Into the Night

“I looked her up.” She told them about her songwriting aspirations. “The music publishers were no good. I thought if I could tie in with a performer, I might get somewhere.”

“Did she string you along? Is that why you had to keep going back to see her repeatedly?”

What were they trying to do in this particular spot, build a grudge between Dell and herself?

“Not at all. You see, she was kind enough to let me have the use of her piano. I don’t have one of my own to work on.”

“And was she always there when you went over?”

The key! she thought in a panic. Here comes the key! My God, I’ve boxed myself in.

Another of those incriminating bleaches passed over her face. One of them reached out and held her arm a moment to steady her. It wasn’t an encouraging hold and it wasn’t a friendly one; it was a steadying one only. Like when you want to keep somebody up.

A flagrant lie was the safest, as risky as it was. It was her word against the doorman’s. She couldn’t afford to let them “place” her alone at the apartment. God knows what dangers might crop up out of that.

“Always. Without fail. You see, I never neglected to call up ahead of time to make sure she would be there. If she didn’t answer, I didn’t go.”

“That brings up another point. When was the last time you were up to see her?”

They’re coming to it now, she cautioned herself. Hang on.

“Let me see. Today’s Monday. The last time I was over there was on Friday a week ago.”

“You weren’t up there today?”

“No.”

“You didn’t go up there at any time today?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Notice how they’re pressing? she said to herself. This is very thin ice. It’s the first time they’ve made me repeat a denial.

“Did the two of you speak with one another on the telephone?”

Here was a bad one. Did the hotel switchboard keep a record of incoming calls, if they were answered? Probably not, but one of the girls might remember that a woman had called her up. Dell’s voice had been excited enough to attract attention.

She didn’t want to bring the association up this close to the deadline. It was too dangerous. And deadline was the right word. She took a chance on an out-and-out lie instead. They couldn’t prove that it had been Dell. They certainly hadn’t tapped, because Dell had still been alive, and her calls hadn’t yet become police business.

“No.”

The large one said, like a huge but deadly silent tiger landing on its prey with all four paws, “Who was the woman who called you up at about five o’clock, approximately, this afternoon?”

With every word I sink in deeper, she thought, appalled. How the hell did they find out about it? Or hadn’t they, was it just a shot in the dark? Either way, she had to stick to her lie, she was stuck with it now. She groped desperately. Hairdresser? They’d check. Relative? They’d check. Nurse in doctor’s office? I haven’t been to any doctor’s office.

“A woman who used to go to the same church I did, a few years back. She lost her daughter, and I was kind to her at the time, and she’s never forgotten it since. Today was the anniversary of the death. She’s a Mrs. Bartlett.” (How much more plausible than that can you get? she thought.)

They didn’t press further on this. It’s strange, she said to herself. Sometimes when there’s nothing there, they dig and dig and dig. Then sometimes when there’s something there just waiting to be dug up, they muff it. Maybe they’re only human after all, and it’s foolish to be so afraid of them.

“Did you ever meet any of Miss Nelson’s other friends?”

“No. Not one.”

“Did she ever discuss them with you?”

“No. She was extremely close-mouthed.”

What were they fishing for there, she wondered, a jealousy motive on her part, over one of the men?

“Didn’t you ever hear her even talk on the phone with any of them?”

“Once or twice the phone rang, but I didn’t pay attention. The music covered it up.”

“Did she ever show you any of her belongings?”

“She showed me a fur piece once. And some pieces of jewelry.”

“Didn’t you wonder who gave them to her?”

“It was none of my business,” she said piously.

“Just for a moment, didn’t you wish that you owned them, that they were yours?” the tiger one said craftily.

She jumped to her feet, infuriated, then abruptly sat down again, just as infuriated. “What are you implying?” she said in an anger-cracked voice. “That I had my eye on them? That I took something without permission? There’s my clothes closet. Go over and look inside it. See for yourself.”

To her utter complete consternation and then complete infuriation, he took her at her word and got up and did so.

When he came back, ignoring the blazing look she gave him, he said unconcernedly to his partner, “Not a fur in there.”

But once she’d allowed herself to cool off sufficiently, she understood why he’d done it. He hadn’t seriously expected to find anything in there. It was just a psychological trick, to jangle her, undermine her self-confidence, if possible. Put her on the defensive.