would have looked up Patti Royce. She would also have looked up the star and the understudy in Little Dorrit , but she held back, thinking of the headline possibilities of the merest mention of actors in a hit show.
Marks guided her out of the cordoned area. “I’d like to see your article on Butts and the dance, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“So would I,” Julie said.
“You don’t have a copy?”
“Not allowed,” Julie said. “Wasn’t it in his desk?”
“No, Mrs. Hayes. Nor in the waste baskets, nor in the office. Nor anywhere Miss Arthur could think of.”
“She told you about it?”
“She did.”
“Boy, she got here in a hurry,” Julie said. “All the way from Brooklyn.”
“There are investigative facilities in Brooklyn, Mrs. Hayes, and excellent police liaison.”
“Oh,” Julie said.
NINE
S LEEP CAME, FINALLY, HALF-WAY through the four A.M. showing of Boston Blackie starring Chester Morris. It was not the picture that tranquilized her. Julie escaped the endless repetitions of the day’s trauma by thinking of names she considered unsuitable for an actor: Chester, Elmer, Archibald, Percy…. The phone wakened her at nine. It was Jeff. The first thing she asked was where he was.
“At our Paris office.”
“Jeff, do you know about Tony?”
“It came over several hours ago. I thought you might be trying to reach me.”
“I was with the police until almost four. Jeff, they even tested me to see whether I’d fired a gun. I haven’t ever in my whole life. Did you know Tony kept a gun in the office?”
“I knew he had one, a thirty-eight revolver. Fran has its mate. They belong to a gun club in Queens. But you probably know that.”
“I didn’t know it,” Julie said. “I seem to have known very little about them.”
“You’ll find that information in the morning paper,” Jeff said. “It’s in the Herald here. They took practice together yesterday afternoon. Do you have anything recent on Fran? I gather she’s a prime suspect.”
“Is she? I didn’t know. Jeff, when you said they were having trouble, did you mean with their marriage?”
“I purposely did not say and I think now it’s better to leave it that way.”
“Okay,” Julie said. “What else did you purposely not say that might help me figure out why Tony was murdered?”
“Is it incumbent on you to participate in the investigation?”
“Jeff, I’m going to hang up on you. What’s the matter with you?”
His voice grew even colder. “I’m upset at Tony’s death. There ought to have been more I could have done at our last meeting than exchange epithets with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Julie said. “I didn’t know about Fran, only that the police had talked with her and with the daughter. I don’t even know the girl’s name.”
“Her name is Eleanor. I don’t know much more about her than you do. She’s Fran’s daughter by a previous marriage. Tony adopted her as an infant. She’d be twenty-one at least. Tony and Fran were married while I was working for him.”
“All I know,” Julie said, “is that Fran was visiting her once when I went somewhere with Tony. That’s the only mention I ever heard him make of her. Could she be retarded or anything like that?”
“It’s possible.”
“Didn’t Tony ever talk to you about her, for God’s sake?”
“Not one word that I can remember.”
“That’s crazy—like somebody they kept in a closet. Anyway, the police talked with her, wherever she is.”
“She’s home,” Jeff said. “She’s the last known person to have spoken with him—on the phone last night.”
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Julie said. “Some crazy things have happened since you left. Besides Tony’s death. Can we talk for a few minutes?”
“Take your time. It’s on the WATS Line.”
“Remember the press agent who came to our table at Sardi’s—Jay Phillips?”
“I remember. He had no use for Tony and he’d lost his biggest account—and
Marks guided her out of the cordoned area. “I’d like to see your article on Butts and the dance, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“So would I,” Julie said.
“You don’t have a copy?”
“Not allowed,” Julie said. “Wasn’t it in his desk?”
“No, Mrs. Hayes. Nor in the waste baskets, nor in the office. Nor anywhere Miss Arthur could think of.”
“She told you about it?”
“She did.”
“Boy, she got here in a hurry,” Julie said. “All the way from Brooklyn.”
“There are investigative facilities in Brooklyn, Mrs. Hayes, and excellent police liaison.”
“Oh,” Julie said.
NINE
S LEEP CAME, FINALLY, HALF-WAY through the four A.M. showing of Boston Blackie starring Chester Morris. It was not the picture that tranquilized her. Julie escaped the endless repetitions of the day’s trauma by thinking of names she considered unsuitable for an actor: Chester, Elmer, Archibald, Percy…. The phone wakened her at nine. It was Jeff. The first thing she asked was where he was.
“At our Paris office.”
“Jeff, do you know about Tony?”
“It came over several hours ago. I thought you might be trying to reach me.”
“I was with the police until almost four. Jeff, they even tested me to see whether I’d fired a gun. I haven’t ever in my whole life. Did you know Tony kept a gun in the office?”
“I knew he had one, a thirty-eight revolver. Fran has its mate. They belong to a gun club in Queens. But you probably know that.”
“I didn’t know it,” Julie said. “I seem to have known very little about them.”
“You’ll find that information in the morning paper,” Jeff said. “It’s in the Herald here. They took practice together yesterday afternoon. Do you have anything recent on Fran? I gather she’s a prime suspect.”
“Is she? I didn’t know. Jeff, when you said they were having trouble, did you mean with their marriage?”
“I purposely did not say and I think now it’s better to leave it that way.”
“Okay,” Julie said. “What else did you purposely not say that might help me figure out why Tony was murdered?”
“Is it incumbent on you to participate in the investigation?”
“Jeff, I’m going to hang up on you. What’s the matter with you?”
His voice grew even colder. “I’m upset at Tony’s death. There ought to have been more I could have done at our last meeting than exchange epithets with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Julie said. “I didn’t know about Fran, only that the police had talked with her and with the daughter. I don’t even know the girl’s name.”
“Her name is Eleanor. I don’t know much more about her than you do. She’s Fran’s daughter by a previous marriage. Tony adopted her as an infant. She’d be twenty-one at least. Tony and Fran were married while I was working for him.”
“All I know,” Julie said, “is that Fran was visiting her once when I went somewhere with Tony. That’s the only mention I ever heard him make of her. Could she be retarded or anything like that?”
“It’s possible.”
“Didn’t Tony ever talk to you about her, for God’s sake?”
“Not one word that I can remember.”
“That’s crazy—like somebody they kept in a closet. Anyway, the police talked with her, wherever she is.”
“She’s home,” Jeff said. “She’s the last known person to have spoken with him—on the phone last night.”
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Julie said. “Some crazy things have happened since you left. Besides Tony’s death. Can we talk for a few minutes?”
“Take your time. It’s on the WATS Line.”
“Remember the press agent who came to our table at Sardi’s—Jay Phillips?”
“I remember. He had no use for Tony and he’d lost his biggest account—and
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