“Mrs. Hilton Jasper?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t open the door like that without first asking who is there.”
“All right, who is here?”
“Lieutenant Peterson of the Police Department.”
“This is an inconvenient time to receive you,” she said coolly. “We’re in the middle of dinner.”
“Really? Funny thing, I was in the middle of dinner myself when the desk sergeant played me a tape of a message that had just come in from a woman. Sounded like a girl, actually. It seems she’d been listening to the six o’clock news and heard about the death of a man she knew, Roger Lennard. Is that name familiar to you?”
“Vaguely.”
“Perhaps your husband might find it less vague.”
Her response was to open the door a little farther to allow him to step inside. When she closed it again the overhead light went off and Lieutenant Peterson’s face was in shadow. It looked better that way, more expressive, kinder, with the disturbing brightness of his eyes obscured.
“Let’s not beat around the bush, Lieutenant,” she said. “We’ve called our attorney and until he arrives my husband isn’t going to make any statement.”
“That’s fine. I’ll wait.”
“I’m not sure when he’s coming. I left a message with his answering service but he may not even get it tonight.”
“I’ll still wait. I presume you have a spare bedroom.”
She let out a gasp of surprise.
“Now, now, don’t get shook. That was just a little joke to lighten up the atmosphere.”
“It wasn’t very successful.”
“Many of my jokes aren’t. Win a few, lose a few. I’d like to see Mr. Jasper, all jokes aside.”
“As I told you, we’re in the middle of dinner. Would you mind waiting for him?”
“I wouldn’t mind, no. But I’d prefer to come and sit at the table with you. What are you serving, by the way? I hope you don’t mind my asking. You see, I was in the middle of dinner myself.”
“Avocado and grapefruit salad and seafood Newburg.”
“Sounds great. Did you make the seafood yourself?”
“We have a cook.”
“Congratulations. Good cooks are hard to find these days.”
“I didn’t say she was a good cook... Are you by any chance inviting yourself for dinner?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“This is... this is really extraordinary.”
“I don’t agree. Put a hungry man on the trail of seafood Newburg and what he does is quite ordinary.”
“I don’t know what Mr. Aragon will say when he gets here if you’re sitting having dinner with us.”
“Aragon? Now, he’s pretty small potatoes for a big man like your husband. Potatoes. There goes my mind again, back to food.”
“I’ve never been in a situation like this before in my life.”
“As a matter of fact, neither have I. But we mustn’t shut ourselves off from new experiences, must we?”
“Come this way.”
It wasn’t the most gracious invitation he’d ever received but it was the only one for dinner that night, so he followed her down the hall.
Jasper was standing at the head of the dining room table, his left hand in his pocket.
“Hilton, this is Lieutenant Peterson,” Frieda said. “He has kindly consented to join us for dinner.”
The lieutenant nodded. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Jasper. I don’t imagine the feeling is mutual.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Ah well, suppose we forget business for a while and act like new friends about to break bread together for the first time.”
Jasper’s only reply was to pull out a chair and then put his own plate of salad, which he hadn’t touched, in front of the lieutenant. Frieda turned up the heat under the silver chafing dish that contained the seafood.
She said, “My husband and I aren’t having wine with dinner tonight but I’ll open a bottle for you if you like.”
“Not while I’m on duty.”
The lieutenant ate quickly and quietly with only an occasional remark about the weather, the food, the state of the nation. Neither of the Jaspers made any attempt to converse. Frieda served the food and Jasper pushed it around on his plate in a pretense of eating.
Afterward, the lieutenant said, “Excellent, excellent. I truly appreciate having a home-cooked meal now and then. Since my wife died I’ve probably eaten more Big Macs and fries than any man in town.”
Jasper took a deep breath and held it for a moment before speaking. “Why are you here, Lieutenant?”
“As I told your wife, the desk sergeant received a phone call about six thirty. He played the tape of it for me. It was the voice of a young woman, a girl probably, who’d been listening to the six o’clock news and heard about Roger Lennard’s death. A man named Abercrombie had spoken rather freely to the press describing someone who’d visited Lennard in the late morning. She claimed the description fitted you.”
“I see.”
“A lot of policemen would like people to believe that we go around solving crimes by taking fingerprints and making plaster casts and ballistics tests. Now these things all look good in a courtroom once the criminal is on trial. But how he’s caught is usually a different story. Somebody squealed, a disgruntled employee or partner, a jealous lover, a cast-off wife. These are the people who solve crimes. If it weren’t for the young woman’s phone call I wouldn’t be here. Tall man in a grey suit and Panama hat — that’s not much to go on. Add a name and address, and the picture changes. Did you go to see Roger Lennard this morning?”
“I’d like to hear that tape.”
“That’s not an answer to my question, Mr. Jasper.”
“I’ll answer your questions if you let me listen to the tape.”
“No,” Frieda said. “No, you won’t. You’re not to say anything until Mr. Aragon—”
“Be quiet, Frieda. What about it, Lieutenant? Do we have a deal?”
“Sounds fair to me.”
“I want to hear the tape first.”
“Now that part isn’t so fair,” the lieutenant said. “Maybe you think you might recognize the voice?”
“I might.”
“We’ll have to go out to my car. I brought the tape with me. I intended to play it for you anyway.”
Frieda made one more attempt to stop him but he pushed her aside. “Let me handle my own affairs,” he said. “I’m a big boy now.”
“You don’t eat like one. You’re a stupid, pigheaded little boy.”
“I hate to break up a good old-fashioned family row,” the lieutenant said. “But sometimes I have to. Let’s go, Mr. Jasper. Would you like to come along too, Mrs. Jasper? It’s the least I can do in return for the excellent meal.”
“I hope you get indigestion,” Frieda said.
The tape was brief:
“Police Department, Sergeant Kowalski speaking.”
“Hello. Is this the right place to phone to tell you something?”
“Yes ma’am, if you’ve got something to tell.”
“I heard it on the radio about Roger Lennard being dead. Is it true? I guess it must be true or they wouldn’t say it to everybody like that.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“They said a man quarreled with Roger. I know who it was. He’s mean, he’s a mean old man.”
“Just a minute and I’ll transfer this—”
“His name is Hilton Jasper and he lives at twelve hundred Via Vista.”
“Would you give me your name please, ma’am?”
The tape ended with a click. The voice was Cleo’s.