Death on Deadline - Robert Goldsborough Page 0,38

them.”

“How would you describe her frame of mind yesterday?”

“I didn’t really see much of her—just small snatches here and there. I was in her office for a few minutes in the early afternoon, around two-thirty, to talk about a problem we were having with one of our distributors over in Jersey. At the time, she seemed fairly cheerful, although maybe a little distracted.”

“Whom had she met with by then?”

Bishop took the unlit pipe out of his mouth and looked at the ceiling. “Let’s see ... I know she and Donna had talked first thing in the morning, and then just before noon she had David up to her office for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. Then she had to be at the Waldorf for a big benefit luncheon—she was on the executive committee and sat on the dais. I was with her right after she got back, and Scott was due in to see her around three, I think.”

“During your visit, did you ask how her earlier meetings had gone?”

“No,” Bishop said, running his hand through his hair. “I figured I’d get the whole story from her after she met with MacLaren. I usually stay at the paper until at least seven, sometimes seven-thirty.”

“Was Mrs. Haverhill in the habit of confiding in you?”

“I guess you could say that. I wasn’t as close to her when it came to purely financial matters, say, as Elliot Dean was, but on almost anything to do with the running of the paper, she asked my advice. We worked very closely and very well together.”

“Do you know any of the particulars of her meetings with her family members and Mr. MacLaren?”

“I haven’t really had much time to talk to any of them, certainly not to MacLaren—I haven’t even seen him. But from what I gather, all three of those kids had pretty much made up their minds to dump the stock. David’s the only one I discussed it with, though. I caught him in a sober moment this morning, and he said he and his stepmother really got into it yesterday. Claimed she accused him of being a traitor to the family.”

“Does that sound like her?”

“Well . . . yes . . . actually I can picture her saying that,” Bishop replied in his gravelly tone. “I don’t know how much you saw of her when she came to see you, but Harriet can—could—be one tough cookie when the occasion warranted. She had a temper, an explosive one, although she knew how to use it effectively. I once half-jokingly accused her of turning it on and off like a faucet.”

“Have you spoken with Mr. Dean since the murder?”

Bishop gave Wolfe a thin-lipped smile. “You’re determined to call it that, aren’t you? Well, by God, if you’re right—and I don’t think you are—you’ll get my full cooperation in running her killer down. As to Elliot, yes, I’ve seen him once, also just for a couple of minutes. We really didn’t have much time to talk. As you can appreciate, the Gazette has been a madhouse all day.”

Wolfe nodded. “I was curious as to why Mr. MacLaren chose to visit him after his meeting with Mrs. Haverhill.”

“I guess that’s one you’ll have to ask Elliot yourself; it didn’t occur to me to bring it up,” Bishop said, glancing at his Rolex. “I really have to be going. As it is, I’m already late for a dinner party, although it’s the last thing I feel like doing right now. I know everybody there’s going to want to talk about Harriet.” He took a deep breath and got to his feet, slipping his pipe back into its pouch.

“Mr. Bishop, you spoke of cooperation a moment ago, and you’ve already indulged me liberally by persuading the Haverhill family members to see me. Now, if I may prevail further on your good nature, I also would like to meet with Mr. Dean once more. As you may know, he was here with Mrs. Haverhill, and was not the least bit happy about it. I would appreciate your asking him to see me again, preferably Monday, or Tuesday at the latest.”

“No problem,” the publisher said. “Elliot will grumble, but that’s his nature. In the long run, all he cares about is protecting Harriet. I’ll call him tomorrow and do a little arm-twisting.”

Wolfe thanked Bishop and I escorted him to the hall, helping him on with his raincoat and holding the front door. I went back to the office and found Wolfe’s chair