Ed McBain: Give the Boys a Great Big Hand

There was no one in the waiting room.

Tudor was locking the door to his inner office as they came in. He turned, still stooping over, the key in the keyhole. He nodded in recognition, finished locking the door, put the keys into his pocket, walked to them with an extended hand, and said, “Gentlemen. Any news?”

Carella took the proffered hand. “Afraid not, Mr. Tudor,” he answered. “But we’d like to ask you a few more questions.”

“Certainly,” Tudor said. “You don’t mind if we sit here in the waiting room, do you? I’ve already locked up my private office.”

“This’ll be fine,” Carella said.

They sat on the long couch against the wall covered with strippers.

“You said you were in love with Bubbles Caesar, Mr. Tudor,” Carella said. “Did you know that she was seeing at least one other man for certain, and possibly two other men?”

“Barbara?” Tudor asked.

“Yes. Did you know that?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Did you see her very often, Mr. Tudor? We’re not referring to your business relationship right now.”

“Yes. I saw her quite often.”

“How often?”

“Well, as often as I could.”

“Once a week? Twice a week? More than that? How often, Mr. Tudor?”

“I suppose, on the average, I saw her three or four times a week.”

“And what did you do when you saw her, Mr. Tudor?”

“Oh, various things.” Tudor gave a small shrug of puzzlement. “What do people do when they go out? Dinner, dancing, the theater, a motion picture, a drive in the country. All those things. Whatever we felt like doing.”

“Did you go to bed with her, Mr. Tudor?”

“That is my business,” Tudor said flatly. “And Barbara’s.”

“It might be ours, too, Mr. Tudor. Oh, I know, it’s a hell of a thing to ask, very personal. We don’t like to ask, Mr. Tudor. There are a lot of things we don’t like to ask, but unfortunately we have to ask those things, whether we like to or not. I’m sure you can understand.”

“No, I’m afraid I cannot,” Tudor said with finality.

“Very well, we’ll assume you were intimate with her.”

“You may assume whatever you wish,” Tudor said.

“Where do you live, Mr. Tudor?”

“On Blakely Street.”

“Downtown? In The Quarter?”

“Yes.”

“Near Barbara’s apartment?”

“Fairly close to it, yes.”

“Did you ever go to Barbara’s apartment?”

“No.”

“You never picked her up there?”

“No.”

“But you were seeing her?”

“Yes, of course I was seeing her.”

“And yet you never went to her apartment. Isn’t that a little odd?”

“Is it? I despise the housing facilities of most working girls, Detective Carella. When I call on a young lady, I find the curiosity of her roommates unbearable. And so, whenever a young lady shares an apartment with someone else, I prefer to meet her away from the apartment. That is the arrangement I had with Barbara.”

“And apparently an arrangement she preferred. The girls she lived with tell us no man ever came to that apartment to pick her up or take her home. What do you think of that, Mr. Tudor?”

Tudor shrugged. “I am certainly not responsible for Barbara’s idiosyncrasies.”

“Certainly not. Did Barbara ever come to your apartment?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I live with my father,” Tudor said. “He’s a very old man. Practically... well, he’s very sick. I’m not sure he would have understood Barbara. Or approved of her. And so he never met her.”

“You kept her away from your apartment. Is that right?”

“That is correct.”

“I see.” Carella thought for a moment. He looked at Hawes.

“Where’d you neck, Mr. Tudor?” Hawes asked. “In the backseat of an automobile?”

“That is none of your business,” Tudor said.

“Would you know whether or not Barbara had another apartment?” Hawes asked. “Besides the one she shared with the two girls?”

“If she had one, I never saw it,” Tudor said.

“You’re not married, of course,” Carella said.

“No, I’m not married.”

“Ever married, Mr. Tudor?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the status now? Separated? Divorced?”

“Divorced. For a long time now, Detective Carella. At least fifteen years.”

“What’s your ex-wife’s name?”

“Toni Traver. She’s an actress. Rather a good one, too.”

“She in this city?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I was divorced from her fifteen years ago. I ran into her in Philadelphia once about eight years ago. I haven’t seen her since. Nor do I care to.”

“You paying her alimony, Mr. Tudor?”

“She didn’t want any. She has money of her own.”

“Does she know about you and Barbara?”

“I don’t know. She couldn’t care less, believe me.”

“Mmmm,” Carella said. “And you didn’t know about these two other guys Barbara was seeing, right?”

“Right.”

“But surely, if she was seeing them, and if you called for a date or something, she must have said she was busy on that night, no? Didn’t you ever ask how come? Didn’t you want to know why she was busy?”

“I am not a possessive man,” Tudor said.

“But you loved her.”

“Yes. I loved her, and I still love her.”

“Well, how do you feel about it now? Now that you know she was dating two other man, maybe sleeping with both of them, how do you feel about it?”

“I... naturally, I’m not pleased.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be. Did you ever meet a man named Karl Androvich, Mr. Tudor?”

“No.”

“How about a man named Mike Chirapadano?”

“No.”

“Ever go to The King and Queen?”

“Yes, of course. I sometimes picked Barbara up at the club.”

“Mike was a drummer in the band there.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Carella paused. “He seems to have vanished, Mr. Tudor.”

“Really?”

“Yes. At the same time that Barbara did. What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Think they ran off together?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Do you have a black raincoat and umbrella, Mr. Tudor?”

“No, I don’t. A what? A black raincoat, did you say?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“No, I don’t have one.”

“But you do have a raincoat?”

“Yes. A trench coat. It’s gray. Or beige. You know, a neutral sort of—”

“And the umbrella? Is it a man’s umbrella?”

“I don’t have an umbrella. I detest umbrellas.”

“Never carry one, right?”

“Never.”

“And you don’t know of any other apartment Barbara might have kept, right?”

“I don’t know of any, no.”

“Well, thank you very much, Mr. Tudor,” Carella said. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“Not at all,” Tudor answered.

Outside in the hallway, Carella said, “He smells, Cotton. Wait for him downstairs and tail him, will you? I’ll be back at the squadroom. I want to check on his ex-wife, see if I can get a line on her.”

“What are you thinking of? Jealousy?”

“Who knows? But some torches have been known to burn for more than fifteen years. Why not hers?”

“The way he put it—”

“Sure, but every word he spoke could have been a lie.”

“True.”

“Tail him. Get back to me. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“Where do you expect him to lead me?”

“I don’t know, Cotton.”

Carella went back to the squadroom. He learned that Toni Traver was a fairly good character actress and that she was at the moment working in a stock playhouse in Sarasota, Florida. Carella talked to her agent who told him that Miss Traver was not accepting alimony from her ex-husband. In fact, the agent said, he and Miss Traver had wedding plans of their own. Carella thanked him and hung up.