Conklin nodded, wondering, Does this actor really think that murders spring from charity board decisions? Both Joan and Robert had B-movie theories to real-life murder. It was just another clue that they might be hiding something.
Rich said, “Mr. Murphy, when your wife didn’t come home Sunday night, weren’t you worried about her?”
“As I said, Joan does what Joan wants to do. We don’t question each other, Inspector. And if your next question is ‘Do you love your wife?’ the answer is ‘I like her independence, her humor, and her intelligence.’ And yes, I do love her as well.”
“I have to ask you. Do you think your wife could be having an affair?”
Murphy gave Conklin a scathing look and said, “If she is having an affair, it would shock the hell out of me. We have a full and trusting relationship. Thank you for bringing her home safely. I’d like daily reports on your progress in finding the kidnapper.”
Joan Murphy returned to the room in flowing garments, looking like an entirely different woman. She was relaxed. Beaming. Confident.
“Richard,” she said. “You’ll have dinner with us, right?”
“I wish I could, Joan. Maybe another time. But before I leave, I need a few moments with Marjorie.”
Chapter 15
Joan brought Conklin to the kitchen, where he met with Marjorie Bright, a wiry, blue-eyed woman who was about sixty years old. She was dressed casually in dark pants and an untucked white shirt.
She dried her hands on a dish towel and checked on the contents of the oven. After Joan had left the room, she and Conklin sat down at the kitchen table.
Conklin asked some preliminary questions. How long had she worked for the Murphys? What did she think of them? Had she ever witnessed any arguments between the two of them?
Miss Bright told Conklin that she had worked for Miss Joan for thirteen years. She lived in a private suite on the third floor. She seemed happy with her job in the Murphys’ home.
When Conklin asked if the couple fought, she shrugged and said, “I guess there’s been some shouting over the last five years, but there’s never been any violence. They have separate suites connected by a hallway on the second floor. Their lives are separate, mostly, but sometimes they’ll entertain at home, vacation, and attend functions together. They live well in this house, and I do think they are in love.”
Conklin asked, “Do you recall if Mr. Murphy was home on Sunday?”
“Yes, he was here. I’m off on Sundays, but my rooms overlook the front of the property and his car never moved. I saw him and Joan eating breakfast together on the patio on Sunday morning. Later that afternoon, Mr. Robert called up and asked if I could help him rehearse his lines. He’s very talented, you know.”
“Could you estimate the time that Mrs. Murphy left the house on Sunday?”
“No. Like I said, it was my day off, so I wasn’t looking at the clock. Besides, she doesn’t like to drive. She usually uses a car service, so I couldn’t guess a time for you, since her car never left the driveway.”
The housekeeper go
t the name and number of the service, and after Conklin thanked her, he returned to the sprawling drawing room and told the Murphys he’d be in touch as soon as his team had any kind of big break or lead in the case.
Once he got in the car, he called Cindy and talked to her as he drove home. They clicked off when Rich was on Kirkham with his apartment building in sight, and that’s when his phone rang with another call.
It was Sackowitz.
“We’ve got an ID on our John Doe,” Sac said. “His name’s Samuel J. Alton and he’s from San Bernardino. He’s the senior VP in claims for Avantra Insurance. He’s married, has three kids under twelve, and is a regular at the Warwick Hotel. On the first Sunday of every month, he comes to town for a Monday morning meeting at Avantra’s main office on Beale Street.”
“Interesting,” said Conklin. “What are you thinking? Was Alton Joan’s boyfriend? An attacker? A random hookup?”
“I’m going with boyfriend. We were able to get a look into the Warwick computer systems, and it turns out that Joan Murphy has a monthly reservation at the Warwick. And it’s always on a Sunday night. The first Sunday in the month, in fact.”
Conklin said, “I’ve got to agree with you then. Sounds like these two were having an ongoing affair. Yet Joan’s husband tells me there’s no chance in hell that his wife is stepping out on him. ‘We have a full and trusting relationship,’ he told me. And that’s a direct quote.”
“Gee,” said Sac. “Could the husband be telling you a lie?”
Conklin laughed.
Sac said, “I’m going to drive to San Berdoo. I’ll notify Mrs. Alton that her husband was shot to death in the arms of another woman. Then, I’m gonna go home and get drunk because that’s going to be one hell of a conversation. You want to mention Samuel Alton’s name to Joan Murphy? See what happens?”
“Oh, yeah, I do. The woman tells a fantastic story. Can’t wait to hear what she comes up with this time.”