Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

"Oh, if you want motive. Mrs. Ballou. Her chat with me was a production. She's really a hellcat and nuts about her husband. Boiling with jealousy. Only in that case I'm a sap and you'll have to fire me."

"I'll consider it. Mr. Ballou."

I shook my head. "Your turn. You had him."

"I reject him, provisionally. Cracking that woman's skull with an ashtray was an act of passion, not within his compass. There is a question: why would he like to know when Orrie first heard his name? Why is it not important now but still he would like to know?"

I shook my head again. "We'd better skip that. Probably curiosity as to whether it coincided with a change he noticed in the way she reacted to Kipling and Service and London. That wouldn't interest you. I agree on his compass. All right, Miss Jackson. She's yours too, you wished her well."

"No. Yours."

"Thank you. There is nothing she couldn't and wouldn't do if it appealed to her. But if she had any reason for wanting Isabel dead I would have to see it in color, with sound. Talking with ten of their mutual friends, Saul or Fred would surely have got a hint, especially Saul. And they didn't. Anyway, she's crossed off since you wished her well. So we're down to Dr. Gamm."

"Pfui."

"I agree. We're down to nothing. You told us Sunday evening that we have never had less, and you can say it again. Not a sign of a crack anywhere. I was thinking during dinner, while you were commenting on what they intend to do to Ellis Island, that maybe you should make a deal with Cramer. I mean it. His scientists didn't miss an inch of that apartment, and there's a chance that whoever killed her left his prints somewhere, at least one. They latched on to Orrie so fast that they have probably filed other possibilities. Offer to trade Cramer all we have for all the prints they got. With your word of honor, which he knows is good. It wouldn't sink Orrie any deeper, and it just might give us a lead. As it stands, there isn't one single damn item on the program for tomorrow."

His jaw was set. "No," he said.

"No what? If you prefer -"

The doorbell rang. I went, took a look, stuck my head back in, and said, "Mr. Ballou. He doesn't look jaunty."

Chapter 10