Killer's Choice

'Somewhere in Isola.'

'Where in Isola?'

'She never said.'

'What else did she say about Jamie?'

'Nothing that I can recall. Well, I told her I didn't think it was quite proper for an attractive young lady to go visiting a gentleman in his flat, and she sort of laughed.'

'What did she say?'

'She said, "Jamie's a darling. I adore him." Something like that. Perhaps the intonation is wrong, but it was something like that. I got rather miffed. I repeated that I didn't think it was proper for her to see him in his flat.'

'What did she say to that?'

'She said, "Arthur, don't be ridiculous. I'm as safe with him as I am with you." That's what she said.' Cordis looked at Carella. 'Is… ah… is something amusing?'

'No, no,' Carella said. 'Not at all. Go ahead.'

'That's all there is to tell,' Cordis said. 'She never mentioned him again. I put off seeing her for a while because I was getting rather too fond of her. And then… then I read she was dead.' Cordis looked at the desk top.

'And you were with your mother and a neighbour on the night she was killed, is that right?'

'Yes.'

'From what time to what time?'

'From about seven-thirty to midnight.'

'Leave the apartment all that while?'

'No.'

'What was the neighbour's name?'

'Mrs Alexander.'

'Thank you, Mr Cordis,' Carella said, and he rose. Kling rose, too. Cordis remained seated.

'Is it all right? May I go back to my position now?'

'Sure,' Carella said. 'If you don't hear from us again, you can just forget we were ever here.'

Arthur Cordis went back to his teller's cage. He never did hear from Carella and Kling again because, sure enough, he'd been playing cards on 10 June between 7.30 and 12 with his mother and Mrs Alexander.

Mrs Franklin Phelps did not seem surprised to see Meyer and Kling again. She opened the door for them, smiled and said, 'Gentlemen, I was expecting you. Do come in.'

The detectives followed her past the smoky mirror and into the period living-room. They all sat.

'Why were you expecting us, Mrs Phelps?' Meyer asked cordially.

'Because I figured it would occur to you sooner or later that I am a prime murder suspect.'

'Well,' Meyer said patiently, 'we work rather slowly. We plod along, plod along.'

'I'm delighted you're back,' Mrs Phelps said. 'It gets lonely when Franklin's away.'

'Mrs Phelps,' Meyer said, 'we'd just like to check a few items.'

'Yes?'

'You knew your husband was having an affair with. Annie Boone, is that right?'

'Yes. And I knew he was paying her far more than she was worth at the shop. I knew all this, and I rather resented it, but I thought I'd wait until it blew over. These things do blow over, you know. That's what I told you. I am repeating that to you now. I did not kill Annie Boone. Let me set you straight on that at once.'

'You have what is commonly known as a damn good motive, Mrs Phelps.'

'Yes.' Mrs Phelps smiled. 'I haven't got the other two ingredients, though.'

'What do you mean, Mrs Phelps?'

'The means and the opportunity.'

'You don't own a gun? Is that it?'

'No, I don't own one. Never have, never will. I detest guns. There isn't a weapon in this house, and there never will be one.'

'You could have come across a gun, Mrs Phelps. Guns aren't too difficult to come by these days.'

Mrs Phelps shrugged. 'Granted. Perhaps I did. Perhaps I bought one—without showing the necessary pistol permit, which I do not own—but perhaps I did manage to buy one. Perhaps I paid a hockshop owner an exorbitant price in order to acquire a pistol. Perhaps I did. But what about opportunity, Detective Meyer? Isn't that important?'

'What about it, Mrs Phelps?' Meyer said. 'You tell us.'

'Annie Boone was killed at the liquor store. That's a long way from where I was.'

Meyer sighed patiently. 'You drive, don't you, Mrs Phelps?'

'Yes, I drive,' she answered, smiling thinly. 'But…'

'Then what was to stop you from…'

'But,' she continued, 'I could hardly have driven to the liquor store from Miami Beach. It's several thousand miles, isn't it? That's where I was on the night Annie Boone was killed.'

'I see,' Meyer said somewhat sourly.

'I suggest you call the Hotel Shalimar. Speak to the manager there. He will confirm the length of my stay, and he will also tell you that I was at a party given for the guests that night. He'll remember me. I'm good fun at a party. Call him.' Mrs Phelps smiled brightly. 'Will that be all, gentlemen?'

The cop who spoke to the manager of the Shalimar on the long distance wire at the city's expense was Meyer Meyer.

'When did Mrs Phelps check in?' he asked.

'On the 5th of June,' the manager said.

'And when did she check out?'

'On the 14th.'

'Did the hotel have a party on the night of 10 June?'

'10 June? Let me see. Just a moment, please.' There was an expensive pause. 'Yes, 10 June. Yes indeed, we did.'

'Was Mrs Phelps at the party?'

'Yes, she was. A bright red dress. Very attractive.'

'What time did she arrive?'

'The party started before dinner. It was for our guests, you understand. We're… well, rather famous for our cocktail parties.'

'What time did it start?' Meyer asked.

'About four-thirty. In the afternoon.'

'Uh-huh. And was Mrs Phelps there when it started?'

'Yes.'

'And what time did she leave the party?'

'Leave it? Why, I believe she was there all night.'

'Are you sure?'

'Well, I'm not absolutely certain, of course. There were many women in red dresses. But I would say yes. Yes, I would say yes.'

'What time did the party break up?'

'Well, it was a fairly lively party.'

'What time?'

'We served breakfast at five-thirty,' the manager said.

'What!'

'Yes.'

'From four-thirty the previous afternoon?'

'Yes.'

'It lasted all through the night? Until breakfast?'

'Well, yes. We're rather famous for our parties.'

'You ought to be. Was Mrs Phelps at breakfast?'

'Yes. Definitely. I remember serving her scrambled eggs myself.'

'Still in the red dress?'

'Yes.'

'And you think she was around all night, is that right?'

'We have thousands of guests,' the manager said. 'They flit in and out. There's a lot of drinking at these parties and… well, the management doesn't follow any of the guests'… activities too closely.'

'I see,' Meyer said. 'Checked in on the 5th and out on the 14th, right? Was at your party on the 10th. Okay, sir, thank you.'

'Not at all,' the manager said, and he broke the connexion.

Meyer sat morosely at his desk for a moment, and then decided to play a long-shot. He called all the airlines and asked if round-trip passage had been booked from and to Miami for a Mrs Franklin Phelps on the night of 10 June, the night of Annie Boone's murder. And then, covering the pseudonym possibility, he asked if any woman had been booked for a round trip on that same night.

The airlines checked their flight records. The only passage they had given to Mrs Phelps was on an early-morning flight to Miami on 5 June and a return flight on the 14th. Nor had any other woman made a round trip on the night of the 10th. Meyer thanked them and hung up.

Disgustedly, he belched. Long shots never paid off.

The cop who spoke to Monica Boone on the telephone was Bert Kling.

'Hi, honey,' he said. 'Know who this is?'

'No. Who?'

'Guess.'

'Tab Hunter?'

'Nope.'

'Robert Wagner?'

'Nope.'

'I'm not interested any more,' Monica said.