Ed McBain - Killer's Choice

'Ten-to-one a servant,' he said to Kling.

'No bet,' Kling answered.

The door opened. A coloured girl in a pink uniform peered out at them.

'Yes?' she asked.

'Mr Phelps, please.'

'Who shall I say is calling, please?'

'Police,' Meyer said, and he flashed the tin.

'Just a moment, please,' the girl said, and she closed the door gently.

'Think he'll make a run through the back door?' Meyer asked jokingly.

'Maybe so,' Kling answered. 'Shall I get the riot gun from the car?'

'Some hand grenades, too,' Meyer said. 'It's too bad Mr Cotton isn't with us. I haven't been shot in a long time.'

The door opened again. An attractive woman of forty-two, perhaps closer to forty-four, stood in the doorway. Her hair had once been blond, but it was turning grey, turning with a gentle dignity. She had large brown eyes, and she smiled pleasantly and said, 'Won't you come in? Franklin's in the shower.'

The detectives stepped into the foyer. A smoky grey mirror threw their reflections back at them.

'Won't you come into the living-room?' she said. 'I'm Marna Phelps.'

'I'm Detective Meyer,' Meyer said. 'My partner, Detective Kling.'

'How do you do?' Mrs Phelps said. 'Would you like some coffee or anything? Franklin won't be but a moment.'

They followed her into the living-room. The furniture was straight from the palace at Versailles. A Louis XVI writing cabinet with a fall-down front stood against the wall between two windows, three circular and three rectangular Sèvres porcelain plaques set into its face. A Regency mahogany library table was against the opposite wall, flanked by a pair of Louis XVI giltwood settees, their seats and backs upholstered in Beauvais tapestry. Rare porcelain and china were spotted indiscreetly about the room. Meyer expected Marie Antoinette to come in serving tea and cakes. Uneasily, the detectives sat.

'Did you say you wanted coffee?' Mrs Phelps asked.

'No, thank you,' Kling said.

Meyer cleared his throat and looked at Kling. He would, in fact, have enjoyed a cup of coffee. The opportunity was past. Mrs Phelps was turning to a new topic.

'This is about Annie, isn't it?' she asked.

'Yes,' Kling said.

'You know then?'

'Know what?'

'About Franklin and her?'

'What did you mean, Mrs Phelps?' Meyer asked.

'That they were having an affair?' Mrs Phelps said.

Kling blinked. Meyer, being a slightly older man, did not blink.

'Yes, we know,' he said.

'He didn't kill her,' Mrs Phelps said. 'I can assure you.'

'How long have you known about this?'

'The affair? For a long time.'

'How long?'

'At least a year.' Mrs Phelps shrugged. 'Franklin isn't exactly a spring chicken. I wasn't worried. These things happen, I understand. If I'd made a fuss about it, I might have lost him. I have too much invested in him to see it all go down the drain. Under ordinary circumstances, the thing would have been over in another six months, anyway. Unfortunately, Miss Boone was killed.'

'Did you know her, Mrs Phelps?'

'I met her on one or two occasions, yes. At the store.'

'What did you think of her?'

'A very beautiful girl. Franklin's taste is to be admired.'

'Your attitude is a pretty broad-minded one, isn't it, Mrs Phelps?'

'Are you married, Detective… Meyer, was it?'

'Yes.'

'Ask your wife. Ask her about the time she's put into shaping you into a man. It's an investment, Detective Meyer. A simple investment. A woman's man is her only investment. And her children, of course, if she's lucky enough to have them. I have no children. Do you have children, Detective Meyer?'

'Yes. Three.'

'Your wife is luckier than I. I only have Franklin. He is my sole investment, my life work; men have other things, women only have their men. He is my business. And I have thrown assets into this business, Detective Meyer. I have given Franklin every thing I had to give. Everything. I've been a good wife. And as a result, he's a man today. He was not very much of a man when we met. I saw potential. I invested. The only thing I had to invest: myself .'

'I see,' Meyer said.

'And so, when my investment is threatened by a beautiful woman, I do what my common sense tells me to do. I sit, and I wait. I'm not going to close shop because of a small fire in the stockroom, am I?' Mrs Phelps smiled pleasantly. 'It would have been over in another six months. Things would have gone on again.'

'Did Annie Boone know you knew?'

'No.'

'Did your husband?'

'No. He still doesn't. I wish you wouldn't tell him. It's not good for a wife to appear too intelligent.' Again, Mrs Phelps smiled. 'But then, I'm giving you trade secrets, Detective Meyer. I'll be spoiling things for your wife.'

'She doesn't need hints,' Meyer said, smiling. 'She's got her own investment.'

'Are you going to confront him with what you know?'

'Yes.'

'I wish you wouldn't. I don't think it'll help much. He's not the person who killed her.'

'Who is ?' Meyer asked.

'I'm sure I don't know,' Mrs Phelps said. She smiled. 'May I sound somewhat cruel for a moment?'

'Go ahead,' Meyer said.

Mrs Phelps was still smiling. 'I'm sure I don't give a damn, either,' she said.

'Don't give a damn about what, dear?' Franklin Phelps asked from the doorway.

'Don't give a damn about showing our dogs,' she answered, adjusting her mind almost instantly to the new situation.

'Oh,' Phelps said. He smiled at the detectives. 'We've got a trio of Goldens. I want to show them, Marna doesn't. Handsome animals.' He looked at Meyer. 'Oh, Detective Meyer. I didn't recognize you.'

'Hello, Mr Phelps,' Meyer said, rising and taking his hand. 'This is my partner, Bert Kling.'

'Detective Kling,' Phelps said, and he took his hand. He was a tall man with greying hair, and he wore a blue terry cloth robe belted at the waist. He had not impressed Meyer very much the first time Meyer had questioned him, but a man is always looked at somewhat differently when it's learned he was having an affair with a beautiful redhead perhaps ten years younger than he. Phelps had a strong sweeping nose, and piercing grey eyes. His mouth was full and hard. His jaw could have driven railroad spikes.

'I'm sorry we got you out of the shower, Mr Phelps,' Meyer said, 'but we'd like to ask you a few more questions.'

'I behaved like a bit of an ass last time we spoke, didn't I?' Phelps said.

'Well,' Meyer answered non-committally.

'I really shouldn't have carried on so about my stock. I really shouldn't have.'

'Well, there was a lot of money involved,' Meyer said.

'Certainly, but after checking with my broker, I found out my insurance covered the loss.'

'Oh,' Meyer said flatly. 'I see.'

'I'm glad to clear the air on that,' Phelps said. 'I didn't want you to have the impression I was an ass.'

'Well, I never got that impression,' Meyer lied. 'Could we talk to you, Mr Phelps?'

'Certainly, go right ahead,' Phelps said smiling. He went to a small Louis XVI table, removed the cover from a porcelain box, and picked up a cigarette. He was lighting it when Meyer said, 'Alone.'

The match faltered for just an instant. Phelps brought it to the cigarette again and said, 'Certainly. Marna?'

'I've got a million things to do, anyway,' Mrs Phelps said. 'It was nice meeting you gentlemen.' She smiled again and left the room.

'What is it?' Phelps asked.

'We'd like to run over the information you already gave us, Mr Phelps,' Meyer said.

'Certainly.' He puffed on his cigarette, one hand in the pocket of his robe.

'How long did you say you'd known Annie Boone?'

'She'd been working for me about a year,' Phelps said.

'Yes. How long before that had you known her?'