Ragland spotted Quinlan and waved.
“What are you doing here, Pete?” Quinlan asked.
“I’m a member of the Westmont, Morris. When the boss heard there was a homicide at the club, I was the natural pick to handle the case.”
Moser turned when he heard Quinlan speak to Ragland.
“Mr. Moser,” Quinlan said, “this is Deputy District Attorney Peter Ragland.”
“No need for an introduction, is there, Sam?” Ragland said. “Fill me in. What have we got here?”
“Mr. Moser’s secretary, Sophie Randall, was poisoned and we’re going upstairs to get some background.”
“It looks like I got here just in time.”
Ragland followed the trio, and a few minutes later, the four men were seated at one end of a long oak table.
“How are you doing?” Quinlan asked Moser.
“Not great.”
“I noticed what looks like a liquor cabinet when we walked in. Any chance there’s a bottle of Scotch in there?”
Moser flashed a sad smile. “Yes, but that’s not necessary. Ask your questions.”
“Okay. So, what’s your position at the Westmont Country Club?”
“I manage the Westmont.”
“What’s that entail?”
Quinlan didn’t care about Moser’s duties, but he hoped that leading him away from memories of the murder and into familiar territory would help Moser relax.
“How long has Mrs. Randall been your secretary?” Quinlan asked when Moser had explained the duties of a club manager and the detective thought he was ready to answer relevant questions.
“Seven years.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
Moser started to talk, but he choked up. Quinlan didn’t push. After a few moments, Moser took a deep breath and answered the question.
“Sophie was a lovely person. She was smart, efficient, everyone liked her.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“God, no. I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about her.”
“Do you feel up to telling me what happened?”
Moser nodded. “Someone sent me a box of chocolates in the mail.”
“Do you know who sent it?”
“No. There was no return address and no card. I assumed it was a member of the club.”
“Any wrapping?”
“Yes. I gave it to an officer.”