“The Museum often throws fund-raisers. Hall openings, parties for big donors, that sort of thing. Once in a while, it’s a costume ball. I always wear the same thing. I dress like an English banker on his way to the City. Derby hat, pinstriped pants, cutaway.”
“I see.” Custer glanced at the umbrella. “And the umbrella?”
“Everybody owns a black umbrella.”
A veil had dropped over the man’s emotions. Lawyer’s training, no doubt.
“How long have you owned the hat?”
“I already told you.”
“And where did you buy it?”
“Let’s see… at an old antique shop in the Village. Or perhaps TriBeCa. Lispinard Street, I believe.”
“How much did it cost?”
“I don’t remember. Thirty or forty dollars.” For a moment, Brisbane’s composure slipped ever so slightly. “Look, why are you so interested in that hat? A lot of people own derby hats.”
Watch the eyes. And the eyes looked panicked. The eyes looked guilty.
“Really?” Custer replied in an even voice. “A lot of people? The only person I know who owns a derby hat in New York City is the killer.”
This was the first mention of the word “killer,” and Custer gave it a slight, but noticeable, emphasis. Really, he was playing this beautifully, like a master angler bringing in a huge trout. He wished this was being captured on video. The chief would want to see it, perhaps make it available as a training film for aspiring detectives. “Let’s get back to the umbrella.”
“I bought it… I can’t remember. I’m always buying and losing umbrellas.” Brisbane shrugged casually, but his shoulders were stiff.
“And the rest of your costume?”
“In the closet. Go ahead, take a look.”
Custer had no doubt the rest of the costume would match the description of a black, old-fashioned coat. He ignored the attempted distraction. “Where did you buy it?”
“I think I found the pants and coat at that used formalwear shop near Bloomingdale’s. I just can’t think of the name.”
“No doubt.” Custer glanced searchingly at Brisbane. “Odd choice for a costume party, don’t you think? English banker, I mean.”
“I dislike looking ridiculous. I’ve worn that costume half a dozen times to Museum parties, you can check with anyone. I put that costume to good use.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you put it to good use. Good use indeed.” Custer glanced over at Noyes. The man was excited, a kind of hungry, almost slavering look on his face. He, at least, realized what was coming.
“Where were you, Mr. Brisbane, on October 12, between eleven o’clock in the evening and four o’clock the following morning?” This was the time bracket the coroner had determined during which Puck had been killed.
Brisbane seemed to think. “Let’s see… It’s hard to remember.” He laughed again.
Custer laughed, too.
“I can’t remember what I did that night. Not precisely. After twelve or one, I would have been in bed, of course. But before then… Yes, I remember now. I was at home that night. Catching up on my reading.”
“And you live alone, Mr. Brisbane?”
“Yes.”
“So you have no one who can vouch for you being at home? A landlady, perhaps? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
Brisbane frowned. “No. No, nothing like that. So, if it’s all the same to you—”
“One moment, Mr. Brisbane. And where did you say you live?”
“I didn’t say. Ninth Street, near University Place.”
“Hmmm. No more than a dozen blocks from Tompkins Square Park. Where the second murder took place.”
“That’s a very interesting coincidence, no doubt.”
“It is.”Custer glanced out the windows, where Central Park lay beneath a mantle of darkness. “And no doubt it’s a coincidence that the first murder took place right out there, in the Ramble.”
Brisbane’s frown deepened. “Really, Detective, I think we’ve reached the point where questions end and speculation begins.”He pushed back his chair, prepared to stand up. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with the business of clearing your men out of this Museum.”
Custer made a suppressing motion with one hand, glanced again at Noyes. Get ready. “There’s just one other thing. The third murder.” He slid a piece of paper out of his notebook with a nonchalant motion. “Do you know an Oscar Gibbs?”
“Yes, I believe so. Mr. Puck’s assistant.”
“Exactly. According to the testimony of Mr. Gibbs, on the afternoon of October 12, you and Mr. Puck had a little, ah, discussion in the Archives. This was after you found out that Human Resources had not supported your recommendation to fire Puck.”
Brisbane colored slightly. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
Custer smiled. “I don’t, Mr. Brisbane. Believe me, I don’t.”He followed this with a long, delicious pause. “Now, this Mr. Oscar Gibbs said that you and Puck were yelling at each other. Or rather, you were yelling at Puck. Care to tell me, in your words, what that was about?”
“I was reprimanding Mr. Puck.”
“What for?”
“Neglecting my instructions.”
“Which were?”
“To stick to his job.”