For instance, the newspapers reported widened surveillance of all public places in midtown Manhattan hotels by uniformed officers and plainclothesmen.
Then a partial description of the Hotel Ripper was published. She was alleged to be five-seven to five-eight in very high heels, was slender, wore a shoulder-length wig, and carried a trenchcoat.
She also wore a gold link bracelet with the legend: why not? Her last costume was described as a tightly fitted dress of bottle- green silk with spaghetti straps.
These details flummoxed Zoe Kohler. She could not imagine how "police" had guessed all that about her-particularly the gold bracelet. She began to wonder if he had some undisclosed means of reading her secret thoughts, or perhaps reconstructing the past from the aura at the scene of the crime.
That dour, not to be appeased individual, who came shuffling after her told the newspaper and television reporters that the Hotel Ripper probably dressed flashily, in revealing gowns. He said her makeup and perfume would probably be heavy. He said that, although she was not a professional prostitute, she deliber- ately gave the impression of being sexually available.
He revealed that the weapon used in the first four crimes was a Swiss Army Knife, but it was possible a different knife was used in the fifth killing. He mentioned, almost casually, that it was believed the woman involved was connected, somehow, with the hotel business in Manhattan.
It was astounding! Where was "police" getting this information? For the first time she felt quivers of fear. That dried-up, icily determined old man with his sunken cheeks and maniacs glare would give her no rest until she did what he wanted.
Die.
She thought it through carefully. Her panic ebbed as she began to see ways to defeat her nemesis.
On the night of June 24th, a Tuesday, Zoe Kohler was awakened by a phone call at about 2:15 a.m.
At first she thought the caller, a male, was Ernest Mittle since he was sniffling and weeping; she had witnessed Ernie's tears several times. But the caller, between chokes and wails, identified himself as Harold Kurnitz.
She was finally able to understand what he was saying: Maddie Kurnitz had attempted to commit suicide by ingesting an overdose of sleeping pills. She was presently in the Intensive Care Unit of Soames-Phillips-and could Zoe come at once?
She showered before dressing, for reasons she could not comprehend. She told herself that she was not thinking straight because of the shocking news. She gave the night doorman a dollar to hail a cab for her. She was at the hospital less than an hour after Harry called.
He met her in the hallway on the fifth floor, rushing to her with open arms, his face wrenched.
"She's going to make it!" he cried, his voice thin and quavery. "She's going to make it!"
She got him seated on a wooden bench in the brightly lighted corridor. Slowly, gradually, with murmurs and pattings, she calmed him down. He sat hunched over, deflated, clutching trembling hands between his knees. He told her what had happened…
He said he had returned to the Kurnitz apartment a little before 1:30 a.m.
"I had to work late at the office," he mumbled.
He had started to undress, and then for some reason he couldn't explain, he decided to look in on Maddie.
"We were sleeping in different bedrooms," he explained. "When I work late… Anyway, it was just luck. Or maybe God. But if I hadn't looked in, the doc says she would have been gone."
He had found her crumpled on the floor in her shortie pajamas. Lying in a pool of vomit. He thought at first she had drunk too much and had passed out. But then, when he couldn't rouse her, he became frightened.
"I panicked," he said. "I admit it. I thought she was gone. I couldn't see her breathing. I mean, her chest wasn't going up and down or anything."
So he had called 911, and while he was waiting, he attempted to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. But he didn't know how to do it and was afraid he might be harming her.
"I just sort of blew in her mouth," he said, "but the guy in the ambulance said I didn't hurt her. He was the one who found the empty pill bottle in the bathroom. Phenobarbital. And there was an empty Scotch bottle that had rolled under the bed. The doc said if she hadn't vomited, she'd have been gone. It was that close."
Harry had ridden in the ambulance to Soames-Phillips, watching the attendant administer oxygen and inject stimulants.
"I kept repeating, 'Don't do this to me, Maddie.'" he said. "That's all I remember saying: 'Please don't do this to me.' Wasn't that a stupid, selfish thing to say? Listen, Zoe, I guess you know Maddie and I are separating. Maybe this was her way of, uh, you know, getting back at me. But I swear I never thought she'd pull anything like this. I mean, it was all friendly; we didn't fight or anything like that. No screaming. I never thought she'd…"
His voice trailed away.
"Maybe now you'll get back together again," Zoe said hopefully.
But he didn't answer, and after a while she left him and went in search of Maddie.
She found a young doctor scribbling on a clipboard outside the Intensive Care Unit. She asked him if she could see Mrs. Kurnitz.
"I'm Zoe Kohler," she said. "I'm her best friend. You can ask her husband. He's right down the hall."
He looked at her blankly.
"Why not?" he said finally, and again she thought of her gold bracelet. "She's not so bad. Puked up most of the stuff. She'll be dancing the fandango tomorrow night. But make it short."
Maddie was in a bed surrounded by white screens. She looked drained, waxen. Her eyes were closed. Zoe bent over her, took up a cool, limp hand. Maddie's eyes opened slowly. She stared at Zoe.
"Shit," she said in a wispy voice. "I fucked it up, didn't I? I can't do anything right."
"Oh, Maddie," Zoe Kohler said sorrowfully.
"I got the fucking pills down and then I figured I'd make sure by finishing the booze. But they tell me I upchucked."
"But you're alive," Zoe said.
"Hip, hip, hooray," Maddie said, turning her head to one side. "Is Harry still around?"
"He's right outside. Do you want to see him, Maddie?"
"What the hell for?"
"He's taking it hard. He's all broken up."
Maddie's mouth stretched in a grimace that wasn't mirth.
"He thinks it was because of him," she said, a statement, not a question. "The male ego. I couldn't care less."
"Then why…?"
Maddie turned her head back to glare at Zoe.
"Because I just didn't want to wake up," she said. "Another day. Another stupid, empty, fucking day. Harry's got nothing to do with it. It's me."
"Maddie, I… Maddie, I don't understand."
"What's the point?" she demanded. "Just what is the big, fucking point? Will you tell me that?"
Zoe was silent.
"Ah, shit," Maddie said. "What a downer it all is. Just being alive. Who needs it?"
"Maddie, you don't really feel like-"
"Don't tell me what I feel like, kiddo. You haven't a clue, not a clue. Oh, Christ, I'm sorry," she added immediately, her hand tightening on Zoe's. "You got your problems too, I know."
"But I thought you were-"
"All fun and games?" Maddie said, her mouth twisted. "A million laughs? You've got to be young for that, luv. When the tits begin to sag, it's time to take stock. I just figured I had the best of it and I didn't have the guts for what comes next. I'm a sprinter, sweetie, not a long distance runner."
"Do you really think you and Harry…?"
"No way. It's finished. Kaput. He had a toss in the hay with his tootsie tonight, and then came home and found me gasping my last. Big tragedy. Instant guilt. So he's all busted up. By tomorrow night he'll be sore at me for spoiling his sleep. Oh hell, I'm not blaming him. But it's all over. He knows it and I know it."