33. Q. And Mrs. Kellog has had access to these firearms?
A. Yes.
34. Q. Do you believe Mrs. Kellog had anything whatsoever to do with the shooting of her husband?
A. I do not.
35. Q. Would you be willing to turn over any or all of the firearms in your home to me for ballistic, and other testing in connection with this investigation?
A. Yes.
36. Q. Would you be willing to do so immediately after this interview is completed? Go there with myself or another detective and turn them over?
A. Yes.
75-331D (Rev. 7/70) Page 5
37. Q. Where were you between the hours of six pm last evening and ten o’clock this morning?
A. I don’t remember where I was at six, but from seven to about eight-thirty, I was interviewing people in connection with the Grover job.
38. Q. You were on duty, conducting an official investigation?
A. Right.
39. Q. And then what happened? When you went off duty at half past eight?
A. I went home, had some dinner, watched TV, and went to bed.
40. Q. Were you alone?
A. No. Helene, Mrs. Kellog was with me. She was home when I got there.
41. Q. Mrs. Kellog was with you all the time?
A. Yes. From the time I got home, a little before nine, until we went to work this morning.
42. Q. You were not out of each other’s company from say nine pm until say 8 am this morning?
A. Correct.
43. Q. Did you see anyone else during that period, 9 pm last night until 8 am today?
A. No.
44. Q. Is there anything at all that you could tell me that might shed light on the shooting death of Officer Kellog?
A. No.
45. Q. You have no opinion at all?
A. He was working Narcotics. If you find who did this, I’d bet it’ll have something to do with that.
46. Q. Can you expand on that?
A. I don’t know anything, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve heard the same talk you have.
47. Q. Captain Quaire?
A. (Captain Quaire) I can’t think of anything. Anybody else?
(There was no reply.)
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48. Q. Thank you, Detective Milham.
A. Captain, I’m going to probably need some vacation time off.
A. (Capt. Quaire) Sure, Wally. Just check in.
A. (Det. Milham) I don’t like sitting in here like this.
A. (Capt. Quaire) None of us like it, Wally.
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“Thanks, Henry,” Staff Inspector Mike Weisbach said, taking a cup of coffee from Captain Henry Quaire in Quaire’s office.
Quaire made a “It’s nothing, you’re welcome” shrug, and then met Weisbach’s eyes. “Is there anything else we can do for you, Inspector?”
“Tell me how you call this, Henry,” Weisbach said. “Out of school.”
“I don’t think Wally Milham’s involved.”
“And the Widow Kellog?”
Quaire shrugged. “I don’t know her.”
“Would it be all right with you if I went with D’Amata when he interviews her?”
“What if I said no, Mike?” Quaire asked, smiling.
“Then I would go anyway, and you could go back to calling me ‘Inspector,’” Weisbach said, smiling back. “Can I presume that you have finally figured out that I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to?”
“Sometimes I’m a little slow. It made me mad. My guys would throw the Pope in Central Lockup if they thought he was a doer, and Lowenstein knows it, and he still sends you in here to look over our shoulder.”
“That came from the Mayor.”
“The Mayor knows that my people are straight arrows.”
“I think he’s trying to make sure the Ledger has no grounds to use the word ‘cover-up.’”
“That means he thinks it’s possible that we would.”
“I don’t think so, Henry. I think he’s just covering his behind.”
Quaire shrugged.
“I know you didn’t ask for the job,” he said.
Weisbach guessed the Widow Kellog was twenty-eight, twenty-nine, something like that, which would make her three years younger than the late Officer Kellog. She was a slender, not-unattractive woman with very pale skin-her lipstick was a red slash across her face, and her rouge did little to simulate the healthy blush of nature.
She was wearing a black suit with a white blouse, silk stockings, high heels, a hat with a veil, and sunglasses. No gloves, which gave Weisbach the opportunity to notice that she was wearing both a wedding and an engagement ring. They had obviously gotten here, to her apartment, just in time. She was on her way out.
“Mrs. Kellog,” Joe D’Amata said, showing her his badge, “I’m Detective D’Amata and this is Inspector Weisbach.”
She looked at both of them but didn’t reply.
“We’re very sorry about what happened to your husband,” D’Amata said. “And we hate to intrude at a time like this, but I’m sure you understand that the sooner we find out who did this to Jerry, the better.”
“Did you know him?” she asked.
“Not well,” D’Amata said. “Let me ask the hard question. Do you have any idea who might have done this to him?”
“No.”
“Not even a suspicion?”
“It had something to do with drugs, I’m pretty sure of that.”
“When was the last time you saw your husband?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“You didn’t see him at all yesterday?”
“No.”
“Just for the record, would you mind telling me where you were last night? Say, from six o’clock last night.”
“I was with a friend.”
“All that time? I mean, all night?”
She nodded.
“Would you be willing to give me that friend’s name?”
“I was with Wally Milham. I think you probably already knew that.”
“I hope you understand we have to ask these questions. What, exactly, is your relationship with Detective Milham?”
“Jerry and I were having trouble, serious trouble. Can we leave it at that?”
“Mrs. Kellog,” Weisbach said. “When we were in your house, where we found Officer Kellog, we noticed a tape recorder.”
D’Amata doesn’t like me putting my two cents in. But the last thing we want to do is make her angry. And she would have been angry if he had kept pressing her. And for what purpose? Milham told us they’re sleeping together.
“What about it?” Mrs. Kellog asked.
“I just wondered about it. It turned on whenever the phone was picked up, right?”
“He recorded every phone call,” she said. “It was his, not mine.”
“You mean, he used it in his work?”
“Yes. You know that he did.”
“Do you happen to know where he kept the tapes?”
“There was a box of them in the cabinet. They’re gone?”
“We’re trying to make sure we have all of them,” Weisbach said.
“All the ones I know about, he kept right there with the recorder.”
“Did your husband ever talk to you about what he did?” Weisbach asked. “I mean, can you think of anything he ever said that might help us find whoever did this to him?”
“He never brought the job home,” she said. “He didn’t want to tell me about what he was doing, and I didn’t want to know.”
“My wife’s the same way,” Weisbach said.
“And you don’t work Narcotics,” she said. “Listen, how long is this going to last? I’ve got to go to the funeral home and pick out a casket.”
“I think we’re about finished,” Weisbach said. “Can we offer you a lift? Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“I’ve got a car, thank you.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Kellog,” Weisbach said. “And again, we’re very sorry that this happened.”
“We had our problems,” she said. “But he didn’t deserve to have this happen to him.”
Detective Anthony C. “Tony” Harris, after thinking about it, decided that discretion dictated that he park the car in the parking garage at South Broad and Locust streets and walk to the Bellvue-Stratford Hotel, even though that meant he would have to get a receipt from the garage to get his money back, and that he would almost certainly lose the damned receipt, or forget to turn it in, and have to pay for parking the car himself.