Free The Morning Show Murders (1) by Al Roker Page B

food. Or in whatever Rudy was drinking. Or in his saltshaker. Or his toothpaste."
    "But you and he had been fighting."
    "Who told you that?"
    "It's on the news," she said.
    Great
. Just what I needed. Infamy.
    "What are you doing here, chef?" she asked. "Why did you come here?"
    There are times when you should clear the air with truth. This wasn't one of them. "I knew Rudy had been seeing Melody. I didn't know if she had anyone to help her through her grief."
    "Uh-huh. Well, she does."
    "How long have you two been roommates?"
    "Long enough. Look, Melody is ... She's bright but she's also young, the kind of beautiful and naive girl that some guys like to play."
    "Is that what you thought Rudy was doing, playing her?"
    Her eyes flashed. "I don't know what Rudy was doing. I wasn't talking about Rudy. I think it's time you left."
    "Past time," I agreed.

Chapter

TWELVE
    The doorman in the lobby of Rudy's apartment building was short, plump, and in his middle years, dressed in a smartly appointed uniform of midnight blue, with three shiny brass buttons straining to keep the jacket closed over his belly. The gray piping on the jacket's collar matched the trefoil trim on the sleeves and the cloth portion of his officer's cap. His striped tie picked up both colors.
    He was wearing bright white gloves, highly polished black cap-toed shoes, and a loopy smile on his round, cleanly shaved black face.
    "Welcome to the Hogarth Apartments, Chef Blessing," he said. "You're making a liar out of a brutha."
    "Do I know you?"
    "No, and that's my point," he said. "I tole the cops that even though I've watched you many times on the box--my wife loves your cooking show, by the way--I have never seen you in this building, in person. Now you've gone and made a liar of me."
    I couldn't tell if he was busting my chops or if, as is sometimes the case, he was babbling because of nervousness. "What exactly did the police ask you?"
    "If I'd seen you last night, which I didn't." He looked past me and added, "'scuse me a second, chef."
    He stepped around me to drag open the thick glass front door for a white guy in his forties with dyed white spiked hair, a dark soul patch, and several gold rings in his left ear. He was wearing an AC/DC sweatshirt and blue gangsta pants, hanging so low on his hips you could see a strip of his red ant-patterned underwear.
    "Yo', Maxwell," he said to the doorman, "mah man. Cops still uglying up the building?"
    "They left hours ago, Mr. Washburn."
    "My-t-fine," the white-haired man said, winking at me in passing, as if we were sharing some joke on the doorman.
    I waited until the elevator door had closed behind him to ask, "Record producer?"
    "Wall Street broker," the doorman said.
    "Figures. So your name's Maxwell."
    "Maxwell Sucony. Always been. Always will be."
    "Glad to know you, Maxwell," I said, offering my hand. He peeled off his white glove before shaking it.
    "How may I be of service, chef?"
    I took my wallet from my coat pocket, but he waved his hand from side to side. "Not necessary. Like I say, my wife's a fan."
    I accepted that, but I didn't put the wallet away.
    "Since the police questioned you," I said, "I assume you were on duty last night."
    "Six to two, five nights a week. And they didn't just question me, they sat me down and I had to identify everybody on the tape." He used his chin to gesture to a small camera secured to the ceiling and covering the front-door area. Including us.
    You may have thought that appearing on television as often as I do would have inured me to camera discomfort, but I find secret taping, for whatever purpose, and that includes the cameras at the Bistro, inarguably creepy. So I shifted my back to the camera before asking, "What time did Rudy Gallagher check in last night?"
    "Around six-thirty."
    "Was he carrying anything with him?"
    "Just a briefcase," Maxwell said.
    "No big white bag, maybe a bunch of takeout cartons?"
    "Nothin' like that. Was a time he'd show up some nights arms