Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 7, No. 9, September 1962

The role of innocent bystander, or witness, if you prefer the term, is one which is usually played involuntarily... yet sometimes most effectively.

* * *

The detective was waiting for her as she emerged from the office building at five o’clock. Suddenly in the midst of the homegoers he was standing before her, very tall, a young man with a surprisingly gentle voice and considerate manner.

“Hello, Julie...” he said.

She was twenty, a dark-haired girl who worked as a secretary in the financial district of New York. She was one of many, not much different at first glance than the girls who sat at the desks around her, pretty enough, not very sophisticated, a girl everyone liked, accustomed to anonymity. She was, above all things, not used to being singled out by detectives; and she looked about self-consciously as the other girls passed, certain that some of them recognized Sergeant Ruderman from his visit to the office that morning.

“I wonder...” he said, as if sensing her thoughts, “is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

She nodded gratefully. “Yes, there’s a diner next door.”

Bill’s Diner was one of those trolley-shaped affairs with a long counter, a few booths and very good food. They sat in a booth, Julie facing the rear, and he signalled for two coffees. She looked at the telephone booths and thought that perhaps, if she were going to be late for dinner, she ought to call her mother. He said nothing until after coffee had arrived.

“Julie... Miss Stevens... something has been bothering me all day. This morning, when I spoke to you in your office...”

“Yes...?”

“I had the feeling you wanted to tell me something. About your boss, Mr. Turner, and his wife.”

She shook her head. She sipped at the coffee so that she could look away from him. “I told you everything, Sergeant Ruderman.”

“Did you?” If he weren’t a policeman, his easy tone of voice could be considered that of a friend, even a lover. He was a nice man, she thought, and he was probably very good at his job. “You know what I think,” he said, smiling faintly over his steaming coffee mug. “I think you’re a very confused girl. Maybe you’ve got a misdirected sense of loyalty. Come to think of it, I like a person who’s loyal.”

She didn’t fall into that trap. “I really can’t think of anything I haven’t told you,” she insisted.

“About the Turners... they weren’t getting along too well. Some of their friends have told us that. Did they have a blowup or a serious argument in the last few days?”

Julie shrugged. She could tell he didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t angry. He was an even-tempered man, and he was calm as he finished his coffee, looking at her all the while. Then suddenly he glanced at his watch and placed some change on the table for the waiter. He handed her a card.

“That’s my number at the station. You can call at any hour.” His grin was a pleasant surprise. “Just in case you find you have something to tell me, I mean. Now, will you kindly write your name and address on this other card?”

“My address...?” she said warily.

“Sure. Have you ever had a date with a detective?”

She thought of his motives, of his job.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t hear from me until after the case is closed. I don’t mix business with pleasure. And I don’t meet girls like you every day.”

She liked him, there was no getting away from that. And the straightforward, almost vulnerable way he looked at her was convincing enough for any girl. She filled in the back of the card and handed it to him.

“You’ll hear from me,” he said. “Or maybe... who can tell?... maybe I’ll hear from you first. Goodnight, Julie...”

After he left, she barely moved. A woman walked past to enter one of the phone booths. Abstractedly, Julie watched the stranger’s lips through the glass door and thought again that she ought to call her mother; but she couldn’t move.

Yes, there was something. The detective was right. It was not only the problem between Mr. Turner and his wife. About that she had lied. It was something else. But what?

She sighed. It occurred to her that Sergeant Ruderman might even believe there had been something between her and Mr. Turner. Well, there hadn’t been. Not really. Mary kept hinting that there was, but Mary was always carrying on... Like yesterday morning at the office... Wednesday... just before Mrs. Turner called...

Mary was Mr. Cassidy’s secretary. He was one of several vice presidents at Empire Investment, married; an outrageous wolf. Sometimes it seemed as though Mary... blond and vivacious, led him on, just a little. On Wednesday morning, there was a lot of flirtatious patter before Mr. Cassidy got past Julie’s and Mary’s adjacent desks to enter his own office.

“Sometimes I’m inclined to forget that he’s married,” Mary remarked, once his door had closed behind him.

“You’re just a lot of big talk,” said Julie.