Confess, Fletch

“Good morning, Inspector.”

“Good morning, Mister Fletcher.”

The little face on top of the huge body was bright and shining from a recent close shave. The green eyes were beaming like a cat’s.

Fletch brought Menti forward by the elbow.

“I’d lake you to meet a friend, from Italy, who just stopped by. Inspector Flynn, this is Giuseppe Grochola.”

Flynn’s eyes went to Menti. He put out his hand.

“Count Clementi Arbogastes de Grassi, is it?”

Menti hesitated not at all before shaking hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Inspector.”

Flynn said to Fletch, “I never forget a thing I’ve heard. Isn’t it marvelous?”

“It’s marvelous, Flynn.”

“And such a great cop I am, too. Didn’t I hear someone say that?”

“You did, Inspector.”

“Now why do you suppose this man who’s supposed be dead, this Count Clementi Arbogastes de Grassi, is standing here in your front hall?”

“I’m on my way to the airport, Inspector.”

Fletch said “He’s been found, Flynn. Isn’t that great?”

“It’s a wonder he was lost at all.”

“A narrow escape,” said Fletch.

“It’s a confusion,” said Menti. “I came here to see my wife and daughter. They, hearing I was found alive, rushed off to Rome, not knowing I was coming here.”

“I see,” said Flynn. “And how was it, to be dead?”

Menti said, “I’m trying to catch them at the airport, Inspector.”

Flynn stood away from the door.

“I’d never come between a man and his family,” he said. “Have a joyful reunion.

Fletch opened the door.

“There’s some coffee in the living room, Inspector.”

He opened the elevator door for Menti.

Flynn had wandered into the living room.

Fletch whispered, “Send me back the license plates. By mail.”

From inside the elevator, Menti whispered, “What do I do with the truck?”

“Leave it anywhere. It will get stolen.”