In the warm yellow sunshine, over a glass-topped table, the four men and Karen Gresham had cocktails.
“See here,” said Dr. Stone suddenly. “Why don’t you all stay up here and make an evening of it as my guests? We’ll have dinner...”
“How sad,” said Gresham. “I can’t, Doctor. I have a business appointment in the city at seven.”
“On a Sunday?” exclaimed Stone.
Karen said, “Always on a Sunday.”
“Well, at least let’s have luncheon,” said Dr. Stone. “The chef extends himself for me. He needs a gallstone operation...”
They were back in the city, at the Gresham apartment, by six o’clock. Kurt Gresham went immediately to change, the others to freshen. They met again in the drawing room at six-thirty, Gresham in business suit and carrying a brief case. “I should be back by nine or ten.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “Have fun.”
When he was gone, Karen Gresham said, “Now we’ll narrow it down further. You two have fun. I’ll attend to the servants.” She smiled without prejudice, a sweet smile for the doctor, a sweet smile for the lawyer, and left the room.
“Attend to the servants?” said Dr. Harry Brown. “I don’t get it, Tony.”
“Do you have servants, Doctor?” asked Tony Mitchell solemnly.
“No servants, Counselor.”
“So you don’t get it. Servants need attending to.”
“Like how?”
“Like do you know how many servants there are in this palatial dump?”
“I know there’s a cook. And there’s the Filipino houseman.”
“Also m’lady’s personal maid. Also a chambermaid.”
“What attending do they need?”
“Quitting time is seven o’clock.”
“You mean they don’t live in?”
“They don’t live in.”
“But I know some of them have quarters here—”
“They stay over only when there’s a formal dinner or a late party.”
“That’s an odd arrangement.”
“Karen prefers it that way. They make her feel uncomfortable, especially when she’s left alone here with them, as she so often is. You’ve got to remember that Karen wasn’t to the manor born. She’s only been Karen of Gresh for a couple of years. She’s still not used to being married to a fat cat.”
She came back in skintight green slacks and a low-cut green blouse.
She did a pirouette. “Like?” she said.
“Wow,” said Tony Mitchell.
“Thank you, kind sir.” She turned her smile on Harry. “No comment, Doctor?”
“I don’t have Tony’s line.”
“Wouldn’t fit you, kid,” the lawyer grinned. “You’re the deep-think, stern-type character the women go overboard for. They just ride along with me.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Karen teased. “There’s something underneath that glossy veneer. What do you think, Harry?”
“I’ve never been able to dig deep enough to find out.”
“Lay off the scalpel,” said Tony.
“But I am inclined to think all that lightness is surface stuff. Underneath—” Harry smiled, “who knows? Whatever it is, our friend the counselor is mighty careful not to let it show.”
“Will you kindly let me off the operating table?” Tony said. “Karen, I’m hungry.”
She kissed each of them lightly on the lips. “Coming up. And while mamma whips up some Canadian bacon and scrambled eggs and gobs of toast, and daddy’s off somewhere making another million, my two beaux can go into the dining room and set the table.”
Later, they had Irish coffee in the drawing room, an inspiration of Tony Mitchell’s.
“Delicious,” said Karen Gresham. “What’s the recipe, Counselor?”
“You start, not surprisingly, with good hot black coffee. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pour the steaming brew into the mug. Sugar to taste, stir well. Add a jigger of Irish whisky, stir likewise. Plop a voluptuous blob of thick whipped cream on top and do not stir at all. Lick and love. So how come you haven’t mentioned Lynne Maxwell to us, Harry?”
Dr. Harrison Brown, sipping through the cool whipped cream, suddenly scalded his throat. He choked and set his cup down and fumbled for his cigarettes.
“How come — what?”
“Baby, I’ve had experts trying to stall me. Hell, it’s more than a month now and we haven’t said a word, waiting for you to open up. There’s a time limit on everything, pal. We’re dying of curiosity.”
“Lynne Maxwell,” said Dr. Harrison Brown, smoking rapidly.
“It’s at least four weeks since that cop came to us. Galivan. Good cop, Galivan. One of the best.”
“Oh, you know him?” Harry said fatuously. Of course they must have been wondering. He had forgotten that Galivan had checked his alibi.
“Sure I know him. We work the same beat, except that we’re on opposite sides of the street.” Mitchell looked at his watch. “It’s ten minutes to nine, buddy. I’m going to keep chattering for another five minutes to ease you up, then, wham! Cross-examination—” The lawyer was scrutinizing Harry with an anxiety that belied his tone. He said quietly, “Of course, Harry, you don’t have to say a damned thing about it if you don’t want to.”
Karen had her knees crossed high, and her huge green eyes were intent over the coffee cup.
“Why haven’t you told us, Harry?” Karen asked.
“Because I didn’t think it was anyone’s business but mine.”
“Surly beggar, isn’t he?” murmured Tony.
“Tony, I didn’t want to drag you and Karen—”
“But you did, Harry, when you told Lieutenant Galivan about being with me and Karen that night. Didn’t you think he was going to check your story out?”
“I know,” said Harry ruefully. “I guess I just wanted to put the whole thing out of my mind. But how did you find out the girl’s name? Did Galivan tell you?”
“Sure he did,” said Tony Mitchell. “Remember, this is my kind of racket. When he asked for a written statement from this lady, this lady was smart enough to insist on consulting her lawyer. Imagine Galivan’s surprise when her lawyer turned out to be the very gent he wanted to question along with her. Said lawyer wouldn’t give his own statement, or authorize a statement from his client, the lady, unless he was informed what it was all about. So the lieutenant, for whom I’ve done a favor or two in my time, told me the story in confidence. Incidentally, Harry, if you’re still worried, you don’t have to be. You cleared all the way — except with us.”
Harry Brown looked from Tony Mitchell to Karen Gresham and back again. Neither was smiling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you were in trouble, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And we’re supposed to be your friends.”
“Yes.”
“And we were involved as your witnesses.”
“Well—”
“Well, what, Harry? I’d have spoken to you immediately, but Karen didn’t think we should pry. She felt you were disturbed about it, that in time you’d come around to talking to us.”
Karen said, “I don’t think, Tony, you should have brought it up.”
“The hell with that,” Mitchell said. “I’m his friend. And a lawyer. Harry, what’s this all about?”
What could he say? What could he tell them but lies?
He felt trapped in his chair, and he stood up awkwardly and began to walk around on stiff legs.
“There’s very little I can add to what Lieutenant Galivan told you, Tony—”
“Did he tell you the cause of death?”
“Overdose of heroin.”
“That’s right. Did you have anything to do with that, Harry?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, was she a patient of yours, or what?”