“I’m Mrs. Humffrey’s physician. She’s... worse, and I must find her husband. Do you know—?”
“How bad is she?”
“See here, is Mr. Humffrey there, or isn’t he?”
“Well, no, Doctor, but maybe I can find him for you. Did you call his summer place in Connecticut?”
“Good lord, man, do you think I’m an idiot? His housekeeper tells me he left Nair Island yesterday driving the small car and saying he wouldn’t be back till tonight or tomorrow. Is—?”
“Didn’t he say where he was going?”
“No! She gave me the phone numbers of all the places he might be — clubs, Park Avenue apartment, his home in Concord, even Mrs. Humffrey’s relatives in Massachusetts. But I haven’t been able to trace him. Have you any idea where he might have gone? I understand you’ve done some confidential legal work for him.”
“Who told you that?”
“The chauffeur, I think, suggested your name. What difference does it make?” Dr. Duane sounded at the point of explosion. “Will you give me something definite or won’t you? I tell you this is urgent!”
“Well, Doctor, I guess I can’t help you at that, Doctor. But if I should hear from him—”
Dr. Duane slammed his receiver.
Richard Queen looked at Jessie as he hung up. “Queer...”
“What did he say, Richard?”
He told her.
“But I don’t see anything queer about it. Except the coincidence of calling here just when...”
He was shaking his head, frowning, staring at Finner.
Finally he said, “Jessie, I want you to go home.”
“And leave you holding the bag?”
“I’ve got to notify the police.”
“Why?” Jessie protested. “Why can’t we just leave? He’ll be found by a cleaning woman, or a watchman or somebody. Nobody saw us come in.”
He was smiling. “You can’t teach an old police dog new tricks. A homicide has to be reported as soon as it’s discovered.”
“Then why didn’t you pick up the phone and call the minute you walked in here?” Jessie retorted.
“You’re a hard woman, Jessie,” he murmured. “All right, maybe I’ve come to feel that this is my case. Mine and yours... You and I know the two homicides are connected, but with the Humffrey envelope gone, there’s no reason for them to link Finner’s murder up with a Connecticut baby-smothering case that’s been written off as an accidental death. Not right away, anyway. Meanwhile, we’ll have some room to stretch in.”
“Why don’t you ask for reinstatement, Richard?” Jessie asked quietly. “If they knew you’d been in on this from the start, perhaps they’d give you a special assignment to take charge of the case.”
He shook his head again. “Things don’t work that way. The New York Police Department has two thousand detectives working out of precincts and Headquarters, not to mention some twenty or so thousand men and women in other police jobs. They don’t need old man Queen. Come on, Jessie, I’ll see you out of the building. I don’t want some night man to spot you.”
Jessie looked back just before he shut the door.
The fat man was still sitting there like an abandoned balloon.
It was after eleven that night when the phone rang.
“Jessie?”
“I’ve been losing my mind,” Jessie exclaimed. “Richard, where are you? Why haven’t you called before? Is everything all right?”
“Fine, fine” he said. “I’m down at Headquarters chewing the fat with the boys. Going to bed?”
She understood that he couldn’t talk freely and wouldn’t be able to come over.
“You can’t see me tonight, is that it?”
“Right. I’ll ring you in the morning.”
“Good night, Richard.”
Jessie hung up and surveyed the table she had set. She had bought minute steaks, frozen French frieds, and some salad vegetables in a delicatessen on 72nd Street, thinking to treat him to a home meal when he came. So that’s what policemen’s wives’ lives were like...
What am I thinking of? Jessie thought guiltily. And she turned on Gloria Sardella’s TV set and watched the Late Show. It was an old British film about a Scotland Yard detective and a master London criminal. The master London criminal was an enormously fat man. He didn’t look anything like A. Burt Finner, but after fifteen minutes Jessie snapped the set off with a shiver and went to bed.
She was still in curlers and an old wrapper Sunday morning when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to the width of the latch chain, wondering who it could be.
“Richard!”
“Thought I’d surprise you,” he grinned. “I’ve got the Sunday papers, frozen juice, fresh rolls, eggs — got any ham? I forgot the ham. Jessie? Where are you?”
“You mustn’t do things like this,” Jessie moaned, flat against the door. “Don’t you know how a woman looks first thing in the morning? I’ll undo the chain, but don’t you dare walk in till you finish counting ten!”
“All right,” he said, stricken.
When she came out of the tiny bedroom, he was sitting on the edge of a chair with the paper sack in his lap.
“Richard Queen, I could strangle you. Is anything more hideous than a woman in curlers? Don’t just sit there. Let me have that bag.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked so deflated that Jessie laughed. “Anyway, I thought you looked fine. It’s a long time since I saw a woman in curlers.”
“Yes, I suppose it is at that,” Jessie said. She took the bag to the kitchen alcove and got busy.
“Did I say something wrong, Jessie?” he asked anxiously.
“Heavens, no. Make yourself useful. I don’t have any ham, but you’ll find a couple of minute steaks in the fridge and a box of French frieds in the freezer drawer. How does that sound?”
“Oh, boy!”
It was not until she was pouring his second cup of coffee that Jessie asked, “Well, what happened yesterday?”
“Nothing much,” he said in a careless tone. “The first men there were a patrolman and sergeant, radio patrol car, 17th Precinct — I know both of them pretty well. Then a couple of detectives from the 17th I know very well, and after that a lot of old buddies of mine — Deputy Chief Inspector Tom Mackey in charge of Manhattan East, Chief of Detectives Brynie Phelan, the Homicide boys — it was like Old Home Week.”
“And when they asked their old buddy how he happened to stumble over a corpse,” Jessie said, “what did their old buddy say?”
He set his cup down, smiling. “You know, Jessie, the longer I know you the more I wonder why you’re wasting your time in a nurse’s uniform.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
He shrugged. “All right, I lied. The going was rugged for a while. I think I pulled it off, though.” He sounded grimly ashamed. “I suppose an honourable lifetime in and out of uniform counts for something, especially when the men you’re lying to are friends of yours.”
“What was your story, Richard?” Jessie asked quietly. “I have to know, Richard, in case they get to me. So I can back you up.”
He glanced at her with admiration. Then he stared at the floor. “I said I’d been going crazy doing nothing, began thinking about some rats I’d known in harness whom we’d never been able to collar, and remembered Finner and his vicious racket. I said I thought it would be nice to get something on him — he doesn’t even have a yellow sheet down at the B.C.I., no record at all. So I dropped in on Finner Thursday, I said, and let him think I was still on active duty and that we’d come up with something on him at last... on the theory that if you rattle a rat, he’ll panic. I said Finner hinted at a payoff to keep the boys off his back, and I said I pretended to play along and made a date to visit his office again Saturday afternoon, and I said when I got there I found him dead. That’s what I said, Jessie, and may the Lord have mercy on my soul.”