from the outer reaches toward the middle to the canvas bag into which he was being collected. I got through to Wagner and he said, “You? You another one of them morbid-type sightseers? What the hell you doing here?”
“I brought the wife home.”
“Mrs. Kiss?”
“I told Martino I’d tell you myself.”
“Brought her home from where?”
“She was with me.”
“Mrs. Kiss was with you?”
“With me.”
Wagner was a good straight cop, past middle-age but strong, and wise and weary in the trade. Wagner was tall with beefy shoulders and a gravel voice and a young wife and six kids, one of them a tot. Wagner said, “Why in hell do they jump, the bastards? And from a penthouse yet. Disgusting bastards. Who needs it?”
“Rough on you,” I said.
“Rough on everybody. You think them guys sweeping him up are made of tin? They’re human just like you and me with wives and kids. You think them guys are going to go home nice and normal and sit down and eat dinner tonight? Why do them bastards jump, for Chrissake? Christ, they can take pills, can’t they?”
“You want to talk with the wife, don’t you?”
It was as though he had not heard me. “Twenty-four floors, head first. Do you know the speed, how it accelerates? Christ, when the guy hits, it’s like with bullet force. Christ, like an express train. And this guy hit head first, yet. Head first. Smashed like a rotten egg. Who needs it? You want to kill yourself, who cares? Christ, take sleeping pills. Shoot yourself. Put your head in a stove. Christ, what do you want from the people who have to pick up the pieces? I’ve already thrown up twice. And the wife or somebody is going to have to take a look at that garbage. That’s the law. Somebody’s got to identify whatever the hell there is to identify. Christ, you want to kill yourself, think of these things. How is she?”
“Who?”
“The wife.”
“I don’t know. I came down here for you the minute one of your cops told me what happened.”
“Did they tell her?”
“That’s your job, Lenny.”
“Yeah.” He went away from me, gave some orders to the men who were working, came back and touched my arm. “Let’s go.”
We walked around to the front of the building and into the lobby and he touched the button for one of the elevators. “How well do you know her?” he said.
“I just met her today.”
“You’re going to have to swear out a statement.”
“Whatever’s necessary,” I said.
“He killed himself because of her.”
“How do you know that?”
“He left two notes and a big envelope with pictures, none of them sealed. One note was for the authorities and that didn’t say anything, just the usual bull. The other note was for her personal, and that said plenty.”
“And you read them both?”
“Of course,” he said. “And I also looked at the pictures. Wow!”
EIGHT
THEY HAD told her.
Petrie told us.
They had told her and she had keeled. They had brought her brandy and she had sopped up a lot of it. Then Miss Trent had taken her to the bathroom and then helped her undress and she was now in bed. Miss Trent and Mr. Winkle were in the room with her.
“Where’s the notes and the pictures?” Wagner asked.
Petrie opened a drawer of a table. “Right here.”
“You show her any of this?”
“Of course not, sir.”
“Gimme.”
Petrie took a maroon-colored folder out of the drawer. It was a legal-type folder. Wagner tucked it under his arm and he looked like a lawyer. We marched through a corridor to the bedroom. The door was closed. Wagner knocked. Willie called, “Come in.”
She was seated in the bed with pillows plumped behind her. She was wearing white silk pajamas. Her face was washed, without makeup, and her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. She held a large snifter glass of brandy in her hand. She was even more attractive without the makeup. She was flushed from the brandy and her eyes were wild.
Marla was seated near the bed. Marla also held a snifter glass of brandy. Willie was leaning against a dresser on top of which, aside from the usual toilet articles, was a tray with a bottle of brandy and one other glass. The whole damned room smelled of brandy and, somehow, smelled of woman.
“I’m in charge here,” Wagner said. “Detective-sergeant Wagner. You’re Mrs. Kiss, I take it?”
“Yes sir,” she said.
Wagner looked from her to Marla to Willie.
I said, “Miss Marla Trent, Mr. William Boyd Winkle.”
“What are they doing here?”
“Miss Trent and Mr. Winkle are the proprietors of Marla Trent Enterprises.”
“Oh, that Marla Trent,” said Wagner. “You’re a private detective, no?”
“Yes,” said Marla.
“You too?” he said to Willie.
“Yes,” said Willie.
“What the hell is this?” he said to me. “A convention?”
“Mrs. Kiss and I had some business at Miss Trent’s office,” I said. “We all came back here together.”
“Well, you’re all going to give me statements,” said Wagner.
“Only as to the externals,” Marla said. “All else is confidential.”
“Confidential my —” said Wagner. “You’ll give me full statements.”
“Just a minute, please,” Valerie Kiss said.
“Yeah?” said Wagner.
“I . . . I don’t want a scandal, please. I. . .”
“What in hell do you think a suicide is, lady? A PTA meeting?”
She gulped brandy. She said, “I mean . . . I’m perfectly willing to cooperate. There’s no reason to hide anything, any of this, as long as it doesn’t
