“No. You see Ed had one vice, he loved to play the horses. I didn't mind, a person has to relax some way, I say. Whenever he had a spare dollar or two he would make a bet. Naturally most times he lost but whenever he won, maybe five or ten dollars, he was like a small boy who thinks he has the world by the tail. I imagine Ed must have made himself a few dollars and was talking big. That's all it was.”
Austin asked, “Is it possible Mr. Owens was playing the races big and might have gotten in over his head with a gambling mob?”
The old lady stroked her coiled braids. “I hope I haven't given you a bad impression of Ed. He wasn't a gambler. He merely played a few dollars now and then like I play bingo or even put a few pennies on a number if I have a dream.”
“Did he drink much?”
“No, sir, beer was all my Ed touched and not much of that. I never saw Edward Owens drunk except once, when sickness took our Junior. Now Al—Mr. Wales—he began to drink something frightful and Ed was always on him to stop it. That was after his dear wife died of cancer back in nineteen and forty-nine. Al's a good man but a strange one. He never seemed too emotional about things but he went to pieces when Dora passed on. That was one reason why Ed got him to work at the brokerage house. Did Al a world of good, although he still goes off on toots at times. Poor Al, he talked to me on the phone last night and actually cried.”
“About this brokerage house, did your husband like the job? Was he happy there?”
Mrs. Owens tried to smile. “He liked the job very much. I think Ed liked most the idea that he didn't have to work. We needed the few dollars he made but we could have gotten along without them, too. It was more like it gave him something to do. He was always nosy and liked going to these big offices, the rich houses.”
“Why did he carry a gun?”
She looked puzzled. “My goodness, Ed's worn a gun every day for as long as I can remember. Be like asking why he wore pants.”
“Did your husband usually drop into any bars around here, for a beer, and perhaps talk about the bonds he was carrying, some of the rich homes he'd been to?”
She shook her head. “No, sir, not Ed. Did his beer drinking right here while watching the TV. In the mornings he'd fool around in his garden. When he came home from work we'd have supper and watch TV, maybe play rummy, or he'd get out his books and booklets and try to figure a winner in the races. He was strictly a homebody, always was.”
“Do you know where he placed his bets?”
“No. Some cigar stand downtown. I imagine Al Wales could tell you, although Al never gambled.”
“Now, Mrs. Owens, think carefully: was there anybody who had any reason, no matter how slight, to be angry at your husband? Or was Mr. Owens mad at anybody?”
“Not a soul.”
Austin stood up. “I think that's all. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Owens. And don't worry, we'll get the rats who did this.”
“Yes, I suppose you will. But that won't bring Ed back, to me. Everyplace I look I see something of his, his tools, his clothes, his beers in the icebox,” Mrs. Owens said, getting up. “Would you like to see his garden?”
“Best we run....”
“I'd like very much to see it,” I said. Austin looked at me as if to say, “Shut up.”
We followed her down a short hallway with two bedrooms opening off it, through a large clean kitchen, out to a back yard that was about twenty feet wide and maybe thirty feet long. Except for something growing under two old windows, it was just a lot of dirt to me.
She pointed to the windows which were about six inches off the ground and walled in with loose bricks. “This is Ed's hothouse. I think he has some tulip bulbs growing there now. By the end of July he'll have this whole yard full of pansies and other flowers, maybe a few rows of carrots and some tomato vines. Once, he even raised some good corn here. One summer he spelled out 'Owens' across the yard in red, white and blue flowers. They had a picture of that in the Bronx Home News.”
There was a moment of silence till I asked, “Mrs. Owens, did you like being a policeman's wife? The changing hours, little pay, the danger?”
She looked astonished. “Why, of course I liked it, young man, it was my husband's job. Sometimes I worried a little about Ed but he could take care of himself. As for the pay, it wasn't much, but then what job pays enough? Best thing was it being steady, no lay-off. My father was a house painter and always working crazy hours. And near every winter there would be months when he didn't work and we'd be worried sick. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” I said stupidly.
“Nice seeing your garden, Mrs. Owens, but we have to leave,” Austin said.
“I don't want to keep you. The force has certainly changed, you two all dressed so smartly. And this young man who looks like he's a college student. Yes indeed, I liked Ed being a policeman, I felt he was helping people. Of course sometimes there were dirty jobs and long hours, but like I say, no job is all good. Wouldn't be a job if it was.”
When we were in the car Austin asked, “What are you conducting, a lonely hearts column for cops' wives? 'Mrs. Owens, did you like being a policeman's wife? For crying out loud, Winstein, you're a prize dummy.”
“The name is Wintino. What's so dumb about it? Everybody keeps yapping Owens was killed by a goon, a stick-up punk. Maybe. But he was in an alley and never went for his gun so it might have been with somebody he was friendly, like another woman.”
Austin shook his head. “Naw, you and me might be lovers, but not the Owens type. How long you been on the force?”
“Less than a year. So what?”
“You'll learn we haven't time to investigate every cockeyed angle to a case. Most times the common-sense angles are the right ones. Owens was held up, and by an amateur, that's the common-sense angle. Look, by, this afternoon I'll be off the case and it will be left in the open files. They'll let it stand till we get a break. You want to speculate, a guy in a flying saucer might have dropped down and knocked off Owens?” “Are you satisfied with the case?”
He gave me his superior smile. “Satisfied? This isn't a restaurant, it's a job. Not up to me to be satisfied or not satisfied. We do the best we can and that's the way the ball bounces.”
“Okay, so if I'm not satisfied I keep digging till I come up with something that fits.”
“Make sense, Winston. You can keep digging for the next three years. We haven't the time. In a few hours you'll be looking into a forced entry case, a mugging, something like that. And I'll be working on another killing.”
“Maybe. But I'm going to keep sifting this one. When an ex-cop is killed it makes you think.” “It does? About what?”
“About myself. I'll be retired like Owens was someday and I don't want to end up in an alley.” Nor in a run-down flat with an ancient radio and the same furniture I had when I first moved in, I thought. Although Mom and Pa, their place is like the Owens', the inside of a poor museum. Wonder what a guy has to do to make a good buck in this crazy world without being a bastard. “You married?” I asked Austin. “You starting on me? Sure I'm married.”
“Wife like your job?”
“I never asked her. What's with you, Watson?” “Nothing. My wife isn't hot about my job.” He chuckled. “Wives need a slap across the teeth now and then. That's my best advice.”