“Yes, I suppose I knew that.”
“But you still automatically assumed Dr. Nelson had killed your husband.”
“I was in shock at the time. I didn’t know what to think.”
“I see,” Carella said. He picked up his cup and took a long deliberate swallow. “Mrs. Gifford, you said your husband took a vitamin capsule after lunch last Wednesday.”
“That’s right.”
“Did he have that capsule with him, or did you bring it to him when you went into the city?”
“He had it with him.”
“Was he in the habit of taking vitamin capsules with him?”
“Yes,” Melanie said. “He was supposed to take one after every meal. Stan was a very conscientious man. When he knew he was going into the city, he carried the vitamins with him, in a small pillbox.”
“Did he take only one capsule to the city last Wednesday? Or two?”
“One,” Melanie said.
“How do you know?”
“Because there were two on the breakfast table that morning. He swallowed one with his orange juice, and he put the other in the pillbox, and then put it in his pocket.”
“And you saw him take that second capsule after lunch?”
“Yes. He took it out of the pillbox and put it on the table the moment we were seated. That’s what he usually did—so he wouldn’t forget to take it.”
“And to your knowledge, he did not have any other capsules with him. That was the only capsule he took after leaving this house last Wednesday.”
“That’s right.”
“Who put those capsules on the breakfast table, Mrs. Gifford?”
“My housekeeper.” Melanie looked suddenly annoyed. “I’m not sure I understand all this,” she said. “If he took the capsule at lunch, I don’t see how it could possibly—”
“We’re only trying to find out for sure whether or not there were only two capsules, Mrs. Gifford.”
“I just told you.”
“We’d like to be sure. We know the capsule he took at lunch couldn’t possibly have killed him. But if there was a third capsule—”
“There were only two,” Melanie said. “He knew he was coming home for dinner after the show, the way he did every Wednesday night. There was no need for him to carry more than—”
“More than the one he took at lunch.”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Gifford, do you know whether or not your husband had any insurance on his life?”
“Yes, of course he did.”
“Would you know in what amount?”
“A hundred thousand dollars.”
“And the company?”
“Municipal Life.”
“Who’s the beneficiary, Mrs. Gifford?”
“I am,” Melanie replied.
“I see,” Carella said.
There was a brief silence. Melanie put down her coffee cup. Her eyes met Carella’s levelly. Quietly, she said, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to suggest, Detective Carella—”
“Mrs. Gifford, this is all routine—”
“—that I might have had anything to do with the death of—”
“—questioning. I don’t know who had anything to do with your husband’s death.”
“I didn’t.”
“I hope not.”
“Because, you see, Detective Carella, a hundred thousand dollars in insurance money would hardly come anywhere near the kind of income my husband earned as a performer. I’m sure you know that he recently signed a two-million-dollar contract with the network. And I can assure you he’s always been more than generous to me. Or perhaps you’d like to come upstairs and take a look at the furs in my closet or the jewels on my dresser.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Mrs. Gifford.”
“I’m sure it won’t. But you might also like to consider the fact that Stan’s insurance policy carried the usual suicide clause.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Mrs. Gifford.”
“I’m saying, Detective Carella, that unless you can find a murderer—unless you can prove there was foul play involved in my husband’s death—his insurance company will conclude he was a suicide. In which case, I’ll receive only the premiums already paid in, and not a penny more.”
“I see.”
“Yes, I hope you do.”
“Would you know whether or not your husband left a will, Mrs. Gifford?” Meyer asked.
“Yes, he did.”
“Are you also a beneficiary in his will?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never discussed it with him?”
“Never. I know there’s a will, but I don’t know what its terms are.”
“Who would know, Mrs. Gifford?”
“His lawyer, I imagine.”
“And the lawyer’s name?”
“Salvatore Di Palma.”
“In the city?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t mind if we call him?”
“Why should I?” Melanie paused again, and again stared at Carella. “I don’t mind telling you,” she said, “that you’re beginning to give me a severe pain in the ass.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Does part of your ‘routine questioning’ involve badgering a man’s widow?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gifford,” Carella said. “We’re only trying to investigate every possibility.”
“Then how about investigating the possibility that I led a full and happy life with Stan? When we met, I was working in summer stock in Pennsylvania, earning sixty dollars a week. I’ve had everything I ever wanted from the moment we were married, but I’d gladly give all of it—the furs, the jewels, the house, even the clothes on my back—if that’d bring Stan to life again.”
“We’re only—”
“Yes, you’re only investigating every possibility, I know. Be human,” she said. “You’re dealing with people, not ciphers.”
The detectives were silent. Melanie sighed.
“Did you still want to see my housekeeper?”
“Please,” Meyer said.
Melanie lifted the small bell near her right hand, and gave it a rapid shake. The housekeeper, as though alert and waiting for the tiny sound, came into the dining room immediately.
“These gentlemen would like to ask you some questions, Maureen,” Melanie said. “If you don’t mind, gentlemen, I’ll leave you alone. I’m late for an appointment now, and I’d like to get dressed.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Gifford,” Carella said.
“Not at all,” Melanie said, and walked out of the room.
Maureen stood by the table, uncertainly picking at her apron. Meyer glanced at Carella, who nodded. Meyer cleared his throat, and said, “Maureen, on the day Mr. Gifford died, did you set the breakfast table for him?”
“For him and for Mrs. Gifford, yes, sir.”
“Do you always set the table?”
“Except on Thursdays and every other Sunday, which are my days off. Yes, sir, I always set the table.”
“Did you put Mr. Gifford’s vitamin capsules on the table that morning?” Meyer asked.
“Yes, sir. Right alongside his plate, same as usual.”
“How many vitamin capsules?”
“Two.”
“Not three?”
“I said two,” Maureen said.
“Was anyone in the room when you put the capsules on the table?”
“No, sir.”
“Who came down to breakfast first? Mr. Gifford or Mrs. Gifford?”
“Mrs. Gifford came in just as I was leaving.”
“And then Mr. Gifford?”
“Yes. I heard him come down about five minutes later.”
“Do these vitamin capsules come in a jar?”
“A small bottle, sir.”
“Could we see that bottle, please?”
“I keep it in the kitchen.” Maureen paused. “You’ll have to wait while I get it.”