“You’re here early,” he said.
“I didn’t want to miss you.”
“Why didn’t you call first?”
“I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d just stop by.”
“I thought we’d said everything there was to say last night on the phone.”
“Few more things I wanted to ask you.”
“Then go ahead and ask.”
“I’d rather talk to you privately. Mrs. Preston, would you mind...”
“I’ll leave you,” she said, and immediately turned and walked up the corridor.
Carella closed the door behind him. Preston looked suddenly worried. He fished in the pocket of his robe, came up with a crumpled package of cigarettes and offered one to Carella. Carella shook his head. Preston put a cigarette between his lips, fished again in the robe, found a matchbook. He struck a match, held the flaming end to his cigarette and then shook the match out and dropped it in an ashtray on the television set. There were two windows in the room. Through them Carella could see across the street and beyond to where the elevated train tracks ran above Barbara Avenue.
“Mr. Preston,” Carella said, “I want to ask you about your relationship with Isabel Harris.”
“My relationship?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you mean, my relationship? She worked for me.”
“Mr. Preston, is it true that you began crying yesterday morning when you learned she was dead?”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“Is it also true that you and she met for a drink on at least one occasion?”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it, Mr. Preston. I simply want to know if it’s true.”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“When was this?”
“Last week.”
“You met her for a drink, is that right?”
“It wasn’t the way you make it sound.”
“How was it?”
“Something was bothering her. She wanted to talk about it. We went for a drink after work. Period.”
“What was bothering her, Mr. Preston?”
“Well, it was something personal.”
“Yes, what was it?”
“Well, really, I think that was her business, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, I think it was.”
“What was bothering her, Mr. Preston?”
“It doesn’t matter, that’s not the point. I was merely trying to explain that whatever you were suggesting—”
“What was I suggesting?”
“That Isabel and I were having an affair or something.”
“I didn’t suggest you were having an affair, Mr. Preston.”
“Well, all right. But if we were, I wouldn’t have taken her to a place just up the street from the office. There was nothing clandestine about our meeting. I had nothing to hide. An employee came to me with a problem, and I was trying to help her.”
“Don’t you have a private office at Prestige Novelty?”
“Yes. What’s that got to—”
“Couldn’t you have talked to her there?”
“This was something that couldn’t be handled in ten minutes.”
“All right, tell me what happened that afternoon.”
“She got there at about three, I was waiting for her in a booth at the back of the place. I saw her when she came in and went to meet her, and led her back to the booth.”
“What did she say?”
“At first she didn’t want to tell me what was bothering her.”
“Yes, what was it?”
“Jimmy. Her husband.”
“What about him?”
“Well, as I said before—”
“Mr. Preston, both of them are dead, and if whatever was bothering Isabel had anything to do with—”
“No, it didn’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, I just... I don’t think it did.”
“How about letting me judge? What was it?”
“Well... she thought he had another woman.”
“Ah,” Carella said.
“So naturally, it... it troubled her. She was a lovely person it... troubled her to think her husband was being unfaithful.”
“Why’d she think so?”
“She just thought so.”
“Intuition, huh?”
“I suppose so.”
“But no real reason. She just assumed he was playing around, is that right?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“No whispered telephone conversations, no shirts smelling of perfume...”
“No, no.”
“And that’s what was bothering her. That’s why she came to you, and that’s why you went for a drink together last week. To discuss the possibility that Jimmy Harris was playing around with another woman.”
“Yes.”
“What did she expect you to do about it. Mr. Preston?”
“Oh, I don’t think she expected me to do anything.”
“Then why did she come to you?”
“To... just to talk.”
“Nobody she could talk to at the office, I guess.”
“I guess not.”
“None of the other girls.”
“I guess not.”
“Just you.”
“Well...”
“Was this the first time she came to you with a problem?”
“Yes.”
“First time you ever had a drink together?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure about that?” Carella said.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Because, you see,” Carella said, “my information indicates otherwise.” He paused. He looked into Preston’s eyes. He had no information other than what Jennie D’Amato had given him: she had seen Preston and Isabel together once, last week. That’s all he had. Period. He was lying, and he was gambling, and the gamble paid off.
“Well... perhaps we had a drink together once or twice before,” Preston said.
“Which was it, Mr. Preston? Once or twice?”
“Twice.”
“Now you’re sure about that, are you?”
“Yes.”
Carella raised his eyebrows. That was all he had to do.
“Actually, I suppose it was several times,” Preston said.
“How many times?”
“Half a dozen times.”
“Same little bar up the street?”
“Well... no.”
“Another bar?”
“Yes.”
“A lot of different bars?”
“Yes.”
“Anywhere besides a bar?”
“Mr. Carella—”
“Mr. Preston, a man and a woman have been murdered, and I’m trying to find out why. A few minutes ago you told me there was nothing between you and Isabel Harris except an employer-employee relationship. You took her out for a drink because she had a problem she wanted to discuss. Okay, fine. Now you tell me you met her away from the office on at least six occasions—”
“That’s all it was.”
“Six times, right, that’s what you said, half a dozen times. Did you go to bed with her, Mr. Preston?”
“I don’t see what—”
“Please answer the question. Did you go to bed with Isabel Harris?”
“Yes.”
“Then you were having an affair with her.”