Golden hair tufted close, green eyes sparkling in leafy imitation, a skirt the color of a tropical sky, a blouse and sweater that seemed in pink and crimson bloom, high-heeled pumps that echoed the pale blue of her skirt.
She looked up as the bell over the door sounded, smiled as they came down the crowded center aisle, brushing past the variegated leaves on one of the giant plants-"May I help you?”
"Miss Raines?" Carella said.
"Yes?”
"Detective Carella," he said, showing his shield and his ID card, "Eighty-seventh Squad. This is my partner, Detective Meyer.”
Her hands hovered like birds over the flower arrangement, flightless now.
"Yes?" she said again.
"There's no need to be alarmed," he said, "we're ...”
"But I'm not alarmed," she said.
And yet her hands still hung motionless over the arrangement, and her welcoming smile seemed frozen on her lovely face. Only the green eyes were in motion. Darting. Apprehensive.
"Miss Raines, do you know a man named Martin Bowles?" Meyer asked.
"Has something happened to him?" she asked.
"No, no," Carella said.
"Then ...?was "This is just a routine investigation," Meyer said.
To a criminal, this meant run for the hills. But Lydia Raines was not a criminal.
"Do you know him?" Carella asked.
"Yes, he's my investment broker," she said.
"With Laub, Kramer, Steele and Worth.”
"When did you last see him?" Carella asked.
"Is he missing or something?”
She looked puzzled now. Nothing had happened to him, or so they'd just told her. But now they wanted to know when she'd seen him last. Why?
Unless he was missing or something. All of this showed on her face and in her eyes. She was either a very good actress or else Bowles hadn't called her in advance to warn her about their impending visit.
"No, he's not missing," Meyer said, smiling pleasantly, nodding. "In fact, we just saw him ... when was it, Steve? Half an hour ago? Forty minutes?”
"About then," Carella said.
Putting her at her ease. They still hadn't told her that Bowles had used her as his Monday alibi. They wanted to hear this from her.
"Can you tell us when you last saw him?" Meyer asked.
Still smiling pleasantly. Nodding. Come on, darling. Tell your baldy-bean uncle when you last saw the nice man.
"I had lunch with him on Monday," Lydia said, "I'm sure it's in my book.”
She gave the arrangement a last loving touch, almost petting one of the flowers, glanced at it appreciatively and admiringly, and then walked to a small desk nestled into a nook alongside a pair of double-doored, glass-fronted refrigerator cases. She sat in the chair behind the desk, crossing what Carella now saw were very shapely legs, and opened the drawer over the kneehole. Her appointment book was one of those thick black leather-covered things that shrieked efficiency. She opened it swiftly to where a heavy paper clip marked the current day, removed the clip, and began flipping back through the pages.
"Yes, here it is," she said, and looked up.
Exactly the words Bowles had used when he'd consulted his own calendar.
"It was Monday," she said. "The seventh.”
"You had lunch with him that day," Carella said.
"Yes," she said. "Well, here it is," she said, and turned the book to show him the page. In a sprawling handwriting Carella presumed was her own, he read the words: Martin Bowles Margins at 12 "Is that the name of a restaurant?" Meyer asked, already knowing the answer. "Margins?”
"Yes. It's down near the Exchange. On Zwaan.”
She, too, pronounced it Zwayne. But there was in her voice a regional dialect that iden- tified her as originally coming from someplace else.
"Was Mr. Bowles there when you arrived?”
Carella asked.
"Yes, he was.”
"You didn't have to wait for him or anything, did you?”
"No, he was sitting at the bar.”
"Is it a big place? Margins?”
"Fairly big.”
"Were there many people there?”
"I suppose. I really didn't notice.
Why? What's he done?”
They were both wondering when she'd get around to that.
"Nothing that we know of," Meyer said, and again smiled pleasantly. Old Uncle Meyer here.
You may not be able to trust the one with the Chinese eyes, but me you can bet your life on.
"Then why all these questions?" she asked.
"Just routine," Carella said.
"Sure," she said. "And I'm Princess Di.”
"When did you make this lunch date?" Meyer asked.
"I have no idea. Martin and I meet periodically to discuss my investments. I may have called him, he may have called me. I simply don't remember. What is it he's done?”
"As I told you ...”
"Or supposed to have done?”
"Nothing. That we know of.”
"What do you suspect he's done?”
"Nothing," Carella said.
"Sure," she said again. Her eyes locked on his. Meyer had never seen such an eye-lock in his life. The Green Lantern, this one was, shooting a laser beam at Carella. Defying him to tell her why they were really here. For a moment, Meyer was tempted to lay it all on the table.
He resisted the temptation.
"Where are you from originally?" he asked.
"Chicago," she said. "Why?”
Carella went to see her personally-and alone.
There were matters he needed to discuss with her, and he wanted to afford her at least a semblance of privacy. He did not want this to be a visit from two police goons in heavy overcoats.
She told him she'd just got home a few minutes ago, and she offered him a drink. This was now four in the afternoon. He told her he was still on duty, and she took his coat and hung it in the hall closet, and then they moved into the living room that was all leather and steel, and he got down to brass tacks.
"Mrs. Bowles," he said, "do you have any reason to believe your husband might want you dead?”
She looked at him in stunned silence.
"Mrs. Bowles?" he said.
"No. Of course not. No. What do you mean?
Martin?" she said.
"Yes, ma'am. Have you been having trouble lately?”
"No, we ...”
"In your marriage, I mean.”
"Yes, I know. No, positively not.
We're ...”
"Has he ever mentioned divorce ...”
"No, no, we're very ...”
"Or even obliquely suggested it?”
"No, we're very happy.”
"Have you had any violent arguments recently ...?was "No.”
"... anything like that?”
"No.”
"He hasn't ever abused you, has he?”
"No. Do you mean ...?was "I mean has he ever hit you. Physically abused you.”
"No. Never.”
"Or threatened abuse?”
"No.”
"Mrs. Bowles, I'm sorry I have to ask this, but it's important. Does your husband have another woman?”
"He does not. Mr. Carella, really ...”
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask these questions.
There's not another man in your life, is there?”
"Definitely not!”
"Your husband has absolutely no reason to distrust you ...”
“None.”
"Or to want you out of his life ...”
"None.”
"How do your wills read, Mrs. Bowles?
I'm sorry," he said, "I'm not enjoying this, either, believe me. But two attempts were made on your life ...”
"Why would you imagine Martin ...?was "Because he telephoned Tilly on the morning he was killed ...”
"Tilly?”