“On March twenty-seventh.”
“Why? Are you wanted in this city?”
“No.”
“Are you wanted anywhere?”
“No.”
“We’re going to check, you know. If you’re wanted…”
“I’m not wanted. I’m not a criminal.”
“Maybe you weren’t a criminal,” Hawes said, “but you are now, mister. First-degree assault happens to be a big fat felony.”
Bandler said nothing. Miscolo came in from the clerical office with the adhesive bandages and the iodine. He took a look at Carella’s face, shook his head, clucked his tongue, and then said, “Jesus, what’s the matter with you, anyway?” He took another look and said, “Go wash your face in the sink there.”
“My face is all right, Alf,” Carella said.
“Go wash your face,” Miscolo said sternly, and Carella sighed and went to the corner sink.
“Have you got a record, Bandler?” Hawes asked.
“No, I told you. I’m not a criminal.”
“All right, why’d you go to California?”
“I’ve got a job there.”
“What kind of a job?”
“In television.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m an assistant director.”
“What do you direct?” Carella said from the sink. He reached for the white towel hanging on a rack and Miscolo yelled, “You’ll get that all full of blood. Use the paper towels.”
“Assistant directors don’t direct very much,” Bandler said, “We maintain quiet on the set, we call actors, we…”
“We’re not interested in an industry survey,” Hawes said. “What show do you work on?”
“Well… well, you see, I don’t actually have a steady job with any one show.”
“Then why did you go to California?” Meyer said. “You just told us you had a job there.”
“Well, I did.”
“What job?”
“They were shooting a ninety-minute special. So a friend of mine who was directing the show called to see if I’d like to work with him. As assistant, you see. So I went to the Coast.”
Carella came back to the desk and sat on the edge of it. Miscolo picked up the iodine bottle and began swabbing the cuts. “You’re gonna need stitches here,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s the same cut from last week,” Miscolo said. “It’s opened all over again.”
“Why’d you come back from the Coast?” Carella asked.
“The job ended. I looked around for a while, to see if I could get some kind of steady work, but nothing came up. So I came back here.”
“Are you working now?”
“No. I just got back about ten days ago.”
“When was that, Bandler?”
“The eighth.”
“Ow!” Carella said as Miscolo pressed a piece of adhesive in place. “Why’d you come after me, Bandler?”
“Because… I found out what you did.”
“Yeah? What did I do? Ouch! For Christ’s sake, Alf…”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Miscolo said. “I’m not a doctor, you know,” he added petulantly. “I’m only a lousy clerk. Next time, go to the hospital instead of messing up the whole damn squadroom.”
“What did I do?” Carella asked again.
“You killed my girl,” Bandler said.
“What?”
“You killed my girl.”
For a moment, no one in the room made a connection. They stared at Bandler in silent puzzlement, and then Bandler said, “Blanche. Blanche Mattfield,” and the name still meant nothing to anyone but Carella.
Carella nodded. “She jumped, Bandler,” he said. “I had nothing to do with her jumping.”
“You told her to jump.”
“I was trying to get her off that ledge.”
“You got her off, all right.”
“How do you know what I said to her?”
“The landlady told me. She was in the room behind you, and she heard you tell her to jump.” Bandler paused and then said, “Why didn’t you just shove her off that ledge? It would have amounted to the same thing.”
“Do you have any idea why she was on that ledge to begin with?” Carella asked.
“What difference does it make? She wouldn’t have jumped if it hadn’t been for you!”
“She wouldn’t have been out there if it hadn’t been for you!” Carella said.
“Sure,” Bandler said.
“Why’d you leave her?”
“Who left her?”
“You did, you did. Come on, Bandler, don’t get me sore again. She wanted to die because you left her. ‘Goodbye, Blanche, it’s been fun.’ Those were your exact words.”
“I loved that girl,” Bandler protested. “She knew I was coming right back. She knew it was just a temporary job. I told her…”
“You walked out on her, Bandler.”
“I tell you I didn’t. I loved her, don’t you understand? She knew I was coming back. I told her so. How do I know why she decided to… to kill herself?”
“She killed herself because she knew you were finished with her. Do you feel better now?”
“Wh… what do you mean?”
“After beating me up? After shoving all the blame onto me?”
“You killed her!” Bandler shouted, and he came out of the chair angrily, and Carella put both hands on his shoulders and shoved him back down again.
“What’s the name of this friend of yours on the Coast?”
“Wh… what friend?”
“Your director friend. Who was doing the ninety-minute special.”
“It… uh…”
The room went silent.
“Or was there a friend?”
“Ask anybody in the business. I’m one of the best a.d.’s around.”
“Did you go out there to work, Bandler? Or did you go out there with a dame?”
“A dame,” Meyer said, nodding. “I’m telling you I loved Blanche. Why would I go to California with another woman?” “Why, Bandler?” Hawes asked.
“Why, Bandler?”
“I… loved . . . Blanche. I… what… what the hell was the harm of a little… a little innocent fun with… with somebody else? She… she knew I’d come back to her. She knew that girl meant nothing to me. She knew that.”
“Apparently she didn’t.”
Bandler was silent for a long time. Then he said, “I saw it in the papers out there. Just a little item. About… about Blanche jump… jumping off that building. I saw it the day after she did it. I… I ditched the girl and got a plane back as fast as I could. Saturday. That was the earliest I could book. But she’d been buried by the time I got here and… and when I talked to the landlady of her building, she told me what he’d heard you say, so I… I figured you had it coming to you. For… for killing the girl I loved.”