Death Leaves a Bookmark Read Free

a book at random, didn’t notice what it was.”
    Troy knew that was true—it just had to be big and heavy. He took a look back at the art book lying on the desk, placed there by the forensics guy. It was Rene Magritte’s Catalogue Raisonne, Volume I . “Well, you know about these things, lieutenant. You’ve probably investigated a lot of murders like this.”
    Columbo frowned. “A book case falling on a victim? Nah, never. This is a new one on me … Oh, by the way, Mr. Pellingham …”
    “What’s that?” He braced himself.
    “You didn’t tell me you were working here.” It was a neutral statement, seemingly nothing behind it.
    “I’m sorry. After you announced last night what had happened, we were both in shock. I don’t think Marcella or I had a clear thought in our heads.”
    “How long had you been working here?”
    “About a year. My uncle was getting old and needed some help mailing packages, keeping the place clean, organizing things, dealing with clients, various stuff like that.”
    Columbo was scratching the back of his neck. “That reminds me. Where were you when this thing happened? I know you couldn’t have been here, but just where were you?”
    He knew he was well prepared for the question. “I guess at the post office, mailing some books out to some of the collectors. Dayton, Ohio. Bangor, Maine. Places like that.”
    Scratch. Scratch. “And what time do you think you left for the post office?”
    “I probably left here around three or so. You can always check at the post office.”
    “If you’re wondering, I’m trying to figure out a time when the murderer came in here. He sure didn’t want you around.”
    Troy nodded, his expression dead sober. “Hell, no, I’m sure he didn’t. Anything else I can tell you?”
    “The blinds on the door to the street,” Columbo said, not looking back at them.
    “What about the blinds?” Now there was a question that came from the bleachers. What was it with him?
    “I’m not here to annoy you, sir, but the blinds were closed when we got here.”
    Hell. He had forgotten to open the damn blinds before he high-tailed it out. “The murderer undoubtedly closed them before he did his dirty work. He certainly didn’t want anyone on the street looking in.”
    “That’s what I thought too, Mr. Pellingham. Just wanted to check with you.” He hesitated, thinking. “But you know …”
    This guy was starting to drive him crazy. But at least he wasn’t scratching his damn neck any more. “What?”
    “If he was smart he probably went out that back door. If he went out the front somebody might’ve remembered him leaving.”
    “Makes sense. Now anything else before I pick up my cousin?”
    Columbo pursed his lips, reflecting again. “No, can’t think of anything else I wanted to ask you.”
    Troy quickly turned away and was about to head for the rear door when Columbo said, “Oh, just more thing, sir.”
    “What’s that?”
    “We gotta get your prints before you leave.”
    “They’re all over the store; after all, I worked here.”
    “I know that, sir, but we have to separate yours from others, just in case the killer was a little careless and left us one.” Columbo was staring guilelessly at him.
    “Okay, but please make it fast. My cousin’s in a shaky condition and I want to get her out in the world, get some fresh air, before she breaks down again.”
    “Excellent idea, getting her out. I promise it won’t take a minute.”
    One of the plainclothesmen took his prints and Troy was out of there.
    He picked Marcella up at the mansion and took her to Spago in Beverly Hills. She seemed a lot better than before, with her careful makeup and stylish getup. He had requested a table near the back wall so they could have a private conversation.
    “What do you suggest I have?” she asked, looking candidly at him over her menu. He was taken again by her beauty.
    “Everything on the menu’s great, the salads, the fish, chops, whatever