Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

"You'll have to ask them, not me, because I think they're off. It's supposed to be possible to convict a man of murder without proving motive, but juries don't like the idea."

"Juries? You mean they will – there'll be a trial?"

"I sincerely hope not."

Her eyes were fastened on me. "I believe you really mean that."

"I really do."

"Saturday morning I was at home in bed, until after noon. I had been on a flight from Caracas that was due at midnight, but we weren't down until after two o'clock. I saw Orrie that evening. I had dinner with him at a restaurant. I have to answer so many questions in the air that when I'm on the ground I don't listen to them." She pulled her feet back, stood up, and took a step. "Get up and put your arms around me."

It was an order, and I obeyed. She didn't lift her arms so we could lock, but when I had her enclosed she gripped my jacket with both hands near my backbone and hid her face on my chest. The dark blue suit felt like wool, but nowadays you never know. I didn't squeeze, just held her nice and firm, trying to decide whether she knew she was in trouble and wanted to enlist me, or she was getting started on me in case Orrie got permanently eliminated, or it was just a habit she had. She hadn't used any perfume, or very little, and she smelled fine. There's no telling how long it would have lasted if it hadn't been for the doorbell. It rang.

I unwound my arms, politely, crossed to the hall and took a look, stepped back in, and told her, "It's a cop, one I happen to know. Since you're in no hurry to meet him, you will please duck." I had crossed to the door to the front room and opened it. "In here. You don't have to hold your breath, it's soundproofed. You can even sneeze."