Ed McBain - Widows

"A courtesy follow-up?" she said, annoyed by Carella's unfortunate choice of a word.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, "in order to keep the investigation ongoing ..."

. . . but under the so-called First Man Up rule, the previous homicide demanded that both cases be investigated by the detectives who'd caught the first one. This meant that her husband's case was now officially theirs, and they'd be the ones. . .

"What previous homicide?" she asked again.

"The murder of a woman named Susan Brauer," Carella said, and watched her eyes.

Nothing showed in those eyes.

"Do you know anyone by that name?" Brown asked.

Watching her eyes.

"No, I don't."

Nothing there. Not a flicker of recognition.

"You didn't read anything about her murder in the papers ..."

"No."

". . . or see anything about it on television?"

"No."

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"Because it's had a lot of coverage."

"I'm sorry," she said, and looked at them, seemingly or genuinely puzzled. "When you say my husband's death may have been connected ..."

"Yes, ma'am."

". . .to this previous homicide ..."

"Yes, ma'am, that's a possibility we're now considering."

Lying of course. It was no longer a mere possibility but a definite probability. Well, yes, there did exist the remotest chance that Arthur Schumacher's death was totally unrelated to Susan Brauer's but there wasn't a cop alive who'd have accepted million-to-one odds on such a premise.

"Connected how?"

The detectives looked at each other.

"Connected how?" she said again.

"Mrs Schumacher," Carella said, "when we were here on Saturday, when we found that key in your husband's desk, you said the only safe-deposit box you had was up here at First Federal Trust on Culver Avenue, that's what you told us on Saturday."

"That's right."

"You said you didn't know of any box at Union Savings, which was the name of the bank printed on that little red envelope. You said ..."

"IsriWdon't."

"Mrs Schumacher, there « a box at that bank, and it's in your husband's name."

They were still watching her eyes. If she'd known what was in that box, if she now realized that they, too, knew what was in it, then something would have shown in her eyes, on her face, something would have flickered there. But nothing did.

"I'm surprised," she said.

"You didn't know that box existed."

"No. Why would Arthur have kept a box all the way downtown? We ..."

"Union Savings on Wellington Street," Brown said. "Three blocks from his office."

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"Yes, but we have the box up here, you see. So why would he have needed another one?"

"Have you got any ideas about that?" Carella asked.

"None at all. Arthur never kept anything from me, why wouldn't he have mentioned a safe-deposit box down there near his office? I mean . . . what was in the box, do you know?"

"Mrs Schumacher," Brown said, "did you know your husband was planning a trip to Europe at the end of the month?"

"Yes, I did."

"Italy and France, wasn't it?"

"Yes, on business."

Coming up on it from the blind side, trying to find out if she'd known about those tickets in the safe-deposit box, if she had somehow seen those tickets . . .

"Leaving on the twenty-ninth for Milan ..."

... or had learned in some other way, any other way, about the affair her husband was having with a beautiful, twenty-two . . .

"Yes."

"... and returning from Lyons on the twelfth of August."

"Yes."

"Had you planned on going with him?"

"No, I just told you, it was a business trip."

"Did he often go on business trips alone?"

"Yes. Why? Do you think the trip had something to do with his murder?"

"Do you think it might have?" he asked.

"I don't see how. Are you saying someone ... I mean, I just don't understand how the trip could have had anything to do with it."

"Are you sure he-was going alone?" Carella asked.

"Yes, I think so," she said. "Or with one of his partners."

"Did he say he was going with one of his partners?"

"He didn't say either way. I don't understand. What are you . . .?" and suddenly her eyes narrowed, and she looked

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sharply and suspiciously at Carella and then snapped the same look at Brown. "What is this?" she asked.

"Mrs Schumacher," Carella said, "did you have any reason to believe your husband ..."

"No, what is this?"

"... might not be traveling alone?"

"What the hell is this?"

So there they were, at the crossroads.

And as Yogi Berra once remarked, "When you come to a crossroads, take it."

Carella glanced at Brown. Brown nodded imperceptibly, telling him to go ahead and bite the bullet. Carella's eyes flicked acceptance.

"Mrs Schumacher," he said, "when we were here last Saturday, you told us your husband had not been involved with another woman. You seemed very definite about that."

"That's right, he wasn't. Would you mind . . .?"

"We now have evidence that he was, in fact, involved with someone."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Evidence that links him to Susan Brauer."

Both of them alert now for whatever effect the revelation might have on her. Watching her intently. The eyes, the face, the entire body. They had just laid it on the line. If she'd known about the affair . . .

"Links him to her?" she said. "What does that mean, links him to her?"

"Intimately," Carella said.

What seemed like genuine surprise flashed in her eyes.

"Evidence?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"What evidence?"

The surprise giving way to a look of almost scoffing disbelief.

"Letters she wrote to him," Carella said. "Letters we found in his safe-deposit..."

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"Well, what does . . .? Letters? Are you saying this woman wrote some letters to my husband?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Even so, that doesn't mean ..."

"We have his letters, too. The letters he wrote to her."

"Arthur wrote . . .?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"We found the letters in her apartment."

"Letters Arthur wrote to her?"

"They weren't signed, but we feel certain ..."

"Then how do you . . .? Where are these letters? I want to see these letters."

"Mrs Schumacher ..."

"I have a right to see these letters. If you're saying my husband was involved with another woman ..."

"Yes, ma'am, he was."

"Then I want to see proof. You're trying to ... to ... make it seem he was having an affair with . . . this . . . this woman, whatever her name was ..."

"Susan Brauer."

"I don't care what it was! I don't believe a word of what you're saying. Arthur was never unfaithful to me in his life! Don't you think I'd have known if he was unfaithful? Are you deliberately trying to hurt me?" she shouted. "Is that it?" Eyes flashing now, entire body trembling. "I don't have to answer any more of your questions," she said, and went immediately to the phone. "My husband was a partner in one of the biggest law firms in this city, you can just go fuck yourself," she said, and began dialing.

"Mrs Schumacher ..."

"There's the door," she said, and then, into the phone, "Mr Loeb, please."

Carella looked at Brown.

"Please leavel" Margaret shouted. Into the phone, in a quieter but still agitated voice, she said, "Lou, I have two detectives here who just violated my rights. What do I. . .?"

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They left.

In the hallway outside, while they waited for the elevator, Carella said, "What do you think?"

"Tough one to call," Brown said.

"This isn't new, you know."

"You're talking about last week, right?"

"Yeah, Saturday. I mean, she got angry from minute one, today isn't something new."

"Maybe we've got shitty bedside manners."

"I'm sure," Carella said.