Ed McBain - Doll

‘So what did you do?’

‘Well, I caught American’s eight-thirty flight, instead. Not a through flight; we made a stop at Chicago. I didn’t get here until almost five o’clock that night’

‘That was Monday night?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘When did you pick up your daughter?’

‘Yesterday morning. Today is Wednesday, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You lose track of time when you fly cross-country,’ Sachs said.

‘I suppose you do.’

The television m.c. was giving away a fourteen-cubic-foot refrigerator with a big, big one-hundred-and-sixty-pound freezer. The studio audience was applauding. Anna sat with her eyes fastened to the screen.

‘Mr Sachs, I wonder if we could talk about your wife.’

‘Yes, please.’

‘The child…’

‘I think she’s absorbed in the program.’ He glanced at her, and then said, ‘Would you prefer we discussed it in one of the other rooms?’

‘I thought that might be better, yes,’ Kling said.

‘Yes, you’re right. Of course,’ Sachs said. He rose and led Kling toward the larger bedroom. His valise, partially unpacked, was open on the stand alongside the bed. ‘I’m afraid everything’s a mess,’ he said. ‘It’s been hurry up, hurry up from the moment I arrived.’

‘I can imagine,’ Kling said. He sat in an easy chair near the bed. Sachs sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over intently, waiting for him to begin. ‘Mr Sachs, how long had you and your wife been divorced?’

‘Three years. And we separated a year before that.’

‘The child is how old?’

‘Anna? She’s five.’

‘Is there another child?’

‘No.’

‘The way you said “Anna,” I thought—’

‘No, there’s only the one child. Anna. That’s all.’

‘As I understand it, then, you and your wife separated the year after she was born.’

‘That’s right, yes. Actually, it was fourteen months. She was fourteen months old when we separated.’

‘Why was that, Mr Sachs?’

‘Why was what?’

‘Why did you separate?’

‘Well, you know.’ Sachs shrugged.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, that’s personal. I’m afraid.’

The room was very silent. Kling could hear the m.c. in the living room leading the audience in a round of applause for one of the contestants.

‘I can understand that divorce is a personal matter, Mr Sachs, but—’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Yes, I understand that.’

‘I’d rather not discuss it, Mr Kling. Really, I’d rather not. I don’t see how it would help you in solving… in solving my wife’s murder. Really.’

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to decide what would help us, Mr Sachs.’

‘We had a personal problem, let’s leave it at that.’

‘What sort of a personal problem?’

‘I’d rather not say. We simply couldn’t live together any longer, that’s all.’

‘Was there another man involved?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Forgive me, but I think you can see how another man might be important in a murder case.’

‘I’m sorry. Yes. Of course. Yes, it would be important. But it wasn’t anything like that. There was no one else involved. There was simply a… a personal problem between the two of us and we… we couldn’t find a way to resolve it, so… so we thought it best to split up. That’s all there was to it.’

‘What was the personal problem?’

‘Nothing that would interest you.’

Try me.’

‘My wife is dead,’ Sachs said.

‘I know that.’

‘Any problem she might have had is certainly—’

‘Oh, it was her problem then, is that right? Not yours?’

‘It was our problem,’ Sachs said. ‘Mr Kling, I’m not going to answer any other questions along these lines. If you insist that I do, you’ll have to arrest me. and I’ll get a lawyer, and we’ll see about it. In the meantime, I’ll just have to refuse to co-operate if that’s the tack you’re going to follow. I’m sorry.’

‘All right, Mr Sachs, perhaps you can tell me whether or not you mutually agreed to the divorce.’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘Whose idea was it? Yours or hers?’

‘Mine.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t answer that.’

‘You know, of course, that adultery is the only grounds for divorce in this state.’

‘Yes, I know that. There was no adultery involved. Tinka went to Nevada for the divorce.’

‘Did you go with her?’

‘No. She knew people in Nevada. She’s from the West Coast originally. She was bom in Los Angeles.’

‘Did she take the child with her?’

‘No. Anna stayed here with me while she was gone.’

‘Have you kept in touch since the divorce, Mr Sachs?’

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘Well, I see Anna, you know. We share the child. We agreed to that before the divorce. Stuck out in Arizona there, I didn’t have much chance to see her this past year. But usually, I see quite a bit of her. And I talked to Tinka on the phone, I used to talk to her on the phone, and I also wrote to her. We kept in touch, yes.’

‘Would you have described your relationship as a friendly one?’

‘I loved her,’ Sachs said flatly.

‘I see.’

Again, the room was silent. Sachs turned his head away.

‘Do you have any idea who might have killed her?’ Kling asked.

‘No.’

‘None whatever?’

‘None whatever.’

‘When did you communicate with her last?’

‘We wrote to each other almost every week.’

‘Did she mention anything that was troubling her?’

‘No.’

‘Did she mention any of her friends who might have reason to…?’

‘No.’

‘When did you write to her last?’

‘Last week sometime.’

‘Would you remember exactly when?’

‘I think it was… the fifth or the sixth, I’m not sure.’

‘Did you send the letter by air?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it should have arrived here before her death.’

‘Yes, I imagine it would have.’

‘Did she usually save your letters?’

‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘We couldn’t find any of them in the apartment.’

‘Then I guess she didn’t save them.’

‘Did you save her letters?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mr Sachs, would you know one of your wife’s friends who answers this description: Six feet two or three inches tall, heavily built, in his late thirties or early forties, with straight blond hair and—’

‘I don’t know who Tinka saw after we were divorced. We led separate lives.’

‘But you still loved her.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why did you divorce her?’ Kling asked again, and Sachs did not answer. ‘Mr Sachs, this may be very important to us…’

‘It isn’t.’

‘Was your wife a dyke?’

‘No.’

‘Are you a homosexual?’

‘No.’

‘Mr Sachs, whatever it was, believe me, it won’t be something new to us. Believe me, Mr Sachs, and please trust me.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s none of your business. It has nothing to do with anything but Tinka and me.’

‘Okay,’ Kling said.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Think about it. I know you’re upset at the moment, but—’

‘There’s nothing to think about. There are some things I will never discuss with anyone, Mr Kling. I’m sorry, but I owe at least that much to Tinka’s memory.’

‘I understand,’ Kling said, and rose. ‘Thank you for your time. I’ll leave my card, in case you remember anything that might be helpful to us.’

‘All right,’ Sachs said.

‘When will you be going back to Arizona?’

‘I’m not sure. There’s so much to be arranged. Tinka’s lawyer advised me to stay for a while, at least to the end of the month, until the estate can be settled, and plans made for Anna… there’s so much to do.’