"Karl. That's right, it's Karl. Karl Engstrom." He scribbled the names in a dark, thick script.
"Now the times I remember," he told her huskily, turning the program around in search of white space. "Times I--- Oh. Oh, no, wait. I forgot. Yes, the housekeepers. You said they got home at what time?"
'I didn't say. Karl, what time did you get in last night?" Chris called to him.
The Swiss turned around, his face inscrutable. "Exactly nine-thirty, madam."
"Yeah, that's right, you'd forgotten your key. I remember I looked at the clock in the kitchen when you rang the doorbell."
"You saw a good film?" the detective asked Karl. "I never go by reviews," he explained to Chris in a breathy aside. "It's what the people think, the audience."
"Paul Scofield in Lear," Karl informed the detective.
"Ah, I saw that; that's excellent. Excellent. Marvelous "
"Yes, at the Crest," Karl continued. "The six-o'clock showing. Then immediately after I take the bus from in front of the theater and---"
"Please, that's not necessary," the detective protested with a gesture. "Please."
"I don't mind."
"If you insist."
"I get off at Wisconsin Avenue and M Street. Nine-twenty, perhaps. And then I walk to the house."
"Look, you didn't have to tell me," the detective told him, "but anyway, thank you, it was very considerate. You liked the film?"
"It was excellent."
"Yes, I thought so too. Exceptional. Well, now..." He turned back to Chris and to scribbling on the program. "I've wasted your time, but I have a job." He shrugged. "Well, only a moment and finished. Tragic... tragic..." hebreathed as he jotted down fragments in margins. "Such a talent.
And a man who knew people, I'm sure: how to handle them. With so many elements who could make him look good or maybe make him look bad--- like the cameraman, the sound man, the composer, whatever.... Please correct me if I'm wrong, bud it seems to me nowadays a director of importance has also to be almost a Dale Carnegie. Am I wrong?"
"Oh, well, Burke had a temper," Chris sighed.
The detective repositioned the program. "Ah, well, maybe so with the big shots. People his size." Once again he was scribbling. "But the key is the little people, the menials, the people who handle the minor details that if they didn't handle right would be major details. Don't you think?"
Chris glanced at her fingernails and ruefully shook her head. "When Burke let fly, he never discriminated," she murmured with a weak, wry smile. "No, sir. It was only when he drank, though."
"Finished. We're finished." Kinderman was dotting a final i. "Oh, no, wait," he abruptly remembered. "Mrs. Engstrom. They went and came together?" He was gesturing toward Karl.
"No, she went to see a Beatles film," Chris answered just as Karl was turning to reply. "She got in a few minutes after I did."
"Why did I ask that? It wasn't important." He shrugged as he folded up the program and tucked it away in the pocket of his jacket along with the pencil. "Well, that's that. When I'm back in the office, no doubt I'll remember something I should have asked. With me, that always happens. Oh, well, I could call you," he puffed, standing up.
Chris rose along with him.
"Well, I'm going out of town for a couple of weeks," she said.
"It can wait" he assured her. "It can wait." He was staring of the sculpture with a smiling fondness. "Cute. So cute," he said. He'd leaned over and picked it up and was rubbing his thumb along is beak.
Chris bent over to pick up a thread on the kitchen floor.
"Have you got a good doctor?" the detective asked her. "I mean for your daughter."
He replaced the figure and began to leave. Glumly Chris followed, winding the thread around her thumb.
"Well, I've sure got enough of them," she murmured. "Anyway, I'm checking her into a clinic that's supposed to be great at doing what you do, only viruses."
"Let's hope they're a great deal better. It's out of town, this clinic?"
"Yes, it is."
"It's a good one?"
"We'll see."
"Keep her out of the draft."
They had reached the front door of the house. He put a hand on the doorknob. "Well, I would say that it's been a pleasure, but under the circumstances..." He bowed his head and shook it.
"I'm sorry. Really. I'm terribly sorry."
Chris folded her arms and looked down at the rug. She nodded briefly.
Kinderman opened the door and stepped outside. As he turned to Chris, he was putting on his hat. "Well, good luck with your daugher."
"Thanks." She smiled wanly. "Good luck with the world."
