Flynn's In by Gregory McDonald Page B

graceful in his judicial gown.
    Flynn asked Ashley, “Precisely who was in the storage room when you arrived?”
    “Everyone. Not Buckingham.” Ashley looked around the table. “Everyone but Buckingham.”
    “Was Taylor there?”
    Taylor and the waiter had retreated to the kitchen.
    Several nodded affirmation.
    “How was Taylor dressed?” asked Flynn.
    “In shorts,” Lauderdale said definitely.
    “Shorts? You mean, undershorts?”
    “No, just shorts. Those flimsy, short, running-short things. Barefooted. Shirtless. Sweating.”
    Clifford looked evenly at Flynn. “Just shorts.”
    “Where were you, Judge Lauderdale?” Flynn enjoyed asking.
    “Actually, I was in my tub. Soaking. I had a face cloth folded over my eyes, as I lay back, soaking. There was the bang of the gun. The face cloth plopped into the water in front of me, I was so startled. It was all I could do to get on my chemise and mules and run down to see what happened.”
    “Soaking wet,” said the naked Oland. “You did well not to catch cold.”
    “I may have a sniffle,” Lauderdale sniffed.
    Wahler leaned over and whispered to Flynn: “You realize all this is an act. Away from here Lauderdale is as straight as a Texas road. He just puts this on to entertain the boys.”
    “Is that why he does it?” asked Flynn.
    “I was reading by the fire,” Oland offered. “I may havefallen asleep. The shot awoke me. I had gone to considerable trouble to get my new waterproofs. I was alone in the main room at the time.”
    Oland, well into his seventies, seemed the most relaxed of all sitting at the table. A skinny old man with thinning hair, tired eyes, a small pot low on his stomach, he seemed perfectly comfortable being the only naked person in the room.
    “Do you remember what time Ashley and Arlington left the main room?” Flynn asked.
    Oland thought a moment. “I don’t remember them being there at all. I doubt they were.”
    Flynn asked Ashley and Arlington, “You were playing cards in the main room, weren’t you?”
    Both men said, “Yes.”
    “I doubt they were,” repeated Oland.
    “That leaves Wahler and me, I guess,” said Rutledge. “We were together in my suite until about quarter to eleven. I had taken a shower, gotten into bed, and read a few pages when I heard the shot. It was seven minutes past eleven by my watch.”
    Everyone looked at Wahler.
    “I came down to the main room, mixed myself a Scotch and soda, and took it out onto the front veranda.”
    “You went out without a coat?”
    “I was wearing my suit jacket and vest. I didn’t intend to leave the porch. I wanted some fresh air.”
    “And Senator Roberts?” Flynn asked the room.
    “I don’t know.” Rutledge looked at others at the table. “Anyone know where Roberts was?”
    No one seemed to know where Roberts was.
    “How was he dressed when he arrived in the storage room?”
    “In bathrobe and slippers,” said Lauderdale.
    “Yes,” said Clifford. “I think so. He was carrying a book.”
    “And where were you?” Flynn asked Boston Police Commissioner Eddy D’Esopo.
    “When I heard the shot?” the Commissioner asked absently.
    “I think you’ve been hearing the conversation,” Flynn said softly.
    D’Esopo smiled foolishly. Then he laughed. “I was trying to commit burglary. Breaking and entering. I was in the kitchen, trying to find something to eat. The refrigerators were locked. All the cupboards were locked.”
    Laughter rose from the table.
    “Of course they were locked,” said Arlington. “What’s so unusual about that?”
    Testily, Oland said, “Such things are always locked at that hour.”
    Embarrassed, D’Esopo said, “I didn’t know it.”
    “You learn that at school, man,” said Buckingham.
    “A good thing, too,” said Oland. “Can’t have people running in and out of the kitchen grabbing things at all hours. Makes things impossible for the servants.”
    Clifford was giving D’Esopo a friendly smile, which D’Esopo