“I see.”
The table went silent.
“Where did you have lunch, Mr. Thayer?”
“Am I under arrest?” Thayer asked.
“No, sir.”
“I have a feeling you can get me in trouble,” Thayer said. “I don’t think I want to answer any more questions.”
“Why not?”
“Because I had nothing to do with this thing, and you’re trying to make it sound as if… as if… goddammit, how do you think I feel?” he shouted suddenly. “I see my wife’s picture in the paper, and the story tells me she’s dead and… and… and was was was… you lousy bastards, how do you think I feel?”
He put down his coffee cup and covered his face with one hand. They could not tell whether or not he was crying behind that hand. He sat silent and said nothing.
“Mr. Thayer,” Carella said gently, “our department investigates every suicide exactly the way it would a homicide. The same people are notified, the same reports are…”
“The hell with you and your department,” Thayer said from behind his hand. “My wife is dead.”
“Yes, sir, we realize that.”
“Then leave me alone, can’t you? I thought… you said we would have a cup of coffee and… now it’s… this is a third degree.”
“No, sir, it’s not a third degree.”
“Then what the hell is it?” Thayer said. His hand suddenly dropped from his face. His eyes flashed. “My wife is dead!” he shouted. “She was in bed with another man! What the hell is it you want from me?”
“We want to know where you were all day yesterday,” Hawes said. “That’s all.”
“I went to lunch at a restaurant called Nino’s. It’s on the Stem, two blocks from my office. I got back to the office at about two or two-thirty. I worked until…”
“Did you have lunch alone?”
“No. Howard was with me.”
“Go on.”
“I worked until about four-thirty. Howard came in and said he was knocking off, and would I like a drink. I said yes I would. We went to the bar on the corner, it’s called Dinty’s. I had two Rob Roys, and then Howard and I walked to the subway. I went straight home.”
“What time was that?”
“About five-thirty.”
“Then what?”
“I read the papers and I watched the news on television, and then I made myself some bacon and eggs and then I got into my pajamas and read a while, and then I went to bed. I got up at seven-thirty this morning. I left the house at eight. I bought a paper on the way to the R and N. While I was having breakfast, I saw Irene’s picture. I called my mother-in-law from the restaurant, and then I called the police.” Thayer paused. Sarcastically, he added, “They were kind enough to provide me with you two gentlemen.”
“Okay, Mr. Thayer,” Hawes said.
“Is that all?”
“That’s all. I’m sorry we upset you, but there are questions we have to ask and…”
“May I go now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.” Thayer paused. “Would you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“When you find out who the man was… Tommy, the man she was in… in bed with… would you let me know?”
“If you want us to.”
“Yes; I want you to.”
“All right. We’ll call you.”
“Thank you.”
They watched as he walked away from the booth, and out of the diner, a tall thin man who walked with a slouch, his head slightly bent.
“What the hell,” Hawes said; “we have to ask the questions.”
“Yeah,” Carella answered.
“And you’ve got to admit, Steve, the guy sounds so damn innocent it’s implausible.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for God’s sake, his wife is trotting out to see her mother every other week, and spending the night there, and he never even calls to check up? I don’t buy it.”
“You’re not married,” Carella said simply.
“Huh?”
“I don’t ask Teddy to give me a written report on her whereabouts. You either trust somebody or you don’t.”
“And he trusted her, huh?”
“It sounds that way to me.”
“She was a fine one to trust,” Hawes said.
“There are more things in heaven and hell, Horatio,” Carella misquoted, “than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“Like what?” Hawes asked.
“Like love,” Carella answered.
“Exactly. And you have to admit this thing has all the earmarks of a love pact.”
“I don’t know.”
“Unless, of course, it’s a homicide.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to accept or reject. All I know is it makes me itchy to have to talk to a guy who’s grief-stricken when I’m not really sure…”
“If he’s really grief-stricken,” Hawes said. “If he didn’t happen to turn on that gas jet himself.”
“We don’t know,” Carella said.
“That’s exactly why we have to ask the questions.”
“Sure. And sometimes give the answers.” He paused, his face suddenly very serious. “I gave an answer to a girl on a ledge yesterday, Cotton. There was a puzzled, frightened little girl on a ledge, and she was looking for the big answer, and I gave it to her. I told her to jump.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake…”
“I told her to jump, Cotton.”
“She’d have jumped no matter what you told her. A girl who gets out on a ledge twelve stories above the street…”
“Were you around last April, Cotton? Do you remember Meyer’s heckler, the guy we called the Deaf Man? Combinations and permutations, remember? The law of probability. Remember?”
“What about it?”
“I like to think of what might have happened if I’d said something different to that girl. Suppose, instead of saying, ‘Go ahead, jump,’ I’d looked at her and said, ‘You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, and I love you. Please come inside.’ Do you think she’d have jumped, Cotton?”
“If she wanted to jump, then no matter…”
“Or I wonder what would have happened if you, or Pete, or Bert, or Meyer, or anyone on the squad-anyone but me-had been at that window. Would she have liked your voice better than mine? Maybe Pete could have convinced her to come inside. Maybe…”
“Steve, Steve, what the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t enjoy questioning Michael Thayer.”
“Neither did I.”