In Death 31 - Indulgence in Death

was the winner going to get anyway?”
    “You’re making things up.”
    “A high-class version of the classic game of Clue. Oh, wait.” She pressed the recorder she’d already cued up, and Dudley’s voice came out.
    Games are for children. This is adventure. It’s competition.
    “How many points did you get for the LC in the amusement park with the bayonet?” she wondered. “Your great-uncle’s bayonet. Or for the facilitator on the jogging trail with the bullwhip. The bullwhip custom-made for you in Australia. Detective Peabody returning to Interview. And, look, she’s brought party favors.”
    “I was nowhere near either of those places. You know very well I was entertaining on the night Adrianne was killed.”
    “We’ve been talking to people on your guest list. Even better, to staff hired for that little soiree. The hired help, Winnie? They tend to see things because people like you don’t really see them.” She smiled. “We’ve already found a couple of guests who state they looked for you to say good night before they left, and gee, couldn’t find you.”
    “I have a large home, an extensive estate.”
    “Yeah, and needed a lot of extra help, the kind who don’t have any reason to lie about or for you. We’ve got a few who noticed you and Adrianne Jonas heading for the garage, a couple others who noticed you coming back, a bit after three A.M. Alone.”
    “You bribed them.” Sweat coated his face like dew. “It goes back to this vendetta. It goes back to jealousy.”
    “Oh, of what?”
    “You may have finessed marriage out of Roarke, may have money, but you’ll never be anyone. Either of you. You’ll never be what I am.”
    “Thank God for that. I’ve got statements, recordings, witnesses, weapons.” She shrugged. “Oh, and you know what else? You had this in a locked drawer in your bedroom.” She pulled out an evening bag. “It’s Adrianne Jonas’s.”
    “She left it at the party. I was keeping it for her.”
    “No, do better. We have those pesky hired help who saw her, with the bag, as she was entering your garage.”
    “She dropped it.”
    “And oddly, her ’link wasn’t in it, though she was seen using it minutes before you walked her to the garage. Oddly, too, her prints and several strands of hair were in your vehicle. Oh, and a couple of the valets you hired saw your vehicle leave the estate just under an hour prior to her time of death.”
    “She must have asked one of the servants to drive her. I can’t keep track of everyone.”
    “Are these your shoes?” She pulled them out of the box, got a shrug. “I can save us time and tell you these were taken out of your shoe closet, tagged, and logged. You wore these same shoes the night you killed Ava Crampton. We have you, wearing them and a bogus disguise, entering the House of Horrors with her, less than thirty minutes prior to her time of death.”
    “You can’t have. I took . . . I wasn’t there.”
    “You were going to say you took care of it, jammed security with this.” She drew out the jammer. “You did a pretty good job, Winnie. Credit where credit’s due. But you didn’t get them all. And before you say there are any number of people with this particular make of shoe,” she said to Sorenson, “you should know they’re a limited edition, and in this size and color, very few have been sold—and we’ve been briskly eliminating them as suspects. I really don’t think your client’s been fully forthcoming with you.”
    “I’ll need time to confer privately with my client.”
    “Sure. We can do that. And given the time, I can postpone the continuation of this interview until Monday morning. I bet you’re feeling a little tense and itchy, Winnie. Gee, you’re all shaky and sweaty. I bet you wish you had just a little hit to smooth it out. It’s a long time until Monday, a long time in a cage without all your usual indulgences.”
    “You can’t keep me here.”
    She leaned forward, into his face. “Oh, yes, I can.”
    “Sorenson, you useless shit, deal with this.”
    “Lieutenant, if I could speak with you outside.”
    “I’m not going anywhere.” In fact, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her booted feet. “Why don’t you deal with me, Winnie? That was the plan. But Sly screwed up, he messed it up for you. He’s the loser. But you, you’re a screwup, too. Jesus, you’re laughable. I beat both of you in under a week. Maybe I should have a victory drink.”
    She pulled a