Ed McBain - Killer's Choice

My best, ANNIE

Kling read the letter once, and then read it again. He was reading it a third time when Boone came back into the room. Boone had put on a tie and a sports jacket, and he seemed distinctly ail-American in the all-Chinese room.

'Have you tried these cigarettes?' Boone asked, taking one from the brass box. 'They're British.'

'I tried them,' Kling said. 'About this letter, Mr Boone.'

Boone lighted the cigarette and then glanced at his watch. 'I have a few minutes yet,' he said. 'What do you make of it?'

'May I ask you a few questions?'

'Certainly.'

'First, why " Ted dear " instead of the usual salutation? This implies more affection than I was led to believe existed.'

'Not affection,' Boone said. 'Affectation. She used that reverse salutation with everyone, believe me.' He shrugged. 'Just a part of Annie, that's all. Means nothing.'

'What does this mean?' Kling asked. '" I know how you feel about Monica, and I know what you're trying to do …"'

'Oh. Nothing.'

'Well, explain what you mean by nothing.'

'She knows I love my daughter and I… I was… uh…'

'Yes?'

'Just that I love her, that's all.'

'What does " I know what you're trying to do " mean?'

'I think she was referring to my trying to see Monica more often,' Boone said.

'Is that why she feels she should " harbour ill will "?' Kling asked.

'Hmh? Is that what she said?'

'Read the letter,' Kling said, extending it.

'No, I believe you.' Boone shrugged. 'I don't know what she means by that.'

'No inkling, huh?'

'Nope.'

'Um-huh. How about this letter she says she received. Know any thing about it?'

'Not a thing.'

'When did you leave for Connecticut?'

'Friday morning. The 7th.'

'What time?'

'I left here at about eight.'

'Why?'

'A client. Some portrait work.'

'And you planned to work over the week-end, is that right?'

'Yes.'

'When did you plan on returning?'

'I planned to be back at the studio on Monday morning.'

'Were you?'

'No.'

'When did you get back?'

'I got into the city at about eleven Monday night.'

'The night Annie was killed.'

'Yes.'

'Did you call your office?'

'At 11 p.m.?'

'I suppose not. Were there any messages for you at the switchboard here?'

'Yes. Annie had called.'

'Did you call her back?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'I figured whatever it was could wait until morning. I was awfully tired, Mr Kling.'

'But you didn't try to reach her the next morning.'

'I'd seen the papers by then. I knew she was dead.'

'Okay. I'll take this letter with me, if you don't mind. It may help us.'

'Go right ahead,' Boone said. He looked at Kling levelly. 'You still think I had something to do with this?'

'Let's say there are certain contradictions present, Mr Boone.'

'What time was Annie killed?' Boone asked.

'Coroner says about ten-thirty,' Kling said.

'Then I'm out of it.'

'Why? Because you say you didn't get back to the city until eleven?'

'No. Because I was in a diner from ten to ten-thirty. The owner was interested in photography. We had a long chat.'

'Which diner?'

'It's called The Hub. It's forty miles from the city. I couldn't have killed her. Check it. The man'll remember me. I gave him my card.'

'Forty miles from the city?' Kling asked.

'Forty miles. On Route 38. Check it.'

'I will,' Kling said. He rose and walked to the door. At the door, he turned. 'Mr Boone?' he said.

'Yes?'

'In the meantime, don't go to Connecticut this week-end.'

The law offices of Jefferson Dobberly were straight out of Great Expectations . They were small and musty, and they received rays of slanted sunlight upon which dust motes floated. Enormous legal tomes lined the reception room, lined the corridor leading to Dobberly's private office, and lined three walls of the private office itself.

Jefferson Dobberly sat before the windows which lined the fourth wall. Sunlight slanted in behind his balding head. Dust motes danced on the sunlight and on his pate. Books were piled on his desk, and they formed a fortress between him and Kling. Kling sat and watched him. He was a tall thin man with watery blue eyes. His mouth was wrinkled and he moved it perpetually, as if he wanted to spit and couldn't find a place to do it. He had cut himself shaving that morning. The gash ran sidewards on his cheek from his left sideburn. The sideburns were practically all that remained of the hair on his head, and even they were white as though they were weakening before their final surrender. Jefferson Dobberly was fifty-three years old. He looked like seventy.

'What has Theodore Boone done in connexion with getting custody of his daughter Monica?' Kling asked.

'I don't see what bearing that has on the case you're investigating, Mr Kling,' Dobberly said. His voice, in complete contradiction to his fragile appearance, was loud and booming. He spoke as if he were addressing a jury. He spoke as if every word he uttered were the key word in his summing up.

' You don't have to see the bearing, Mr Dobberly,' Kling said gently. 'Only the police do.'

Dobberly smiled.

'Will you tell me, sir?' Kling asked.

'What did Mr Boone tell you?'

'Counsellor,' Kling said gently, and Dobberly reared back slightly at the word, 'this is a murder investigation. Let's not play footsie.'

'Well, Mr Kling,' Dobberly said, still smiling, and Kling repeated, 'This is a murder investigation,' and the smile left Dobberly's face.

'What do you want to know?' Dobberly asked.

'What's he doing to get his child?'

'Now?'

'Yes, now.'

'Mrs Travail refuses to release the child. Under the law, Ted… Mr Boone can take forcible possession of her. He prefers not to handle it that way. For the child's sake. We have asked instead for an ex parte court order. We may have it any time within the next week or so. That's it.'

'When did you apply for the court order?'

'The day after Annie was killed.'

'Had Mr Boone made any prior attempts to gain custody of the child?' Kling asked.

Dobberly hesitated.

'Had he?'

'Well, they've been divorced for almost two years, you know.'

'Yes.'

'I had handled Ted's law affairs before that. When they decided to get a divorce, they naturally came to me. I tried to prevent it. But… well, people have their own reasons, I guess. Annie went to Las Vegas.'

'Go on.'

'Ted came to me about six months later. He said he wanted Monica.'

'You told him the courts had awarded the child to Annie, and that was that. Am I right?'

'Well, no, not exactly. That's not exactly what I told him.'

'What did you tell him?'

'I told him that the courts have been known to reverse their decision regarding custody. If, for example, the mother is shown to be unfit.'

'How do you mean?'

'Unfit, Mr Kling. If, for example, she is raising the child in a house of prostitution. Or if, for example, it is shown that she is a drug addict, or an alcoholic.'

'But this was not the case with Annie.'

'Well…' Dobberly hesitated.

'Well?'

'Mr Kling, I always liked Annie. I don't like to talk against her. I'm telling you this only because my client felt he could base a case upon it. When we made our appeal…'

'You made an appeal?'

'Yes. In an attempt to get a reversal of decision.'

'When was this?'

'We entered the appeal almost a year ago.'

'What happened?'

Dobberly shrugged. 'Court calendars are jammed, Mr Kling. We were still waiting when Annie was killed. I have withdrawn the appeal. There is no need for it now. Mr Boone has the legal right to that child now.'