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"Do you believe that Julia McGee came here to take dictation?"

"No." I rose. "Do you?"

"Certainly not. Why do you think the person who killed my husband killed that girl?"

"It's complicated. But it's not just a guess."

"Where's her mother? I want to speak to her.''

"Better not, right now." I was moving toward the elevator, and she was coming. "It hit her pretty hard. Some other day.'' I pushed the button, the elevator door opened, and we entered.

Just to get it straight for my own satisfaction, I have tried to figure exactly where we were when the doorbell rang in the basement. We must have been either entering the elevator or on our way down. Anyhow, I didn't hear it, so we emerged below and started up the hall. When we were about halfway to the front Mrs. Perez came out of a door ahead on the right, the one she and Maria had come out of when her husband called her my first time there, went to the street door, and opened it. As I say, I hadn't heard the doorbell, so I supposed she was going out. But she wasn't. Mrs. Yeager and I were right there when Sergeant Purley Stebbins said, "Sorry to bother you again, Mrs. Perez, but - " saw us, and stopped.

A mind can do crazy things. Mine, instead of instantly tackling the situation, took a tenth of a second to tell me how lucky I was that Stebbins hadn't been already inside and with Mrs. Perez in the hall when we stepped out of the elevator. That helped a lot, to know I was lucky.

"You?" Stebbins said. He crossed the sill.

"And you, Mrs. Yeager?"

"We were just leaving," I said. "Having had a talk with Mrs. Perez."

"What about?"

"About her daughter. I suppose you know that Mrs. Yeager has hired Mr. Wolfe to find out who killed her husband. She told Cramer yesterday. She has some detective instincts herself. When she read in the paper today that a girl named Maria Perez had been murdered, shot in the head, and she had lived in this street, in the block where Yeager's body had been found, and her body had been taken somewhere and dumped just as Yeager's had been, she got the idea that there was some connection between the two murders. Mr. Wolfe thought it was possible, and so did I. Mrs. Yeager's idea was that Maria Perez might have seen the murderer dumping Yeager's body in the hole, maybe from the sidewalk as she was coming home, or maybe even from inside, from a window. Of course there were difficulties, but Mr. Wolfe thought it wouldn't hurt for me to have a talk with Maria's mother or father, and Mrs. Yeager wanted to come along. It would be a coincidence if you came with the same idea just as we were leaving. Wouldn't it?"

As I was reeling it off I knew how bad it was. First, because it was full of holes, and second, because it wasn't me. When Stebbins barked at me a question like "What about?" my natural answer would be "The weather" or something similar, and he knew it. It was against all precedent for me to oblige with a long, detailed explanation, but I had to, for Mrs. Yeager and Mrs. Perez. It was probably up the flue anyway, but there was a chance that they would catch on and help me save the pieces.

Actually it wasn't as bad as I thought. I knew so much about that house and that room that I didn't sufficiently consider that Stebbins knew nothing whatever about it, that Homicide and the DA had been assuming for three days that Yeager had been killed elsewhere and brought and dumped in that hole because it was convenient, and they had absolutely no reason to connect him with that house. And Mrs. Yeager came through like an angel. She couldn't have done better if I had spent an hour priming her. She offered a hand to Mrs. Perez and said in exactly the right tone, "Thank you, Mrs. Perez. We have both lost someone dear to us. I have to go, I'm late now. We didn't intend to keep you so long and it was very kind of you. I'll phone you later, Mr. Goodwin, or you call me." The door was standing open, and out she went. I could have kissed her on both chins.

Stebbins was eying me as if he would to kick me on both butts, but that was only normal. "What did you ask Mrs. Perez and what did she tell you?" he demanded. He was hoarse, but that was normal too. Wolfe and 1 both have that effect on him, Wolfe more than me.

It was a good question. The way I had sketched it, we had come to ask Mrs. Perez about her daughter's whereabouts and movements Sunday night, and presumably she had told us; and I had no idea where Maria had been Sunday night. An excellent question. So I reverted to type. "What do you suppose I asked her? I wanted to know if it was possible that her daughter had seen someone dumping Yeager's body in that hole and climbing in to put the tarp over him. As for what she said, get the best evidence. She's here. Ask her."

"I'm asking you." Stebbins is not a fool. "And I'm reserving my answer. I don't owe Mrs. Perez anything, but she has a right to decide for herself what she wants to say for the official record. Mrs. Yeager and I were merely people. You're a cop."

And by gum Mrs. Perez came through too. Not as grand a performance as Mrs. Yeager's, but plenty good enough. "What I told him was just the truth," she told Stebbins. "If my daughter saw anything like that Sunday she would tell me, so she didn't."

"Was she home all evening?"

"Yes. Two of her friends came and they watched television."

"What time did the friends come?"

"It was about eight o'clock."

"What time did they leave?"

"Right after eleven o'clock. Right after a program they like every Sunday night."

"Did your daughter go out with them?"

"No."

"Did she leave the house at all that evening?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I'm sure. We always knew where she was."

"You didn't know last night. And any time during the night, Sunday night, she could have gone to the front room and looked out through the window. Couldn't she?"

"Why would she? Why would she do that?"

"I don't know, but she could." Stebbins turned. "All right Goodwin, I'll ride you downtown. You can tell the inspector about it."

"About what? What is there to tell?"

He stuck his chin out. "Look, you. Monday afternoon you began checking on a man that was already dead, two hours before the body was found. When the inspector goes to see Wolfe he finds the widow there, and he gets the usual crap. The widow has hired Wolfe to find out who killed her husband, which may not be against the law but it's against the policy of the New York Police Department. And I come here investigating not that murder but another one, and by God here you are, you and the widow, here in the house where that girl lived, talking with her mother. So you're coming downtown or you're under arrest as a material witness."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No. I said or."

"It's nice to have a choice." I got a quarter from my pocket, flipped it in the air, caught it, and looked at it. "I win. Let's go."

It suited me fine to get him away from Mrs. Perez and out of that house. As I mounted the three steps to the sidewalk I was thinking how different it would be if he had come thirty seconds sooner or we had left the bower thirty seconds later. As I climbed in the PD car I yawned, thoroughly. Having had less than three hours' sleep, I had been needing a good healthy yawn all day but had been too busy.

15

Six hours later, at one-thirty in the morning, I was sitting in the kitchen, putting away black bread (made by Fritz), smoked sturgeon, Brie cheese, and milk, and reading the early edition of Friday's Times, which I had picked up on my way home from the District Attorney's office.

I was about pooped. The day had been fairly active, and the evening, an hour with Cramer and four hours with a couple of assistant DAs, had been really tough. It's a strain to answer a thousand questions put by experts when you know that: a) you have to keep a wall between two sets of facts, the ones they already know and the ones you hope to God they never will know; b) you're making a record that may hook you on a charge you can't possibly dodge; and c) one little slip could spill the soup. Of all the sessions I have had at Homicide West and the DA's office, that was the worst. There had been only two letups, when they called time out for ten minutes for me to eat an inedible ham sandwich and a pint of Grade F milk, and when I announced, around ten o'clock, that they could either let me make a phone call or lock me up for the night.