A SMALL WELL-DRESSED CROWD had converged on the barricade near the entrance to the New York Daily building—gold and silver slippers, patent leather pumps on the rainy pavement. She preferred to look down, as though looking down might diminish her own high visibility. People were speculating on who she was to arrive under police escort. Everybody on the street seemed to know that Tony Alexander had been murdered. A lot of them were exchanging ideas on why.
On the fifteenth floor the office corridor was cordoned off. Daily staffers were trying to convince the police of their priorities. The only acknowledged priorities were those of the Crime Scene unit. Julie was conducted directly into the reception room of Hale and Kister, Architects, across the hall from the Alexander office. The entire area was cloudy with cigarette smoke, the air heavy with the smell of chemicals and wet clothes, and what Julie thought might be gunpowder, but she had not had much experience with that.
A soft-spoken black detective who introduced himself as Wally Herring said he was glad to see her and closed the door on the clamor outside. He had the tape recorder ready to roll when Lieutenant Marks arrived. Marks was good-looking, trim, in his early forties, about six feet. His hair was glossy black and cut with care. His eyes met Julie’s as part of a swift non-committal appraisal. He offered his hand, and for a wild minute Julie thought he was going to kiss hers when he lifted it to his nose, and sniffed.
“Yardley’s,” Julie said, but she felt uneasy.
“We may go to more sophisticated equipment later.” He motioned her toward a pair of vinyl upholstered chairs. “Just pick up the volume, Wally.” Herring, at the reception desk, adjusted the machine and started it rolling.
“Are you right-or left-handed, by the way?” Marks asked.
“Right,” Julie said. “Why the tests?” Since she was sure now that she had smelled gunpowder, the true point to her question was why test her.
Marks understood. “Weren’t you in the office this evening?” he asked blandly.
“In the building, but not the office.”
He looked at her skeptically. “Let’s take things in order.” He nodded to the other detective.
Herring led her through identification, job description, information on the other staff and a run down on office routine.
“You ought to get the office business from Alice Arthur,” Julie said. “She’s much closer to Tony and she’s been on the job a lot longer than I have.”
Marks nodded. “Perhaps you can tell us now what you meant by ‘in the building, but not in the office.’”
“I started to sign in at the night desk. Then I noticed Tony’s name in the book and decided not to come up.”
“Why?”
“It was almost ten o’clock…. No, that wasn’t the reason. I just didn’t want to see him.”
“It was almost ten o’clock,” Marks repeated. “Did you think he might have someone in the office with him?”
“I don’t think that crossed my mind. I was only thinking of myself.”
“So you did not come upstairs?” the detective persisted.
“I did not.”
Marks sighed heavily, giving her the impression that he had other information. “So what did you do?”
“I went out and caught the first cab I could and went home.”
“Do you remember the cabbie’s name or number?”
“No, sir. But I think he might remember me—an extra dollar tip to wait until I got inside the building. The phone rang at eleven thirty but I let the answering service pick it up. I woke up alarmed when it rang at one fifteen.”
Marks nodded sympathetically, which put her on guard. Which, in turn, was ridiculous. Why should she be on guard? “What was your purpose in returning to the office in the first place, Mrs. Hayes?”
“I did not return to the office, Lieutenant Marks. I intended to look up some names in what we call the celebrity file.”
“At ten o’clock at night?”
“Yes.” What else could she say?
“When have you been in the office at that hour before?”
“I haven’t been.”
“You just happened to be in the neighborhood?”
“Could I tell you in my own words what happened yesterday?”
“In your own words. Of course.”
Julie recounted her day from Tony’s blast at her the moment she entered the office. The tape rolled silently. Marks made an occasional one word note, but he did not interrupt. When she finished he deferred to his partner. Herring asked for Mary Ryan’s address and that of Murray’s Funeral Home.
“That’s a fair walk all by yourself on a rainy night,” Marks started again.
“I know.”
“How did Phillips die?”
“He’s supposed to have jumped from the George Washington Bridge.”
“Ah, yes.” Then: “Supposed?”
“I believe there was a witness.”
He waited a second or so and then asked: “Is there any association in your mind between the two deaths?”
“I don’t know.”
“That sounds like a qualified yes.”
“To explain I have to go back to Wednesday night when my husband and I were having dinner at a restaurant before he left for Europe.” She told of Jay Phillips’ remarks to her and Jeff. “But I ought to say, Jay’s opinion of Tony Alexander was probably shared by a number of people.”
“A legion of enemies,” Marks suggested.
“A number. It’s inevitable in the business.”
“Who else do you have in mind?”
Oh, Julie, she thought, never volunteer. “I was just speaking generally, Lieutenant.”
“I understand. Have you been able to learn why this Mr. Phillips felt the way he did?”
“No, sir.”
“How did Alexander feel about him?”
“Contemptuous is the first word that comes to mind.”
“We may want to go into this later,” Marks said, “but we must assume for now that Phillips, already dead, is not a suspect in Alexander’s murder, which is the crime under our investigation.”
“Am I a suspect?” Julie asked.
“Well, you’re very much alive,” Marks said with the slightest of smiles. “Let’s talk some more about you. I understand you and your husband were personal friends of the Alexanders…”
Julie turned that over in her mind: she had scarcely thought of Fran, only of herself. “I ought to have thought about Fran,” she said aloud. “We used to be closer friends than we’ve been lately. I haven’t seen her since shortly after I went to work for Tony. He and my husband did meet.” She wondered if it was Fran who had told him of the family friendship.
“Did you know she was in the office this afternoon?”
“No, sir.”
“Any ill will between you and Mrs. Alexander?”
“Not on my part certainly. I’m fond of her. But the longstanding friendship was between Tony and my husband. Jeff started his career working for Tony.”
“Geoffrey Hayes?”
Julie nodded and thought how often she had mentioned him.
“Are you familiar with the box on Alexander’s desk, the one with the slot ink?”
“Yes, sir. We put our copy in it for Tony.”
“Ever try to get anything out of it?”
“No. I don’t think it’s possible without the key.”
“You know the box is bolted to the desk?”
“I know that I’ve never seen it in any other place,” Julie said, wondering now for the first time why it was so carefully secured.
“Ever see inside of it?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Did you know that Alexander kept a loaded revolver in that box?”
“No, sir. I certainly did not know that.”
Marks got to his feet. “Let’s see if we can go over there now. Wally, anything more you want on the tape from Mrs. Hayes?”
“Mrs. Hayes, did you notice any other name besides Mr. Alexander’s in the registry?”
“No. I only noticed Tony’s because it was familiar to me.”
“Yes, ma’am. What was the name of the man you wrote the story about?”
“Morton Butts.”
Marks and Herring exchanged glances. “I’ll check it out,” Herring said.