Your sheriff, Mort, asked about fingerprints. I didn’t feel at liberty to discuss it with him, but I will with you. The prints found on the handle of the knife used to kill Mr. Silverton belong to the pilot who flew you here.”
“Captain Caine?”
“Yes. His prints are on file in numerous places, given his military record and his career as a commercial airline pilot.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “As you heard from Jed Richardson, all pilots carry a knife of one sort or another.”
“Of the type you bought today?”
“Yes. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered. It never occurred to me to ask Jed whether pilots carry them. I assume you’ve spoken to Captain Caine.”
“Briefly. On the phone this afternoon. I reached him at the hotel.”
“And?”
“He’s agreed to meet with me in the morning.”
“Did you speak with one of the flight attendants, too, Ms. Molnari?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. She was in Captain Caine’s suite when I called, and he offered to put her on the phone. It was almost as though he expected me to call and had her there purposely.”
“Did you tell him about having found his prints on the murder weapon?”
“No. I thought I’d wait until seeing him in person. Let me see. Next? I had my team contact the major taxi companies to see whether any of their drivers took a fare from the Savoy to Stansted Airport last night during the hours between when your party arrived at the hotel and the estimated time of Silverton’s death. There were two who said they had.”
“Have the drivers been questioned?” I asked.
“Yes, by one of my staff. One said he drove a woman to the airport, the other a man.”
“Did they know their names?”
“No.”
“Could they ID them if they saw them again?”
“They both said they doubted it. According to the drivers, both passengers got in the back of their taxis, gave Stansted as their destination, and said nothing else during the ride.”
“When they paid?”
George shook his head. “They might be claiming to have nothing to offer in order not to become involved. I should point out that these drivers work for fleets. There are hundreds of independent drivers who might have picked up other passengers at the Savoy at that same time. Finding them will be impossible.”
Our cognacs were served in expensive crystal snifters, accompanied by glasses of water. We held up our glasses and touched rims. “To seeing you again, Jessica. If I haven’t already said it, you look wonderful.”
“Thank you, sir. I might say the same thing about you.”
“To looking good,” he said, smiling broadly. “To being the only two people on earth who never age.”
We toasted to that, too.
“You said that Mr. Silverton’s wife had told you something of interest,” he said, sitting back in his chair and crossing one long leg over the other.
“That’s right. As you know, I spent time alone with her after we’d broken the news about her husband’s death. According to her, he was quite a philanderer.”
George’s eyebrows rose. “I assume she was not happy about that state of affairs,” he said.
“Not at all. When I picked up her raincoat to put it in the closet, I noticed it was damp. And it looked like their four suitcases hadn’t been opened.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that she might not have been in the room very long. I’m obsessive-compulsive about unpacking the minute I get into a hotel room. I suppose I shouldn’t impose my own particular habits on someone else, but I found it strange, that’s all. She had hours to unpack—assuming she was in the room all that time. I don’t think she was.”
“Possibly one of the taxi fares to Stansted.”
“Possibly.”
“Well,” he said, “now that we’ve covered what we know to date about the murder, let’s get on to more pleasant things, namely us.”
“I suppose I should apologize for what’s gotten in the way of our having time
“Captain Caine?”
“Yes. His prints are on file in numerous places, given his military record and his career as a commercial airline pilot.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “As you heard from Jed Richardson, all pilots carry a knife of one sort or another.”
“Of the type you bought today?”
“Yes. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered. It never occurred to me to ask Jed whether pilots carry them. I assume you’ve spoken to Captain Caine.”
“Briefly. On the phone this afternoon. I reached him at the hotel.”
“And?”
“He’s agreed to meet with me in the morning.”
“Did you speak with one of the flight attendants, too, Ms. Molnari?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. She was in Captain Caine’s suite when I called, and he offered to put her on the phone. It was almost as though he expected me to call and had her there purposely.”
“Did you tell him about having found his prints on the murder weapon?”
“No. I thought I’d wait until seeing him in person. Let me see. Next? I had my team contact the major taxi companies to see whether any of their drivers took a fare from the Savoy to Stansted Airport last night during the hours between when your party arrived at the hotel and the estimated time of Silverton’s death. There were two who said they had.”
“Have the drivers been questioned?” I asked.
“Yes, by one of my staff. One said he drove a woman to the airport, the other a man.”
“Did they know their names?”
“No.”
“Could they ID them if they saw them again?”
“They both said they doubted it. According to the drivers, both passengers got in the back of their taxis, gave Stansted as their destination, and said nothing else during the ride.”
“When they paid?”
George shook his head. “They might be claiming to have nothing to offer in order not to become involved. I should point out that these drivers work for fleets. There are hundreds of independent drivers who might have picked up other passengers at the Savoy at that same time. Finding them will be impossible.”
Our cognacs were served in expensive crystal snifters, accompanied by glasses of water. We held up our glasses and touched rims. “To seeing you again, Jessica. If I haven’t already said it, you look wonderful.”
“Thank you, sir. I might say the same thing about you.”
“To looking good,” he said, smiling broadly. “To being the only two people on earth who never age.”
We toasted to that, too.
“You said that Mr. Silverton’s wife had told you something of interest,” he said, sitting back in his chair and crossing one long leg over the other.
“That’s right. As you know, I spent time alone with her after we’d broken the news about her husband’s death. According to her, he was quite a philanderer.”
George’s eyebrows rose. “I assume she was not happy about that state of affairs,” he said.
“Not at all. When I picked up her raincoat to put it in the closet, I noticed it was damp. And it looked like their four suitcases hadn’t been opened.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that she might not have been in the room very long. I’m obsessive-compulsive about unpacking the minute I get into a hotel room. I suppose I shouldn’t impose my own particular habits on someone else, but I found it strange, that’s all. She had hours to unpack—assuming she was in the room all that time. I don’t think she was.”
“Possibly one of the taxi fares to Stansted.”
“Possibly.”
“Well,” he said, “now that we’ve covered what we know to date about the murder, let’s get on to more pleasant things, namely us.”
“I suppose I should apologize for what’s gotten in the way of our having time
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