Ali wasn’t standing at the door of the Reading Room.
“It’s locked,” Report Man said, trying to push the dark ebony macassar door. “They must be done with interviews.”
“He might be in his office. Let’s go to the basement,” Spion suggested, leading the way.
The lights in the basement hallway flickered on, responding to the noise they made. Ali’s office was the first door on the left side of the staircase.
“Ali, are you in there?” Spion knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
They all crowded into the small office. Ali was making a cup of tea. A closed laptop and a statue of an Arabic warrior sat on his desk. “You’re all still here? What can I do for you?” he asked, surprised.
“Ali, we need to ask you something important about the Ambassador,” Spion started.
“I’m not sure I can help. I don’t know much about him. The FBI agents are still searching the kitchen and yards, checking garbage cans for the poison, I guess. Why don’t you ask them?”
“They won’t help us,” Spion said, quickly explaining Trevor’s predicament. “We need to help Trevor solve the case tonight, or at least find something to clear him.”
“I need your help, Ali,” Trevor pleaded.
“That’s nonsense. I will talk to Mr. Dressrious. He can tell the FBI that we all know you well, and it’s fine for you to enter the Premium Zone freely. We can tell the FBI you can go anywhere in the Salon,” Ali offered kindly.
“That might not help,” Report Man grinned. “You’d just be telling the FBI that he had the opportunity to commit a crime anywhere in this Salon.”
“We have a theory that the murderer might be the Ambassador’s mistress. Do you know who she is?” Lady News asked delicately.
“What?” Ali considered the question for a moment. “That’s impossible.”
“Why? Who is she? Did she attend the party tonight?” Trevor pressed.
“No. Because there was no mistress,” Ali paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. “He came here with different women every time.”
“Oh, dear,” Lady News gasped.
“He used this Salon as a whorehouse?” Spion said, mouth agape.
“We don’t judge our customers,” Ali said, frowning slightly.
“Regardless, he couldn’t bring a prostitute to a party like this. The murderer must be someone else,” Ali concluded.
“Did he have an affair with any of the staff? A waitress?” Trevor asked carefully.
Ali frowned again. “Impossible. He never wanted any disturbance here; he was cautious all the time. Besides, he was not kind to any servers—arrogant, actually.”
Report Man, who had been thinking hard, asked, “Did the Ambassador come to the party hall directly, or did he go to a private room first?”
“Yes, he went to a private room first. He took a shower. He was there for no more than half an hour,” Ali said.
“Haha! That could be the chance the murderer had to transfer the other part of the poison to the Ambassador!” Report Man exclaimed.
“What other poison?” Ali looked confused.
“Who serviced him? Who might have been near him at that time?” Trevor urgently asked.
“Snow White,” Ali said. “You don’t think it’s her?”
“Where is Snow now?” Trevor continued, his voice tight.
“She is taking care of Madame Perrault, the Ambassador’s wife,” Ali said.
“We need to find her! The Ambassador’s wife may be in danger!” Trevor said anxiously. He turned to Spion. “Remember I collided with her just before the Ambassador died? She said she was rushing to the kitchen, but I think she was rushing to escape the crime scene before anyone noticed!”