Des Skeps wanted it that way-he got a charge out of manufacturing America’s defense. Even if we go into new areas outside defense, Captain, we’re just as vulnerable to the spy. Industrial espionage is actually more serious than the treasonous kind to any manufacturer who goes into new territory. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“But the treasonous kind benefits America’s real enemies.” Carmine changed tack. “You don’t look like a man with millions.”

“Whereas the tailor’s dummies do. I could buy and sell Phil Smith or Fred Collins, and I’m neck-and-neck with Gus Purvey.”

“Are you married?”

“Sure! We had our silver anniversary five months ago. We met at CalTech, both doing engineering.”

“Interests in common, huh?”

“The double whammy, Captain. Margaret’s gorgeous too.”

“Any children?”

“Four. Two girls, two boys. The two oldest are at Brown.”

“What do you spend your money on, sir?”

“Not much. We have a nice home out Sleeping Giant way, but it’s not a mansion. Ever try to have a mansion and four kids? We have a hunting cabin in Maine, but we don’t hunt. We hike. Mustang cars-all the kids drive, so we have a fleet of the things. And a ranch at the foot of the Grand Tetons in Wyoming. We usually go there for the summer.”

“What matters most in life to you, Mr. Grierson?”

“My family,” he answered without hesitation.

“And after them?”

“Dormus. If Cornucopia goes under, I’ll buy it and keep right on making turbine engines for boats and planes.”

“Funny,” Carmine said as he got to his feet, “I always forget that ships are powered by turbines these days.”

“Have been since 1906 and the dreadnaughts, Captain.”

There remained only another interview with Erica Davenport. On his way into Cornucopia Legal, he met Phil Smith coming out.

“A moment, Mr. Smith. Are you married?” he asked.

Smith looked offended. “Of course I am!”

“Once? Twice? Thrice? More?”

“Natalie is my only wife, of thirty-four years. I do not believe in divorce or infidelity, you impertinent dolt! Nor does she! Would it serve your prurient interest to see our sleeping arrangements? Paddle your greasy hands through our night attire?”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. Any children?”

“Yes, three! My daughter did not go to university. My two sons went to Harvard and MIT.”

“Not Chubb, huh? That’s interesting.”

“What business is it of yours where my children went to school? Your questions, Captain Delmonico, go beyond the limits of acceptable behavior! I intend to report you to everyone in a position to discipline you, is that understood?” He was beginning to splutter. “You’re a-a-Gestapo inquisitor!”