by Parnell Hall
“Did I say that?”
“You said it was discovered at ten o’clock.”
“That’s an approximation, Mark.”
“I don’t give a shit what it is. If you know about a murder the cops don’t, you’re in bad. Now you’ve told me, and I’m in bad.”
“No, you’re not, Mark. What I say isn’t binding, it’s hearsay. You don’t know about a murder. And even if you do, it’s your own damn fault.”
“Huh?”
“For getting here so fast. If you’d taken another half hour to get here, you’d be feeling fine. If you got here at ten-fifteen and I told you a murder was discovered at ten o’clock, you wouldn’t give it a second thought.”
Taylor stood up, put up his hand. “Steve,” he said. “You can kid around with the happy horseshit all you want. But this is where I draw the line. You’ve come close to costing me my license before. With your smooth talk and your there, there, everything will be all right. If you know about a murder before the cops do, and you’re not tellin’ them you know, you’re an accessory. You say, ‘Don’t I like your business?’ I like my business. I wanna keep my business. So if you don’t mind, I’m going in the outer office, I’m calling this girl, or woman, or whatever, and if she’s still talking to me I’m taking her out on a date and forgetting this whole thing ever happened. Which, considering what you told me, is a concession in itself.”
“Okay, Mark,” Steve said. “But I should tell you what you’re turning down.”
“I know what I’m turning down. A chance to get an ulcer or have a heart attack. Not to mention lose my license and go to jail. Thanks all the same.”
Mark Taylor started for the door.
“It’s Tracy this time,” Steve said.
Taylor stopped. Turned back. “What?”
“Just thought you should know. Tracy saw the body. She’s the one on the hook.”
Taylor sighed. “Aw, hell.” He rubbed his forehead, walked over and flopped back down in the chair. “All right,” he said. “Let’s have it.”
16.
AMY DEARBORN COULDN’T BELIEVE how well it was going. She’d told her story and gotten through it without a hitch. The cop seemed to be buying it. He hadn’t interrupted her once. The cop was a stolid, impassive man, didn’t seem particularly bright. Even when she was finished he just sat there, said nothing. As if his mind couldn’t process the information that fast and he was waiting for it all to sink in.
The interrogation, if one could call it that, was taking place in Marvin Lowery’s office. After she’d shown them the body, the cop had taken her in there and offered her a chair. He’d sat at the desk and said, “Tell me about it.” Since then he had not said a single word.
Nor did he comment on her statement now. After a few moments he said, “Excuse me,” and got up and walked out the door.
Amy heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe she was going to get through this after all.
She’d no sooner thought that, then the cop came back in. Amy involuntarily recoiled at his entrance, but he took no notice, merely sat down and looked at her with the same vacant stare.
“Miss Dearborn,” he said. “Let me be sure I understand this.”
Coming from him, the concept struck Amy funny. She almost smiled. “I beg your pardon?”
“You say you came here tonight to clean out your desk?”
“That’s right.”
“You used to work here?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t work here anymore?”
“No.”
“When did you leave?”
“About a month ago.”
“A month ago? You mean a whole month?”
“A little over a month.”
“Really? And you didn’t clean out your desk before now?”
“No.”
“That would seem a rather long time. Was there any particular reason for that?”
“Actually, yes.”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t think it’s really important.”
“Miss, Dearborn, we’ll be the judge of what’s important. Why don’t you just go ahead and explain.”
Amy took a breath. “Well, to begin with, I was fired.”
“Fired?” The cop said. He pointed in the direction of Fletcher’s office. “By the man in there?”
“Yes. Well, not him specifically. But by the company.”
“But he was one of the partners in the company?”
“Yes.”
“And therefore one of the men who fired you?”
Amy shifted in her chair. “You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s not like that.”
“Not like what?”
“Not like I resented him for firing me, so I killed him.”
“I never suggested such a thing.”
“Maybe not,” Amy said. “I just wanted to tell you that’s all wrong.”
The cop put up his hand. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Miss Dearborn. That’s not what I mean at all. The point is, you were fired, and that’s why you didn’t come back to clean out your desk until tonight. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then why tonight? Why after one month would you come back to clean out your desk now?”
“That’s really beside the point,” Amy said. “Which is why I didn’t want to get into it.” She took a breath. “You see, I was fired for stealing.”
“Stealing?”
“Yes, but I didn’t do it. I know that’s what they all say, but the fact is, I didn’t.”
“Uh huh,” the cop said. “And what were you accused of stealing?”
“Money.”
“Money?”
“Petty cash. From the petty cash drawer.”
Amy wasn’t sure, but she thought a flicker of expression crossed the cop’s face. It was momentary, however, and he continued his methodical, toneless questioning.
“The petty cash drawer—would that be the one in your desk? The one you told me about? The one you found open before you went in and found the body?”
“That’s right.”
“How much were you accused of taking?”
“One hundred dollars.”
“Mr. Fletcher complained to the police?”
“It wasn’t just Mr. Fletcher. The partners made the complaint.”
“But the fact is, this was reported to the police.”
“Yes.”
“A month ago when you were fired?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s this have to do with why you happened to come here tonight?”
“I’d been arrested and charged with the crime. I didn’t think I should come here till the matter was resolved.”
“I take it the matter was resolved?”
“That’s right.”
“When did that happen?”
“Just this afternoon.”
“Oh?”
“That’s the whole point I was making. This afternoon a jury found me innocent of all charges. So I figured it didn’t matter anymore.”
“You were tried for theft?”
“That’s right.”
“The charge brought up by the dead man there?”
“You keep saying that. It was him and his partner. Not him in particular.”
“I understand. But he was one of the parties to the charge?”
“Yes.”
“The case went to the jury and they found you innocent?”
“That’s right.”
“Who was your attorney in this matter?”
“A Mr. Steve Winslow.”
Once again it seemed to Amy as if there were some expression behind the cop’s eyes. But he merely said, “And he got you off?”
“Yes.”
“How long was the trial?”
“Just today.”
“Including jury selection?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s a long day. It must have been q
uite late in the afternoon when you got the verdict.”
“Yes. It was close to five.”
“And where did you go then?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You were downtown at the courthouse at five o’clock. I’d like to trace your movements from then until now.”
“Why?”
“Just routine.”
“I walked down to subway, took the subway home to my apartment.”
“Which is where?”
“A hundred and seventh and Broadway.”
“What did you do then?”
“I had a dinner engagement. I changed my clothes and went out.”
“Where?”
“A restaurant in the neighborhood.”
“Who were you dining with?”
“Does that matter?”
“Anything that confirms your story helps.”
“It’s not a story.”
The cop held up his hand. “That’s a figure of speech. In a murder case, we always ask the witness for corroboration. It’s standard procedure for me to ask. Is there any reason you wouldn’t want to answer?”
“No.”
“Then do yourself a favor. We’ll get through this a lot faster if you just answer my questions instead of trying to figure out why I’m asking. Now, who’d you have dinner with?”
“Larry Cunningham.”
“And who is Larry Cunningham?”
“A friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
Amy straightened slightly, cocked her head. “Is that one of those questions I shouldn’t try to figure out why you’re asking?”
“Anyway, you went out to dinner with Mr. Cunningham?”
“That’s right.”
“What time was that?”
“Around six-thirty.”
“Isn’t that rather early?”
“For a weekday night? No. We often went out that early.”
“Often?”
“We’ve had dinner before. Is that what you’re investigating?”
“No. And how long were you at dinner?”
“Until about seven-thirty.”
“Where did you go then?”
“I went home.”
“Did Mr. Cunningham take you home?”
“Actually, he didn’t. He had work to do and took a cab home from the restaurant.”
“A cab?”
“Yes. He lives on the east side. I live two blocks away.”
“I see. So he left you at seven-thirty and you walked home?”
“That’s right.”
“And what did you do then?”
“Well, I had nothing planned. He and I had talked of going to the movies, but it turned out he had to work.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s an investment counselor.”
“Is that like a stock broker?”
“Somewhat. Only more complicated.”
“Uh huh. Anyway, the fact is you didn’t go to the movies?”
“No. So I had nothing to do. And I’d been wanting to clean out my desk for some time. So it occurred to me now I could.”
“I see. So you did?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, this was around seven-thirty. But you didn’t get here till around ten. What did you do in the meantime?”
Amy hesitated. This seemed like the cop’s first attempt to trip her up. She wondered if she should call Steve Winslow.
“Oh, nothing much. Just puttered around the apartment. I thought about going to the movies myself, but I hate going alone.” She shrugged. “I watched TV for a while.”
“What did you watch?”
“Nothing in particular. I was just switching channels, looking for something. But there was nothing on. I got bored, and that’s when I thought about cleaning out my desk.”
“How did you get here?”
“By cab.”
“You took a cab from a hundred and seventh street?”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t that expensive?”
“A little. But I don’t like taking the subway at night.”
“So you took a cab right to the door?”
“That’s right.” Amy unsnapped her purse. “In fact, I think I have the receipt.”
“You got a receipt?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The driver gave me one, I shoved it in my purse. Oh, here it is.”
Amy pulled out the receipt, extended it to the cop. He took it, looked at it. If it meant anything to him, she couldn’t tell.
“So,” he said, “according to this, you got here at nine fifty-five.”
“That sounds about right.”
“How’d you get in?”
“Huh?”
“How’d you get in the door?”
“Oh. The downstairs door was unlocked. I turned the knob and it opened. The upstairs door was ajar.”
“You mean open?”
“Just a crack. But it was open. And the lights were on. I pushed it open and went in.”
“I see,” the cop said. He shifted forward in his chair, leaned on the desk. There was something intimidating in the gesture. “That’s how you got in. Because the door was open. But you didn’t know that. You didn’t know it was going to be open. So how were you going to get in?”
“I had a key.”
“Oh?”
“From when I worked here before. When they fired me, they forgot to ask me for the keys.”
“You had the keys all the time?”
“Yes, I did.”
“They never asked for them back?”
“When? It’s not like we parted friends. After they fired me, I never saw them again. I guess they just forgot about it.”
“That seems strange,” the cop said. “If you fire an employee for stealing, you don’t let them walk off with your keys.”
“They were partners. Maybe each partner thought the other one had them.”
“Maybe,” the cop said. He didn’t sound convinced, but he pushed on. “Anyway, you went into the office to clean out your desk?”
“Right.”
“But you didn’t clean out your desk.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I could tell at once something was wrong.”
“How was that?”
“Like I said. The door was open and the lights were on. That didn’t make any sense. Why would anyone be there at that hour?”
“Why indeed? So what did you do?”
“Stuck my head in and listened. But I couldn’t hear anything. So I called out, Hey, anybody here?”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do that?”
Amy frowned. “What do you mean, why? To see if anybody was here.”
“Yes, but you didn’t want to see those people. After all, they fired you.”
“Yes, but I’d beaten them in court. There was nothing more they could do to me. If one of them was there, I was going to announce my presence and clean out my desk.”
“I see. But no one answered?”
“Right.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went to clean out my desk.”
“Did you do that?”
“No.”
“And why was that?”
“I told you why?”
“Tell me again.”
“Because it had been robbed.”
“Robbed?”
Amy held up her hand. “All right. That’s a conclusion on part. The petty cash drawer was open and the petty cash box inside it was open and the money was gone.”
“You saw that then?”
“That’s right.”
“Before you found the body?”
“Yes. That’s what made me look around.”
“So you looked around, you went in Mr. Fletcher’s office, found him lying there?”
> “That’s right.”
“Did you touch the body?”
“No.”
“Or anything else in the office?”
“Not that I recall.”
“What did you do?”
“I went back in the outer office and called the cops.”
“From where?”
“The phone on my desk.”
“I see. Did you sit down at your desk to call?”
“Of course not. I was too upset. I snatched up the phone and called nine one one.”
“Standing there in front of your desk?”
“Right.”
“You called the cops, you hung up the phone and then what did you do?”
“Nothing. I was so nervous I didn’t know what to do. I knew I shouldn’t touch anything. I didn’t want to be here, but I knew I couldn’t leave. I just kind of waited by the front door, kind of pacing up and down till the cops came. I guess it was just a few minutes. It seemed like forever.”
The cop nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let me be sure I got this straight. You came here in a taxi, nine fifty-five. You paid off the taxi, stuck the receipt in your purse. You went inside. The downstairs door was unlocked. You came upstairs. The upstairs door was ajar and lights were on. You stuck your head in, called out, but no one answered. You came in to clean out your desk. You discovered the petty cash drawer open, the petty cash box open, and the petty cash gone. Is that right?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Did you touch the petty cash box?”
“No.”
“Or the petty cash drawer?”
“No.”
“So your fingerprints should not be on them?”
Amy raised her chin. “Just a minute here. If this is some sort of trick, I don’t like it. I used to work in this office. I worked at that desk. I was in charge of petty cash. I’ve handled the petty cash box many times and opened and closed that drawer. It’s entirely possible my fingerprints could be there.”
“But that would be over a month ago?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re saying your fingerprints might be on that cash box or that drawer from over a month ago?”
“Yes, they might. I don’t know if fingerprints last that long, but if they do, it would be possible.”
“But it’s not possible that you left any fingerprints there tonight?”
“No.”
“Because you didn’t touch the petty cash box or the petty cash drawer?”
“No.”
“You left them just the way you found them?”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t point them out to us when we arrived.”
