“If you feel up to it,” Carella said, “I’d like to ask a few more questions.”
“Yes, certainly,” she said.
“Mrs. Newman, can you tell me when you left for California?”
“On the first.”
“A week ago today?”
“Yes.”
“Just in time to miss the heat wave.”
“It was hot the morning I left.”
“What time would that have been?”
“I caught a ten o’clock plane.”
“What time did you leave the apartment here?”
“At about a quarter to nine.”
“Was your husband here when you left?”
“Yes.”
“I have to ask this, Mrs. Newman. Was he alive?”
“Yes. We had breakfast together.”
“What time would that have been?”
“At eight o’clock, I would guess.”
“Is that the last time you saw him alive?”
“When I left the apartment, yes.”
“What was he wearing?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was it the robe he has on now?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Did you speak to him at any time after you got to California?”
“Yes, I called him last Friday, after I checked into the hotel. And I spoke to him again on Tuesday.”
“That would’ve been...”
“This past Tuesday.”
“The fifth. Three days ago.”
“Yes.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“Which time?”
“The last time you spoke.”
“I called to tell him I’d be catching a late plane out on Thursday night, and would be home this morning.”
“How did he sound?”
“Well... it was sometimes difficult to tell with Jerry.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was an alcoholic. He had his ups and downs.”
“Did he sound as if he’d been drinking when you talked?”
“He sounded depressed.”
“What time was this, Mrs. Newman? When you made the call?”
“It was after dinner, around nine California time.”
“That would have made it midnight here.”
“Yes.”
“Was he awake when you called?”
“Yes. He told me he’d been watching television.”
“How old was he, Mrs. Newman?”
“Forty-seven.”
“Can you tell me your age?”
“I’m thirty-six.”
“How long had you been married?”
“Fifteen years. Well, it would’ve been fifteen years in October.”
“Was this a first marriage for both of you?”
“No. Jerry was married before.”
“Would you know his first wife’s name?”
“Yes. Jessica.”
“Jessica Newman, would it be?”
“I don’t know if she’s still using her married name.”
“Would you know her maiden name?”
“Jessica Herzog.”
“Does she live here in the city?”
“I believe so.”
“Did your husband have any living relatives?”
“His mother. And a brother in San Francisco.”
“Can you tell me their names?”
“Susan and Jonathan.”
“Both Newman?”
“Yes.”
“Does your mother-in-law live here in the city?”
“Yes.”
“I assume you have her address.”
“Yes.”
“I’d like it before we leave, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“Mrs. Newman, can you tell me where you were staying in Los Angeles?”
“The Beverly Wilshire.”
“Were you there on business or pleasure?”
“Business.”
“What sort of work do you do?”
“I’m an interior decorator. There was a trade show out there this week.”
“Did you call your brother-in-law while you were out there?”
“Jonathan? No. He’s in San Francisco.”
“Well, that’s relatively close to Los Angeles, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t call him.”
“When did the show start?”
“What?”
“The trade show.”
“Oh. Monday.”
“But you went out the Friday before.”
“Yes. I thought I’d relax a bit over the weekend.”
“Mrs. Newman, you told me the door was locked when you got home...”
“Yes, it was.”
“Would anyone but you or your husband have a key to the apartment?”
“No.”
“Do you have a housekeeper?”
“A cleaning woman. But she doesn’t have a key.”
“Do you know where I can reach her?”
“She’s in Georgia just now, her mother—”
“When did she leave for Georgia?”
“The middle of July. Her mother’s very sick.”
“Can you tell me her name, please?”
“Bonnie Anderson.”
“Where does she live?”
“I don’t know her address. Someplace in Diamondback.”
“Do you know her phone number?”
“It’s in the book. Bonnie Anderson.”
“You the investigating detective?” a voice at Carella’s elbow asked.
He turned to find a pair of uniformed cops, their hands on their hips, and he knew before seeing their arm patches that they were Emergency 911 cops. There was something about this all-volunteer arm of the Police Department that telegraphed itself from miles away: a swagger, a bravado, an attitude that told all other cops they were only mere mortals.
“Carella,” he said, nodding. “The Eight-Seven.”
“I hear we got a real blob inside there,” the 911 cop said. “You want us to bring up a body bag?”
“This is the man’s wife,” Carella said.
“Nice to meet you,” the 911 cop said obliviously, and then gallantly touched the peak of his cap. “Yes or no?”
“I think we’ll need one,” Carella said, and turned away from him.
Tears were forming in Anne Newman’s eyes again.
“Where will you be staying tonight?” Carella asked gently.
“I thought with my mother-in-law. She doesn’t know about Jerry yet, I’ll have... I’ll have to call her.”
“If you’d like someone to take your bags downstairs, and hail a taxi...”
“Yes, I’d appreciate that, thank you,” she said.
“Just one other thing, Mrs. Newman. If we find any good latents in the apartment—”
“Latents?”
“Fingerprints, we’d want to compare them against your husband’s, and yours, and your cleaning woman’s when she gets back from Georgia. Have you ever been fingerprinted? I’m certain there’s no criminal record in your past...”
“None.”
“But have you ever held a governmental position? Or were you in the armed forces?”
“No.”
“Then I wonder if I could ask you to stop in at the station house, at your convenience, when you’ve had a chance to—”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’ll just take a few minutes, the stuff washes off with soap and water, and it’ll be a great help to us.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re required to investigate any apparent suicide exactly like a homicide.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, ma’am. Before we can close it out.”
“Oh. Well, then, certainly.”
“Thank you,” Carella said.
He asked the patrolman on duty outside the apartment to take the lady’s bags down for her, and then — as they walked together toward the elevator bank — turned to examine the lock on the front door. It was a double-cylinder deadlock, which meant that it could only be unlocked by key on either side, inside or out. Anne Newman had just told him that only she and her husband had keys to the apartment. He could see no visible jimmy marks on the outside cylinder or doorjamb. He was still studying the lock when Kling and one of the lab technicians came out of the apartment.