“No.”
I got out my notebook, wrote the dead girl's name at the top of a fresh page, and tried to find a more comfortable position in the rocker. “We'll want to notify her next-of-kin,” I said. “Can you give me the names of any relatives?”
Her forehead lined thoughtfully for a moment. “I don't remember her ever having mentioned any—”
“How long has she lived here?”
“Oh… let's see… about six months, I guess.”
“And you?”
“You mean how long have I been here? Almost a year.”
“You know where Nadine worked?”
“She didn't work anywhere, so far as I know.”
“How about standard of living?” I said. “She live well? Nice clothes and so on?”
“She dressed very well,” Judy said. “I don't know about the rest of it.”
I was relieved to see that talking to me seemed to be helping her get control of herself. I'd feared that it might be the other way around. “I know you've had a very rough experience, Mrs. Bowman,” I said. “I'll make this as fast as I can.”
She tugged the skirt down again, rested a hand on her knee to keep it there, and said nothing.
“Let's get the worst part of it out of the way first,” I said. “Then you won't have to dread it.” I took a cigar from my breast pocket and twisted it around in my fingers without lighting it. “Maybe you'd like to tell me just how you came to find the body.”
She moistened her lips, gazing fixedly at the potter's wheel. “I was on my way out,” she said. “I was going to the grocery store, and when I passed Nadine's door I started to call and ask if she wanted anything from there.” She paused. “We always did that. If one of us was going to the grocery store or the drugstore, we'd see whether the other wanted anything.”
I nodded. “You started to call to her. And then?”
“Then I noticed her door was open,” she said. “About six inches. I called her name, and when she didn't answer, I rapped on the door That made it swing in a little more. And then…” She broke off for a moment. “Then I saw her. For about half a second I thought she was standing on something on the other side of the bed. But then I saw that she…”
“You didn't go inside the apartment?”
“No, I certainly did not,” she said. “The next thing I knew, I was running out to the street to find a policeman.” She raised both hands in a small gesture and the too-short skirt quickly inched up above her knees again. “I couldn't have gone in there, Mr. Selby. I've never been so panic-stricken in my life.”
“That's easy to understand,” I said, listening to the sound of steps and voices at the other end of the hall. There seemed to be half a dozen men arriving, which would indicate that the tech crew was here; and a moment later, I heard the outside door open and close again and the voice of Dr. Vincent Baretti, one of the Assistant Medical Examiners.
Judy had been listening too, picking nervously at the worn welt on the cushion beneath her. “This will be all over the papers, won't it?” she said.
“Not much question about that,” I said. “Girl murders take priority over just about everything.”
“Will they write anything about me?”
“They might.”
“And take my picture?”
“Probably — if they get a chance.”
“I won't let them in!”
“I wish you luck,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Those newspaper cameramen are pretty resourceful.”
“I won't let them in,” she repeated. “Oh, how awful!”
“You know anything about the people in the specialty shop upstairs?” I said, hoping to get her back on the track.
“It went out of business,” she said, glancing apprehensively toward the door. “There hasn't been anyone up there for better than two months now.”
“That so? I thought I saw some things in the window. Leotards and opera hose and ballet slippers — things like that.”
“Maybe they decided they'd been in the sun too long to bother with. Too faded, I mean.”
“I didn't notice any inside stairway. Is there one?”
“No.”
“You say you and Nadine got along pretty well?” I asked.
She stared at me unblinkingly for a long moment, and when she spoke again there had been a subtle change in her voice. “Yes,” she said. “We got along very well.”
“But you wouldn't say you were close friends?”
“We got along very well,” she said again.
“Well enough for her to have told you if she was in trouble of any kind?”
“She never seemed to have any troubles at all. She was always laughing. I never knew a happier girl in my life.”
“She ever mention any threats?”
Judy compressed her lips, shaking her head slowly, almost imperceptibly. “I think I must have known ever since you first started talking,” she said.
“Must have known what, Mrs. Bowman?”
“That Nadine didn't kill herself.”
“Do you know that?”
“Yes,” she said, meeting my eyes directly. “It's not so much your questions as it is the way you ask them.” She took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “She was murdered, wasn't she?”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Someone tried to make it look like suicide.”
She smiled, so bitterly that for an instant her face was something less than pretty, almost ugly. “Do you think I did it?”
“No,” I said. “At this stage of the game, we don't think anything at all.”
“Then why didn't you come right out and say she was murdered? Is a girl's being murdered any more horrible than a girl killing herself?”
“I don't know,” I said. “It's pretty rough, either way.”
She glanced worriedly at the door again. “Can you keep them from putting my picture in the papers?” she asked. “They just can't that's all!”
“I'll see what I can do,” I said. “And speaking of pictures, I'd like you to take a look at this one.” I handed her the snapshot Stan had taken from Nadine's mirror. “You know the man sitting beside her?”
“His name is Marty.”
“Marty what?”
“I don't know. I met him only once. He and Nadine were coming in one night just as I was going out. She introduced him to me as Marty.”
I slipped the photo back into my pocket. “He a special friend of hers?”
“I guess you might say he was her boy friend. At least I saw them together quite a lot.”
“Any other boy friends, so far as you know?”
She shook her head. “I never saw her with anyone else.”
“You know where he lives?”
“I don't know a thing about him.”
“Did Nadine entertain very much?”
Judy crossed her legs, but her skirt rode up so high that she quickly uncrossed them again. “Yes and no,” she said. “It was very odd. People came to her apartment at all hours of the day and night. But Nadine was never there when they were.”
“I don't think I quite follow you, Mrs. Bowman.”
“I mean she'd go out and not come back until after they'd left.” she said. “There were an awful lot of them.”
“You know any of these people personally?”
“No; I'd just see or hear them in the hall. Nadine had her own bathroom, but mine is out in the hall, and I'd see them coming or going.”
“And you say she always left them alone in her place?”
“Yes. I'd hear or see people come in; then, just a few minutes later, I'd hear Nadine go out. I knew her walk.” She paused. “They were always in couples. I mean, there was always a man and a woman in there together. Sometimes they'd come in together, and sometimes they'd come in a few minutes apart.”
“And this went on all the time?”
“Yes — day and night. Sometimes one couple would hardly be out the door before Nadine came back and another couple came in.” “Was there ever any commotion in there? Any loud talk?”