“Okay, Captain.”
Sondgard went back into the rehearsal room. “Bob,” he said, “is there any place I can use for my interrogations?”
Haldemann got to his feet, looking eager to help. “Well, I guess the kitchen,” he said. “I guess that’d be the best. Unless you want to go over to the theater. You could use my office over there.”
“No, the kitchen’s fine. That’s okay, Bob, I know where it is.” He looked around the room. “Mel Daniels?”
An ashen-faced boy got shakily to his feet. Early twenties, wearing wrinkled slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt. It was Professor Sondgard who catalogued him: class comic, a facile learner, fifty-per-cent effort in his studies, occasionally in trouble with the Dean’s office for being involved in panty raids or illegal bonfires on the main square in town or the painting of white bucks on the statue of the school founder. It was Captain Sondgard who said to him, “Would you come with me, please?”
He led the way back out to the hall, and said to Mike Tompkins, “When Doc Walsh comes, have him go right on upstairs. Keep the rest of them in there, and I’ll talk to them one at a time.”
“Right. You want the recorder?”
“Oh, yes. Good idea.”
Sondgard and Mel Daniels went down the hallway to the kitchen, and sat down across from one another at the kitchen table. Sondgard brought out his cigarettes and offered one to the boy, who took it gratefully. Sondgard said, “Pretty much of a shock, eh?”
“No encores, please.” The boy smiled shakily, and accepted a light.
Mike Tompkins came in with the Wollensack tape recorder from the prowl car, another of his innovations since joining the force. Mike loved gadgets, loved machinery, loved to be surrounded by things with motors and gears and levers and things that went whirr. He plugged the recorder in, put a fresh five-inch tape on, set the speed for three and three-quarter ips, positioned the microphone on its little stand midway between the two at the table, and said, “All set, Captain.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
Mike went back out to stand guard in the hallway, and Sondgard switched the machine on. Feeling slightly foolish, he intoned, “Preliminary questioning in the killing of— Oh, damn.” He switched the machine off again. “What was her name?”
“Cissie. Uh, Cissie. I forget her last name.”
“Hold on.”
Sondgard went to the doorway and called to Mike, “What was her name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask somebody.”
Mike opened the rehearsal-room door and asked somebody, then passed the name on to Sondgard: “Cissie Walker.”
“Cissie’s a nickname.”
“Just a second.” He asked again, and said, “Cynthia. Cynthia Walker.”
Sondgard went back to the kitchen table, put the tape back at the beginning, and started again: “Preliminary questioning in the killing of Cynthia Walker. Four fifty-seven p.m., June 6th. First witness, Melvin— Is that right? Melvin?”
“Yes.”
“Melvin Daniels.”
“Actually, that’s just my stage name. Mel Daniels. Do you want my legal name?”
Sondgard looked at him. The tape was going around, and somewhere upstairs a girl lay murdered, and Sondgard sat in this kitchen ensnarled in farce. They were doing a comedy routine, all of them, playing one long senseless gag on names. This was no place for Eric Sondgard. He should have called Garrett right away, no matter what Joyce might say or think.
But he was in it now; he had to keep going. He said. “The stage name is good enough.” Anything to end the comedy. “You were the one who found her, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Mr. Haldemann told me to go upstairs and pick out a room. All the rooms were occupied on the second floor, so I went up to the third floor. I was trying the doors, looking for one that wasn’t locked, because all the rooms that were already taken are kept locked. So her — door wasn’t locked. I went in and saw her, and then I got sick, and then I ran downstairs and shouted for help. Mr. Schoen, he’s the director, he went upstairs to check, because I wouldn’t go back up there again, and then he called the police.”
“And when was the last time you saw Miss Walker alive?”
“When I got here, this afternoon.”
“You just arrived this afternoon?”
“I’m a day late. There was a party for me and—”
“All right. What time was this, when you saw Miss Walker alive?”
“Around quarter to four, I guess. I came in on the bus at three o’clock, and Mary Ann McKendrick came down to town and picked me up at about three-thirty, maybe twenty-five minutes past three, and we drove out here, and that’s when I met her.”
“Miss Walker.”
“That’s right.”
“Then that was the only time you ever saw her alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how did she act? Did she seem frightened of anything, or worried about anything?”
“No, sir. She... well, she flirted with me a little.”
“All right.” Sondgard took time out to a light a cigarette of his own, and to think of what his next question should be. Probably it would be best to get a complete timetable from everybody.
Was the killer one of those people in the rehearsal room?
Oh, this was ridiculous. Sondgard had never met a killer in his life. He couldn’t imagine what a killer would look like, or sound like. How could he seriously suspect anyone? No one looked like a killer to him.
It didn’t have to be any of the people in the theater company. Someone could have come in from outside.
Still, a timetable would be a good idea. He’d have something to turn over to Captain Garrett when the time came. So he said, “All right, now, I’d like to get a complete rundown on your movements this afternoon, from the time you saw Miss Walker alive at three forty-five till you found her dead at — what time, about?”
“Four-thirty.”
“All right, forty-five minutes. Oh, by the way, where was Miss Walker when you first saw her?”
“Over in the theater. In the box office.”
“That was at three forty-five. Now, what did you do next?”
Daniels gave a complete rundown of the next forty-five minutes. Since Haldemann had been showing him around the theater, introducing him to the rest of the people in the company, Daniels could also give partial information on the whereabouts of nearly everyone else in the group at one time or another in those forty-five minutes. Sondgard heard him out, and though it was all going down on the tape he jotted some of it in his notebook just the same. He thought it might be helpful when he talked to the others if he had Daniels’ timetable where he could refer to it instantly.
When Daniels was finished, Sondgard’s notes read:
3:00 arr in town
3:25 picked up by Mary Ann
3:40 arr at theater, meets dead girl in box office
3:40-4:05 in Bob H’s office.
4:05-4:25 meets Perry Kent and Arnie Kapow, both in theater, meets two girls, Linda and Karen, washing flats back of theater
4:25 meets Ralph Schoen and other members of company in rehearsal room. Not sure how many present.
4:30 find body. Saw no one in halls or on stairs.
Sondgard thanked Daniels for his co-operation and told him, “Tell the sergeant I want to see Bob Haldemann next. And wait in the rehearsal room, please.” Because Captain Garrett might want to question everybody all over again. Sondgard couldn’t guess how many important questions he hadn’t thought to ask.
Haldemann came in and confirmed Daniels’ timetable, as he had been with the boy from three-forty on. He and Daniels had parted on the first-floor hall of this house just before Daniels found the body. Haldemann had already gone back to the office, and Will Henley, one of the actors, had come over to get him after Ralph Schoen had checked and found Cissie Walker really murdered.