Morgan St-Charles wheeled angrily on the old detective. "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't try to poison anyone?"
"Oh, sure," said the detective. "First you poisoned Jean Thurmonne, then Camille de Rochevot, and now - well, you failed."
"I - you can't prove any of it!"
"Sure we can. Let's start three minutes ago. You go into the kitchen, supposedly looking for the bathroom. You drop poison in two of the glasses: neither is the one with the Presidential logo on the side. It doesn't matter who drinks the poison as long as it isn't you or Thibaud - "
"This is all a load of [feces]!" He pointed across the table. "How do you know Thibaud didn't do it?"
"We would have seen him put the poison in on the videotape." That shut the Vice President up. "We recorded the whole thing, and there were a half-dozen cops watching besides, from behind a little ledge on the other side of the room. They saw you do it and pulled out one of those little tester things. I am amazed at how quickly they can test for arsenic these days. When I was a politician in America it took hours or something like that.
"But anyways, there are still the three murders as well as your motive. Jean Thurmonne. You know, there's a constant thread. You suppressed the media reportage. Like the old posters said in the '70s said, 'Censorship works. Just ask the experts,' and under that pictures of Stalin, Castro, and Mao - I'm terribly sorry, Mister Locke, to insult your brethren. Anyways, somehow you kept them from finding out that you gave Thurmonne your glass of water. And you stayed with him through the night at all the bars. You must have did him in with slow doses, diabolically.
"And Georges Dumont knew about it. So you did him in at the concert."
"I did not!"
"Oh, sure you did. You were there. The conductor recognized your photograph - "
"That's because I'm the God-dammed [sic] Vice President!"
" - when I had my friend in computers Photoshop on overalls and a straw hat."
"WHAT?" laughed General Levitsky. "Oh, Morgie, I can see you in that get-up. Haw!"
"The conductor," continued the detective, "remembered seeing a man in coveralls and straw hat in the box seats, near Thibaud and Dumont. And that's not all. What were you doing at a Berlioz/Shostakovich concert anyways?"
"I like Berlioz and Shostakovich. Did that ever cross your tiny little mind?"
"Yes, it did. That's why I searched your house when you were at work a couple days ago."
"WHAT?"
"With the President's authorization. Jacques gave me the keys. I found your CD collection. It's just like you said after the shooting. You only listen to Vivaldi."
"I was joking."
"No you weren't. I was amazed. Only non-Vivaldi CDs were Pachebel and Telemann, and some by the Bee Gees. Odd bunch. There were twenty Four Seasons discs, including one of my own - "
"Yours?" inquired Thibaud politely.
"Well, I owned the record company," the detective said. "Anyways, Four Seasons, flute concerti, harp concerti, string things, Dresden concerti, and bassoon stuff. Who the heck's ever heard of a bassoon concerto - anyways. You went there to kill Dumont. No more, no less. And I found the overalls in your closet. Took a picture. That's how we Photoshopped it on and gave it to the conductor."
"Well, if I don't listen to Berlioz, how did I know to shoot when the music symbolizes his death?"
"How do you know the man fired the gun when the music symbolized his death? All the press said was it was in the March to the Scaffold!" Silence again.
"And Camille Rochevot. I have no idea how you kept the press from finding out, but you visited his house the night before. Don't know how you did him in the next morning. Probably found his weekly pill dispenser and switched the next-day ones with killers. We'll find out soon enough, though, because we've got enough against you for the other two and tonight to send you packing for life."
"No motive."
"Sure. It was a coup."
"No."
"Look, I've busted coups for a living before. I know this stuff. You were going to pin it all on Thibaud after tonight's massacre, pointing to various circumstantial bits - him being at the concert, him getting the wineglasses - and bingo! He's gone. You know what happens next. You, being the Vice President, take over. What a ghastly way to take over a government. Although I must admit, it was far cleverer than Dan Hartwell or Roger Smith. And when you set out to kill someone, you really did, unlike Joe Locke over here.
"Oh, one more thing, Mr. Morgan St. Charles. What's your real name?"
"Morgan Saint-Charles."
"No, really. Don't give me that crap. Don't you see I can see right through it? Joe can, probably, if he's been paying attention."
"It is my name!"
"No it isn't! There's only one Charles Morgan in this room and that Charles Morgan is ME! Who are you??"