Том Годвин: Ed McBaines 87th Precinct Mystery Magazine. Volume 1, No. 4. April, 1975

“You remember me,” he said. The sarcasm in his voice was evidence of his annoyance over the time he was wasting, but when she apologized profusely and paid him more than double the fare, he turned friendly and curious.

“I guess you had a kind of wild night,” he said, with a grin. “Did you ever find your purse?”

She shook her head and merely admitted that things were a “little confused.” She evaded his other questions, and after he had left, sat in a reverie, the events of the night drifting through her mind. She recalled being helped into the back of the car; then, a man slid next to her. At the party he was the one who had talked most to her. He had laughed loudly and foolishly, even in the car, and she had an impression of his features — a rounded face, somewhat feminine, large eyes and long, ragged hair. But who else was in the car? Evidently another man, one who sat in front. She tried to force a picture of him, but nothing would appear. Someone else was in front, a woman, perhaps. Or was she imagining? She had talked to several women at the party. Did she remember a thin, high voice in the car — and later on?

A woman’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Are you floating off into space?”

Charlene, pulled abruptly into awareness, looked up in confusion.

“You are a million miles away.” Lisa, who worked in an adjoining office, stood next to her, smiling. “How about coming down to earth?”

Charlene nodded, fingering the papers on her desk. “I guess I’d better, with all these letters waiting.”

“You’ve had some strange visitors,” said Lisa. “Since when do taxi drivers come to the office?”

Charlene laughed. “You really notice things, don’t you?” She saw the girl’s eyes narrow and added quickly, “Not that I object. I appreciate your bringing me back to reality.” She had only spoken to Lisa a few times and had an impression of her as rather aloof and cool. Now, the girl’s expression was pleasant, but Charlene detected the same coldness and even a touch of resentment in her face. As Charlene gazed, noting the girl’s features, the high cheek bones, thin lips and firm chin, she felt an odd sensation. She groaned inwardly. It couldn’t be a sense of familiarity. Was her imagination out of control again? Unable to repress the words, she blurted them. “Did I see you at a party last night?” She continued awkwardly. “It was one of those affairs... you know... people coming and going all the time. I thought...”

“Me — at a party?” Lisa acted as though the idea were absurd. “Last night I was at school. I’m taking a course in French.”

Charlene watched the girl turn and leave. She shook her head ruefully. She really must forget about last night and settle down to work. She was typing determinedly when Mr. Hunt appeared at her elbow. “There’s a man who wants to speak to you,” he said. She thought his glance was odd. He waved a hand. “You can use my office. He’s waiting there.”

Actually, she found two men waiting. She sensed at once that they were policemen. The younger one introduced himself as Lieutenant Corey and his companion as Officer Gerber. Corey pulled out Mr. Hunt’s chair for her, and she found herself sitting behind the desk, facing the two men. She looked at them in disbelief. “This can’t be about last night.”

Corey, slim and boyish, had an earnest gaze, and when he spoke in a soft voice he seemed more like a student than a policeman. “Why couldn’t it be?” he asked.

“The officer at the station thought I was imagining or that I’d had too many drinks.”

“Well, how many did you have?”

“Two very strange drinks,” she said. “They were called Devil’s Dew and I have no idea what was in them.” She smiled. “Except that they were very potent.”

Under his questioning she told him about the man on the piano bench and how, when she returned later with the policeman, the display was normal, with a woman at the piano. She watched him as she finished. “Like a crazy nightmare,” she said. “Go on — tell me you don’t believe a word of it. I won’t mind. I’m about ready to admit that none of it happened.”

He avoided answering. “The man on the bench. Can you describe him?”

“I don’t know. My mind was fuzzy. All I can remember is the staring eyes... and the face, in agony. And the blood dripping down the side of the face.”

Gerber and Corey exchanged glances. “The knife,” said Gerber. “One would think that if a man was killed, well, he’d be stabbed in the back. But the blood on his face...?”

“I told you,” she said. “When I looked through the window, I could see that the knife would miss his back. At the time I was thinking — the window dresser had been very careless in placing the dummy on the bench.”

Corey, obviously puzzled, made no comment but asked her to describe the party and what followed. Prompted by his questions, she supplied the details and told of the drive downtown. “I know it sounds impossible,” she said. “It was after midnight, but they went inside that department store, and I was with them.” She looked challengingly at Corey.

He was grinning. “It’s not impossible. In fact, I’m sure you were inside the store.” He met her astonished gaze and bent down to reach under his chair. He offered her the black bag. “I presume this is yours? We found it in the store, behind the window.”

She took the bag, recognizing it at once as hers. She inspected him coldly. “You kept this hidden all the time and never told me about it.”

He flushed. “I’m sorry. It was important to hear your story first; there was no attempt to trick you. We’re trying to fit things together. And now, as you can see, we’ve checked out one part of your story.”

His concern and his attempt to soothe her seemed so sincere, that she found herself liking this sensitive young man. “And the rest of my — story?”

He was cautious, explaining that more information was needed; to begin with, one question must be answered: how did she and the others get into the store?

She had no idea, and although she had thought of a watchman before he mentioned one, her mind could produce no image of anybody. “Was there a watchman on duty?” she asked.

Corey nodded. “He’s probably sleeping now. We’re going to his house. I don’t imagine he’ll be in a happy mood when we wake him up.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “How’d you like to come along? Your boss has given permission.”

Charlene was surprised. “Why would you want me?”

“The faces are all blanks to you, right now. The watchman’s face might stir some memories. Perhaps you’ll recall him or his actions. And that might bring back some of the others — and what they did.”

As they left the floor, Charlene could glimpse Lisa staring at them through the glass partition of a nearby office. The girl’s probably dying of curiosity, she thought, resisting a momentary impulse to smile and wave.

The watchman, a stocky gray-haired man named Lawrence, reacted with even more impatience and irritation than Charlene had expected. Awakened by his wife, he stalked into the room, glaring at the two men. “Police?” he said. “What’s this all about?” Corey’s most tactful approach did little to change the man’s attitude. Lawrence made it plain that the questions were ridiculous. “I’ve been working for Leland’s for thirty years,” he announced. “And I’ve been night watchman for ten. I check all the doors as soon as I go on duty, and I make sure everything’s locked.” His angry gaze shifted to Charlene. “What’s this girl got to do with it? Is she claiming somebody was in the store? Well she’s lying. She—”

“Let’s hold that,” said Corey “We just want some simple answers. You’re telling us that nobody was in the store. You let no one in, is that right?”