Levine reached to his cigarette pocket, cut the motion short, awkwardly returned his hand to his side. “Her father died two weeks ago, didn’t he?”
“That’s right.”
“How did they get along, do you know? Amy and her father.”
“She worshipped him. He was her stepfather actually, having married her mother only about a year ago, I believe. Amy doesn’t remember her real father. Mr. Walker was the only father she knew, and having been without one for so long—” Miss Haskell spread her hands. “He was important to her,” she finished.
“She took his death hard?”
“She was out of school for a week, inconsolable. She spent the time at her grandmother’s, I understand. The grandmother caters to her, of course. I believe her mother had a doctor in twice.”
“Yes, her mother.” Levine didn’t know what to do with his hands. He clasped them in front of him. “How do Amy and her mother get along?”
“Normally, so far as I know. There’s never been any sign of discord between them that I’ve seen.” She smiled again. “But my contact with Amy is limited to school hours, of course.”
“You think there is discord?”
“No, not at all. I didn’t mean to imply that. Just that I couldn’t give you an expert answer to the question.”
Levine nodded. “You’re right. Is Amy a very imaginative child?”
“She’s very self-sufficient in play, if that’s what you mean.”
“I was thinking about story-telling.”
“Oh, a liar.” She shook her head. “No, Amy isn’t the tall tale type. A very practical little girl, really. Very dependable judgment. As I say, she’s the one I left in charge of the class.”
“She wouldn’t be likely to come to us with a wild story she’d made up all by herself.”
“Not at all. If Amy told you about something, it’s almost certainly the truth.”
Levine sighed. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much.”
Miss Haskell rose to her feet. “Could you tell me what this wild story was? I might be able to help.”
“I’d rather not,” he said. “Not until we’re sure, one way or the other.”
“If I can be of any assistance...”
“Thank you,” he said again. “You’ve already helped.”
Back at the station, Levine entered the squadroom and hung up his coat. Crawley looked over from his desk and said, “You have all the luck, Abe. You missed the whirlwind.”
“Whirlwind?”
“Amy’s mama was here. Dr. Sheffield called her about you checking up on her husband’s death, and just before she came over here she got a call from somebody at Lathmore Elementary, saying there was a cop there asking questions about her daughter. She didn’t like us casting aspersions on her family.”
“Aspersions?”
“That’s what she said.” Crawley grinned. “You’re little Sir Echo this morning, aren’t you?”
“I need a cigarette. What did the Lieutenant say?”
“She didn’t talk to him. She talked to me.”
“No, when you told him about the little girl’s report.”
“Oh. He said to take two days on it, and then let him know how it looked.”
“Fine. How about Thornbridge?”
“Accidental death. Inquest said so. No question in anybody’s mind. He went swimming too soon after lunch, got a stomach cramp, and drowned. What’s the word on the little girl?”
“Her teacher says she’s reliable. Practical and realistic. If she tells us something, it’s so.”
Crawley grimaced. “That isn’t what I wanted to hear, Abe.”
“It didn’t overjoy me, either.” Levine sat down at his desk. “What did the mother have to say?”
“I had to spill it, Abe. About what her daughter reported.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “Now we’ve got no choice. We’ve got to follow though. What was her reaction?”
“She didn’t believe it.”
Levine shrugged. “She had to, after she thought about it.”
“Sure,” said Crawley. “Then she was baffled. She didn’t know why Amy would say such a thing.”
“Was she home when her husband died?”
“She says no.” Crawley flipped open a memo pad. “Somebody had to be with him all the time, but he didn’t want a professional nurse. So when Amy came home from school that afternoon, the mother went to the supermarket. Her husband was alive when she left, and dead when she got back. Or so she says.”
“She says Amy was the one who found him dead?”
“No. Amy was watching television. When the mother came home, she found him, and called the doctor.”
“What about noises?”
“She didn’t hear any, and doesn’t have any idea what Amy means.”
Levine sighed. “All right,” he said. “We’ve got one timetable discrepancy. Amy says her mother was home and made a loud noise. The mother says she was out to the supermarket.” His fingers strayed to his cigarette pocket, then went on to scratch his shoulder instead. “What do you think of the mother, Jack?”
“She’s tough. She was mad, and she’s used to having things her own way. I can’t see her playing nursemaid. But she sure seemed baffled about why the kid would make such an accusation.”
“I’ll have to talk to Amy again,” said Levine. “Once we’ve got both stories, we can see which one breaks down.”
Crawley said, “I wonder if she’ll try to shut the kid’s mouth?”
“Let’s not think about that yet. We’ve still got all day.” He reached for the phone book and looked up the number of Lathmore Elementary.
Levine talked to the girl in Mrs. Pidgeon’s office at eleven o’clock. At his request, they were left alone.
Amy was dressed as neatly as she had been yesterday, and seemed just as composed. Levine explained to her what had been done so far on the investigation, and that her mother had been told why the investigation was taking place. “I’m sorry, Amy,” he said, “but we didn’t have any choice. Your mother had to know.”
Amy considered, solemn and formal. “I think it will be all right,” she said. “She wouldn’t dare try to hurt me now, with you investigating. It would be too obvious. My mother is very subtle, Mr. Levine.”
Levine smiled, in spite of himself. “You have quite a vocabulary,” he told her.
“I’m a very heavy reader,” she explained. “Though it’s difficult for me to get interesting books from the library. I’m too young, so I have to take books from the children’s section.” She smiled thinly. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she said. “I steal the ones I want to read, and then bring them back when I’m finished with them.”
In a hurry, he thought, smiling, and remembered the baby next door. “I want to talk to you,” he said, “about the day when your father died. Your mother said she went out to the store, and when she came back he was dead. What do you say?”
“Nonsense,” she said, promptly. “I was the one who went out to the store. The minute I came home from school, she sent me out to the supermarket. But I came back too soon for her.”
“Why?”
“Just as I was coming down the hall from the elevator, I heard a great clang sound from our apartment. Then it came again as I was opening the door. I went through the living room and saw my mother coming out of my stepfather’s room. She was smiling. But then she saw me and suddenly looked terribly upset and told me something awful had happened, and she ran to the telephone to call Dr. Sheffield. She acted terribly agitated, and carried on just as though she really meant it. She fooled Dr. Sheffield completely.”
“Why did you wait so long before coming to us?”
“I didn’t know what to do.” The solemn formality cracked all at once, and she was only a child after all, uncertain in an adult world. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me, and I was afraid if Mother suspected what I knew, she might try to do something to me. But Monday in Civics Miss Haskell was talking about the duties of the different parts of government, firemen and policemen and everybody, and she said the duty of the police was to investigate crimes and see the guilty were punished. So yesterday I came and told you, because it didn’t matter if you didn’t believe me, you’d have to do your duty and investigate anyway.”