“That’s right,” Suzie said.
“And what did you do when you got there?”
“Irving gave me a martini. Two martinis, in fact. I love martinis. Don’t you just adore martinis?” she asked Hawes.
“Mmm,” Hawes said.
“Were there any visitors while you were there?”
“None.”
“Any phone calls?”
“Yes.”
“Would you happen to know from whom?”
“From a detective. Irving seemed very happy when he hung up.”
“Are you engaged or something?” Hawes asked. “Is that it?”
“To be married, do you mean?”
“Yes, to be married.”
“Oh, no, don’t be silly,” Suzie said.
Meyer cleared his throat again. “What time did you leave the apartment?” he asked.
“About eight-thirty. I think it was eight-thirty. It could have been a teeny bit earlier or a teeny bit later. But I think it was around eight-thirty.”
“And where did you go?”
“To The Ram’s Head.” She smiled up at Hawes. “That’s a restaurant. Have you ever been there?”
“No. No, I haven’t.”
“It’s very nice.”
“What time did you leave the restaurant, Miss Endicott?”
“About ten-thirty. Again, as I said, it might have been a teeny bit...”
“Yes, but it was around ten-thirty.”
“Yes.”
“And then what did you do?”
“We went for a walk on Hall Avenue, and looked in all the store windows. We saw some marvelous lounging pajamas in Kilkenny’s. Italian, I think they were. Just, oh so colorful.”
“How long did you walk on Hall Avenue?”
“An hour or so? I guess it was an hour or so.”
“And then what did you do?”
“We went back to Irving’s apartment. What we do, you see, is we either go to Irving’s apartment or to my apartment. I live downtown in The Quarter,” she said, looking up at Hawes. “Do you know Chelsea Street?”
“Yes, I do,” Hawes said.
“121/2 Chelsea Street,” she said, “apartment 6B. That’s because of hard luck.”
“What is?”
“The 12 1/2. It should be 13, but the owner of the building is superstitious.”
“Yes, there are lots of buildings in the city like that,” Hawes said.
“Lots of buildings don’t even have a thirteenth floor,” Suzie said. “That is, they have a thirteenth floor, but it’s called the fourteenth floor.”
“Yes, I know.”
“12 1/2 Chelsea Street,” she said, “apartment 6B, Hampton 4-8100.” She paused. “That’s my telephone number.”
“So you went back to Mr. Krutch’s apartment at about eleven-thirty,” Meyer said, “and then what did you do?”
“We watched television for a while. Buddy Hackett was on. He’s a scream. Don’t you just adore Buddy Hackett?” she said, looking up at Hawes.
“I adore him, yes,” Hawes said, and Meyer gave him a peculiar look. “He’s very comical,” Hawes said, ignoring the look.
“He’s just adorable,” Suzie said.
“What did you do after watching television?” Meyer said.
“We made love,” Suzie said.
Meyer cleared his throat.
“Twice,” Suzie added.
Meyer cleared his throat again.
“Then we went to sleep,” she said, “and in the middle of the night this Italian detective knocked on the door and started asking all sorts of questions about where we were and what we were doing. Is he allowed to do something like that, come around in the middle of the night, and bang on the door, and ask dumb questions?”
“Yes, he is,” Hawes said.
“I think that’s awful,” Suzie said. “Don’t you think that’s awful?” she asked Hawes.
“Well, it’s a job,” Hawes said, and smiled weakly, and tried to avoid Meyer’s glance again.
“Did either of you leave the apartment at any time between eleven-thirty and three A.M.?” Meyer asked.
“Oh, no. I told you. First we watched television, and then we made love, and then we went to sleep.”
“You were there all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Both of you.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Krutch didn’t leave the apartment at all.”
“No.”
“If you were asleep, how do you know whether he left or not?”
“Well, we didn’t go to sleep until about maybe two o’clock. Things take time, you know.”
“You were awake until two A.M.?”
“Yes.”
“And Mr. Krutch did not leave the apartment?”
“No.”
“Did he leave the bedroom?”
“No.”
“Not at any time during the night?”
“Not at any time during the night.”
“Okay,” Meyer said. “You got anything else, Cotton?”
“Is that your name?” Suzie asked. “I had an uncle named Cotton.”
“That’s my name,” Hawes said.
“After Cotton Mather?”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t that a coincidence?” Suzie said. “I think that’s a marvelous coincidence.”
“You got anything else to ask?” Meyer said again.
“Well... yes,” Hawes said, and looked at Meyer.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” Meyer said.
“Okay,” Hawes said.
He watched as Meyer picked his way through the milling girls in the shop, watched as Meyer opened the front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“I have only one further question, Suzie,” he said.
“Yes, what’s that?”
“Would you like to go to a movie with me? Or something?”
“Oh, no,” Suzie said. “Irving wouldn’t like that.” She smiled and looked up at him with her big brown eyes. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, “really I am, but Irving simply wouldn’t like that at all.”
“Well, uh, thanks a lot for your cooperation, Miss Endicott,” Hawes said. “Thank you very much, I’m sorry we — uh — broke into your day this way, thanks a lot.”
“Not at all,” Suzie said, and rushed off to another beautiful brunette who was emerging from yet another dressing room. Hawes looked at the brunette, decided not to risk further rejection, and went outside to where Meyer was waiting on the sidewalk.
“Did you score?” Meyer asked.
“Nope.”
“How come? I thought it was a sure thing.”
“So did I. I guess she thinks Krutch is just adorable.”
“I think you’re just adorable,” Meyer said.
“Up yours,” Hawes answered, and both men went back to the squadroom. Hawes typed up the report and then went out to talk to a grocery store owner who had a complaint about people stealing bottles of milk from boxes stacked up in back of the store, this in the wee hours of the morning before the store was opened for business. Meyer went to talk to an assault victim and to show him some mug shots for possible identification. They had worked long and hard on the Weinberg Case, yeah, and it was now in the Open File, pending further developments.
Meanwhile, on the ferry to Bethtown, two other cops were working very hard at sniffing the mild June breezes that blew in off the River Harb. Coatless, hatless, Carella and Brown stood at the railing and watched Isola’s receding skyline, watched too the busy traffic on the river, tugboats and ocean liners, a squadron of Navy destroyers, barges and scows, each of them tooting and chugging and sounding bells and sending up steam and leaving a boiling, frothy wake behind.
“This is still the cheapest date in the city,” Brown said. “Five cents for a forty-five-minute boat ride — who can beat it?”
“I wish I had a nickel for all the times I rode this ferry with Teddy, before we were married,” Carella said.