Fletch’s Moxie

36

Mrs Lopez opened the front door of The Blue House when the police arrived. Fletch was in the living room, within sight of the front door. He had walked around the house seeing where everyone was.

Chief of Detectives Roz Nachman entered. Sergeant Hennings was behind her.

Fletch shook hands with them. “McKensie is in the small library at the back of the house. Trying to arrange a flight to Sydney.”

Nachman said: “Good.”

“Having a busy day, Sergeant.”

“Busier than some.”

Moxie came down the stairs. She had put on the white linen trousers and the sandals Fletch had bought her. Obviously she had washed her face with cold water, but her eyes still showed she had been crying.

“Hello, Chief,” she said.

Chief Nachman said to her: “You have the right to remain silent—”

“What!” Fletch yelled.

“Will you please allow me to finish reciting this lady her rights?”

“You’re arresting Moxie?”

“If you’d stop making so much noise.”

“But you can’t!”

“I can. I should. I must. I am arresting Ms Moxie Mooney for the murder of Steven Peterman.”

Frederick Mooney stood in the living room door. His eyes were hollow, empty.

“Geoff McKensie killed Peterman!” Fletch exclaimed. He looked around. McKensie was standing down the corridor outside the billiard room door. “Peterman killed McKensie’s wife!”

“Sorry, Mister McKensie,” Nachman said. “You didn’t know that before, did you?”

In the shadow of the deep corridor, McKensie’s ruddy complexion paled.

“Of course he knew it!” insisted Fletch.

“He wasn’t even on location that day, Mister Fletcher. Not in the afternoon. He was in Miami, seeing lawyers.”

“I saw him at the police station.”

“He was at the police station, yes. He heard the news on the car radio and came directly to the police station. He was not on location.”

“He rigged the set.”

“The set was not rigged,” said Nachman. “So say the experts.”

“God,” said Fletch.

Nachman fully recited Moxie Mooney her rights. To Fletch, it sounded like the mumblings over a grave. Staring at Nachman, Moxie’s eyes were glazed. Mrs Lopez’ face was long. In the living room doorway Mooney swayed stupidly. Down the corridor, McKensie was leaning against a table.

“What evidence?” Fletch asked lamely.

“Cut it out, Fletcher,” Nachman said, as if admonishing a child. “All the evidence in the world. Motive: we’ve had a report on her financial records. Whatever swindles Moxie and Peterman were pulling, it had certainly gone sour for Moxie. Opportunity: she was on the stage with him; she was wearing a bulky bathrobe in which a knife could be easily concealed; she crossed behind him just as he was stabbed. Dan Buckley was also on the stage, but there was no way he could have concealed that knife in his clothes, and he never left his chair. Motive and opportunity make the case.”

Silently, looking as if he were going someplace to be sick, Frederick Mooney crossed the front hall to the stairs. His fingers just barely touched Moxie’s sleeve.

Her eyes watched him climb the stairs.

Sergeant Hennings released handcuffs from his belt. He said to Fletch: “Okay if I arrest her? She’s talented and famous.”

“It’s not okay!” Fletch shouted. “No handcuffs!”

“Sorry, Miss,” Hennings said to Moxie. “Police department rules.”

“Don’t I get to get my toothbrush?” Moxie asked.

“We supply toothbrushes now,” Nachman said. “Especially for capital offenses.”

Moxie held out her wrists. Moxie Mooney was looking drawn and haggard.

She smiled at Fletch. “What’s your line about bravery?”

Fletch answered numbly, “Bravery is something you have to think you have to have it.”

“Yeah,” Moxie said. “I’ll think on that.”

“I’m going with you,” Fletch said.

Roz Nachman said, “Sorry, earwig, you’re not. Not enough room in the helicopter.”

Sergeant Hennings was guiding Moxie through the front door, gently, by her elbow.

Moxie was looking back at Fletch. “Hey, Fletch?” she asked. “You’ve never told me. Here’s your chance. Why is this house called The Blue House?”

Nachman put her nose up at the corners of the ceilings. “Used to be a whore house,” she said.

“Really?” Fletch said. “I never knew that.”

In the front hall, Fletch turned in a complete circle.

McKensie approached. Bitterly he said to Fletch, “Thanks, mate.”

Then he went up the stairs.

From the front porch of The Blue House Fletch watched them put Moxie in the police car. Chief of Detectives Roz Nachman got in the back seat with her.

He watched the car drive off.

He stared at where the car had been. Moxie… fun and games…so many images of Moxie…on this beach and that beach…in the street…in the classroom …in little theaters…in this room and that…getting into the back of a police car in handcuffs.

Behind him, Mrs Lopez said, “Can I get you something, Mister Fletcher? Maybe a drink…?”

He said: “Apple juice.”

She said, “We don’t have apple juice.”

“You don’t?” He turned to her.

“We never have apple juice. Why have apple juice in the land of orange juice?”

Fletch stared at her.

“I can make you a nice rum drink with orange juice.”

“Excuse me.”

Fletch went by her and up the stairs.