Killer's Choice

Phelps was silent.

'Were you?'

'Yes,' he said.

'Why didn't you tell us that in the beginning?'

'For several reasons.'

'Like?'

'First, I didn't want to get involved in a possible murder charge.'

'That possibility still exists, Mr Phelps.'

'Secondly, I thought this might make the newspapers. I didn't want Marna to… well, you understand.'

'Sure,' Meyer said. 'Now how about giving us the straight story?'

'Where do you want me to start?'

'Where'd you meet Annie?'

Phelps sighed heavily. 'At Herman Dodson, Inc. In the modern furniture department. I wandered on to the wrong floor by mistake. Marna and I prefer period stuff.'

'Go ahead.'

'I asked her out. She accepted. Oh, not quite that suddenly. We chatted awhile, you know how it works.'

'No, I don't know how it works,' Meyer said. 'I'm married. You tell me how it works, Mr Phelps.'

'I didn't know policemen were invested with moral indignation,' Phelps said. 'I didn't know love was a crime in this state.'

'It isn't,' Meyer said. 'But adultery is.'

'Annie wasn't married!' Phelps said.

'You were, and are. The law makes it adultery if either or both partners are married. Let's not get off the track, Mr Phelps. The crime we're discussing is homicide!'

'I didn't kill her.'

'We're still listening.'

'I loved her. Why should I kill her?'

'You didn't seem to be worrying too damn much about her the first time I spoke to you. You seemed more concerned with your stock.'

'I was concerned with the stock. But I was concerned about Annie, too. Of course I was concerned. I'd known her for more than a year.'

'Why'd you give her a job at the liquor store? So you could be closer to her?'

'Well… not exactly. I very rarely went to the shop. Annie handled it mostly singlehanded. I dropped by at the end of the day, usually, to make my collection.'

'Had you dropped by on the night she was killed?'

'Yes. I told you that before. I'd left her just enough money to keep things going until closing time. That was the usual procedure. I made out my bank deposit slips every night and made my deposit each morning.'

'Which bank?'

'Here. In town. First National of Crestion.'

'Why'd you give her the job?'

'To help her.'

'How?'

'She was divorced, you know. She wasn't earning a hell of a lot at Dodson. I found that out after I'd… after I'd known her awhile. I thought I could help her by taking her on. I paid her more than a hundred and a quarter.'

'How much more?'

'I paid her two hundred dollars a week,' Phelps said.

'Did Mrs Phelps know this?'

'No, of course not. The highest I'd ever paid any employee was a hundred and a quarter.'

'In other words, Mr Phelps,' Meyer said, 'you charged Annie Boone to the business, is that right?'

'That's a particularly callous way to put it, Detective Meyer.'

'Is it? How would you put it, Mr Phelps?'

'I was trying to help the girl. She was supporting her mother and her daughter. It was the least I could do.'

'Sure. Why'd you pretend you didn't know about the daughter when I first talked to you, Mr Phelps?'

'I pretended no such thing.'

'You said you thought she had a son.'

'Well, perhaps I did. I lied because I didn't want the police to know how involved I was with Annie. I didn't want her murder to… to reflect upon me.'

'What time did you make your collection on the night she was killed, Mr Phelps?'

'At about eight. I always make my collection at about that time.'

'She was killed at about ten-thirty, near as we can figure it. Where were you between eight and ten-thirty?'

'I don't remember,' Phelps said quickly.

Meyer looked at him with something close to vast astonishment on his face. 'Mr Phelps,' he said, 'perhaps you didn't understand my question. Where were you on the night Annie Boone was killed between the hours of eight and ten-thirty?'

'I don't remember,' Phelps said.

Meyer continued to look astonished. 'Well, maybe you better start remembering, Mr Phelps. Maybe you better start remembering damn fast.'

'If I don't remember, I don't remember.'

'Were you here?' Kling asked.

'No, I wasn't.'

'Where then?'

'I don't remember.'

'But you do remember that you weren't here?'

'Yes, I remember that.'

'Were you maybe in your own liquor store shooting Annie Boone and destroying your own stock maybe?' Meyer asked.

'Don't be ridiculous!'

'Well then, where the hell were you, Mr Phelps? Start remembering. I suggest that you start remembering!'

'Look…'

'Look, I don't want you to think…' Phelps shook his head. 'Look, I…'

'Go ahead, Mr Phelps. Drag out the skeletons.'

'Did you question Ted Boone? Did you question her ex-husband?'

'He was out of the city at the time of the shooting. His alibi has been corroborated. He's clear, Mr Phelps.'

'So am I.'

'We haven't heard your alibi yet.'

'I don't remember where I was. I was nowhere near the store.'

Meyer sighed heavily. 'Mr Phelps,' he said. 'Get your clothes on.'

'Why?'

'Because it looks as if you haven't got a story, Mr Phelps. It also looks as if you were pretty involved with this Boone girl, and it looks as if we've got to ask you a few more questions at the squad. A lot more questions, Mr Phelps.'

'I…' Phelps swallowed hard. 'I… I was in Isola that night.'

'Where in Isola?'

'On… Endicott Avenue.'

'Doing what?'

'I… I was with someone.'

'Who?' Phelps did not answer. 'Who?' Meyer repeated.

'Someone.'

'Who?' Kling said.

'A woman?' Meyer asked.

'Yes,' Phelps said.

Both detectives were silent. At last Meyer said, 'You're a real nice chap, Mr Phelps. You're a real fine investment.'

'Investment?'

'The ones who own stock in you ought to liquidate it. What's the broad's name?'

'She's not a broad!'

'What's her name?'

'Lydia. Lydia Forrester.'

'Address?'

'730 Endicott Avenue. You're not going to drag her into this, are you?'

'Can you think of a better way of checking your alibi?'

'I suppose not.'

'Any doormen at her place? Elevator operators?'

'Yes, why?'

'Mr Phelps, the way this thing looks to be shaping up, you've now got a pretty damn good reason for wanting Annie Boone out of the way. And I don't know if we're going to be happy with just the Reason's word that you were with her that night. You better keep your fingers crossed.'

'About what?'

'You better keep your fingers crossed that somebody else in that building saw you around the time Annie was murdered.' Meyer nodded emphatically. 'We'll see you, Mr Phelps. We'll let you know. You can be sure we'll let you know.'

CHAPTER TWELVE

It's very discouraging to learn that a man suspected of murder has an airtight alibi. It was discouraging to learn it about Ted Boone and even more discouraging to learn it about Franklin Phelps. But the sad facts remained. Franklin Phelps had been with a girl named Lydia Forrester from 9 p.m. until 11 p.m. on the night Annie Boone got it. The elevator operator remembered taking him up at 9 and down at 11. This did not mean, of course, that he could not have taken the service steps down at any time between those two times, gone out to kill Annie, and then come back up again by the same steps. The service steps, however, terminated in one of two places: the lobby, or the basement. A doorman was on duty in the lobby all night long. Franklin Phelps had not crossed it until 11 p.m. And the superintendent and the janitor had been playing cards in the basement all night long, right alongside the only exit door. Phelps had not come down to the basement. Phelps had been otherwise occupied. He had not killed Annie Boone, and it was most discouraging. It meant that the bulls of the 87th had to do more legwork, and it's the legwork that kills a cop.