Morning Frost by Henry James

for Baskin, Miss Rayner?’
    ‘Ten years, on and off.’
    ‘Harry told us you’d retired from the stage.’
    ‘He did, did he?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I manage the place – I don’t perform. ’
    ‘He implied you were too old.’ Waters said it with a clear look of disbelief.
    She shrugged matter-of-factly. ‘Harry likes them young.’
    ‘You must see who comes, who goes?’
    ‘I’m not his secretary. I told you, I manage the club, that’s it.’
    ‘What does that involve?’
    ‘Hiring the acts. Running the bar; arranging brewery deliveries. It’s not Camden Palace, but it needs looking after.’
    ‘When you say hiring the acts …’
    ‘The girls, Sergeant.’ She lit another cigarette, gracefully uncrossing and recrossing her slim legs. She gave Waters a knowing look. ‘He’d never get anyone to work there if I didn’t handle it. Harry can’t keep his hands off them; especially the younger ones.’
    ‘Hold on … the girl who shot Baskin this morning, the boy told him she was a stripper.’
    Waters pulled out his notebook and relayed what Baskin had said, along with the description.
    ‘Doesn’t sound like one of ours.’
    ‘Would Baskin and Rhodes have recognized her if she was?’
    ‘More than likely.’
    Waters looked troubled. ‘So Cecil just merrily lets in some stranger off the street. I know Harry’s hardly Don Corleone, but if you think he had it coming, I’m surprised by the lax security arrangements.’
    She considered this for a moment. ‘Well, whoever it was knew that Harry can never resist a pretty girl, and Cecil wouldn’t have wanted him to miss out. He’s not the sharpest tool in the box, our Cecil, but he could hardly be expected to know she was packing.’
    The woman looked at Waters. Faint wrinkles were just beginning to show at the corners of her pale blue eyes.
    ‘And so, back to our original discussion. Who do you think might, in your own words, be “fed up” enough with Harry to want to wipe him out?’
    ‘God, where would you start … Harry’s mixed in dodgy company for years. Could be anyone.’
    Waters glanced around the large, neat kitchen. ‘Pay you well, does he?’
    ‘Am I a suspect?’ she snapped.
    ‘No, we’re just finding out as much as we can about Harry.’
    ‘Of course, sorry – I’m just tired.’
    ‘What are your hours, Miss Rayner?’
    ‘Six p.m. to three a.m.’
    Rayner gave an account of the previous night at the Coconut Grove. Her story checked out with Kate Greenlaw’s statement. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Harry was still at the card table when Rayner left at ten past three on Thursday morning.
    ‘Whoever shot him knew he’d still be there at that time in the morning, and not at home. Did he often spend the night in his office?’
    ‘I have no idea. I don’t give him a kiss goodnight and I’m not there in the morning …’
    ‘How would you describe your relationship with Harry?’
    ‘I’ve put up with him for ten years.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s about the best I can say.’
    Waters wondered just how much Rayner’s evasive manner might be concealing. He was about to start probing further when a telephone rang from somewhere within the house.
    ‘Do you mind if I get that?’ She slipped elegantly out of the room without waiting for an answer. Waters stood up and took in his surroundings in more detail, running his fingers across the granite work surface and admiring the shiny, German-made appliances. It seemed unlikely Miss Rayner could’ve kitted out this kitchen solely on her wages from Baskin’s. Did she take on customers of her own, Waters wondered?
    She returned and leaned alluringly against the doorframe, an amused look on her face. ‘It’s Harry on the phone, calling from his hospital bed. He wants to make sure I open up this evening as per usual …’
    Waters raised an eyebrow; this Denton lot were a hardy bunch, he’d give them that. Someone had clearly wanted Baskin dead, but the