the station.
Detective Honey, whom they had called beforehand, came out to meet them, extending his hand congenially. He reminded Alice of a farmer, a friend of her father who was now dead. As a gesture of affection, he had been in the habit of putting his big hands on Alice’s eleven-year-old shoulders and cracking her back. His hands were like rocks from years of farming, and the pain of his affection hadn’t been eased by his cheery, teasing words.
As Honey placed the chairs and offered them coffee, as she herself smiled warmly in response to his inquiries, she assumed that he suspected them, innocent as they were, and that if he could get evidence on them of any kind, even the most circumstantial, he would use it against them rather than pursue further investigation. Wasn’t it well known that the police were simply overwhelmed with work?
“You’ve been in the Adirondacks, Miss Gabriel?”
“I got back last night.”
“How was the weather up there? Isn’t this rather early in the season for the Adirondacks?” He looked up at a wall calendar and Alice’s gaze followed his. May 11.
“The weather was quite good, actually. I can’t afford to go during the season.” Susan finished with a smile, and set her purse on the floor beside her chair.
“You are employed at?”
“I manage Chops, on Broadway.”
“Chops?”
“It’s a boutique specializing in imported clothing, mostly from France and Italy.”
“Expensive?”
“Very.”
“And you can’t afford to go to the Adirondacks during the season?”
“I don’t buy my clothes at Chops, either.”
Alice smiled and bit her lip. Honey chuckled, then settled more deeply, more intimately into his seat and tried again. “You are aware that Miss Ellis here found the bodies?” He smiled at Alice.
“Mrs.” This time Susan said it. “Yes, she told me all the details. I was hoping that you would have something more to tell me.”
Alice marvelled that Susan was hardly susceptible to Honey at all, that his very presence didn’t call from her a stream of talk, as it had from Alice, as it did even now, when he attended Susan, and remarks, questions, conciliatory observations piled up behind Alice’s teeth. Honey said, “Let me just get a few facts down here, then I can let you go.” He coughed. “Your name is Susan Gabriel, you live at 523 West Seventy-fourth Street, you manage the clothing store ‘Chops’ at where on Broadway?”
“Seventy-eighth Street. I’ve been the manager there for about four years.”
“Before that?”
“I managed a housewares shop on Seventy-second, near Amsterdam.”
“Your duties?”
“Hiring and firing, watching over, but not doing, the books, helping the owners decide what to buy, making daily decisions about damaged merchandise, shoplifting, window design. Maid of all work.”
“You’ve lived in Manhattan six years, like Miss Ellis?”
“We came together.”
“With Mr. Minehart and Mr. Shellady?”
“And Mr. Mast and Mr. Reschley and Mr. Ellis.”
“Yes, the other members of the band.”
“Jim Ellis wasn’t a musician,” offered Alice. “He is my former husband.”
“A wholesale migration, then?” Honey smiled. Alice could not help smiling with him, but Susan remained sober faced. “In those days,” she said, “it seemed perfectly natural. We lived in Chicago for about a year, and before that we were in Minneapolis.”
“You have been close friends for a long time, then?”
“The band formed in the summer of 1968.”
“There have never been any falling-outs in all those years?”
“No,” said Susan.
“What about—” Honey flipped back a couple of pages in his notebook—“Mr. Dale Nolan?”
“Dale was the original drummer in the band. He moved to California some years ago, to be with another band. He wasn’t a particularly close friend, though.”
“There was some friction between him and the band?”
“Some.”
Honey waited for Susan to go on. So did Alice. She
Detective Honey, whom they had called beforehand, came out to meet them, extending his hand congenially. He reminded Alice of a farmer, a friend of her father who was now dead. As a gesture of affection, he had been in the habit of putting his big hands on Alice’s eleven-year-old shoulders and cracking her back. His hands were like rocks from years of farming, and the pain of his affection hadn’t been eased by his cheery, teasing words.
As Honey placed the chairs and offered them coffee, as she herself smiled warmly in response to his inquiries, she assumed that he suspected them, innocent as they were, and that if he could get evidence on them of any kind, even the most circumstantial, he would use it against them rather than pursue further investigation. Wasn’t it well known that the police were simply overwhelmed with work?
“You’ve been in the Adirondacks, Miss Gabriel?”
“I got back last night.”
“How was the weather up there? Isn’t this rather early in the season for the Adirondacks?” He looked up at a wall calendar and Alice’s gaze followed his. May 11.
“The weather was quite good, actually. I can’t afford to go during the season.” Susan finished with a smile, and set her purse on the floor beside her chair.
“You are employed at?”
“I manage Chops, on Broadway.”
“Chops?”
“It’s a boutique specializing in imported clothing, mostly from France and Italy.”
“Expensive?”
“Very.”
“And you can’t afford to go to the Adirondacks during the season?”
“I don’t buy my clothes at Chops, either.”
Alice smiled and bit her lip. Honey chuckled, then settled more deeply, more intimately into his seat and tried again. “You are aware that Miss Ellis here found the bodies?” He smiled at Alice.
“Mrs.” This time Susan said it. “Yes, she told me all the details. I was hoping that you would have something more to tell me.”
Alice marvelled that Susan was hardly susceptible to Honey at all, that his very presence didn’t call from her a stream of talk, as it had from Alice, as it did even now, when he attended Susan, and remarks, questions, conciliatory observations piled up behind Alice’s teeth. Honey said, “Let me just get a few facts down here, then I can let you go.” He coughed. “Your name is Susan Gabriel, you live at 523 West Seventy-fourth Street, you manage the clothing store ‘Chops’ at where on Broadway?”
“Seventy-eighth Street. I’ve been the manager there for about four years.”
“Before that?”
“I managed a housewares shop on Seventy-second, near Amsterdam.”
“Your duties?”
“Hiring and firing, watching over, but not doing, the books, helping the owners decide what to buy, making daily decisions about damaged merchandise, shoplifting, window design. Maid of all work.”
“You’ve lived in Manhattan six years, like Miss Ellis?”
“We came together.”
“With Mr. Minehart and Mr. Shellady?”
“And Mr. Mast and Mr. Reschley and Mr. Ellis.”
“Yes, the other members of the band.”
“Jim Ellis wasn’t a musician,” offered Alice. “He is my former husband.”
“A wholesale migration, then?” Honey smiled. Alice could not help smiling with him, but Susan remained sober faced. “In those days,” she said, “it seemed perfectly natural. We lived in Chicago for about a year, and before that we were in Minneapolis.”
“You have been close friends for a long time, then?”
“The band formed in the summer of 1968.”
“There have never been any falling-outs in all those years?”
“No,” said Susan.
“What about—” Honey flipped back a couple of pages in his notebook—“Mr. Dale Nolan?”
“Dale was the original drummer in the band. He moved to California some years ago, to be with another band. He wasn’t a particularly close friend, though.”
“There was some friction between him and the band?”
“Some.”
Honey waited for Susan to go on. So did Alice. She
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