The Missing Chapter

“Hah! I guess that’s really what it is, a litany,” Debra Mitchell responded without hostility. “I know I’m probably wasting my time going over this again, but you asked for it. Patricia really had it bad for Charles — maybe it takes another woman to see that. It was obvious, though, and I met her only a few times, three or four. She’d known Charles for years, since long before I entered his life, and she had what she felt were proprietary rights to him. Then I came along and ruined everything for her, albeit inadvertently. She resented me, to say the least. She probably made one last attempt to talk him out of marrying me, and when that didn’t work, she went into a rage and shot him with his own pistol. She must have been aware he had it. I knew about it, and she was at his apartment a lot more often than I was, using his word processor to work on her damn book. Claimed that her own PC was always breaking down.”

“Indeed. Did Mr. Childress inform you that Miss Royce badgered him to break off his engagement to you?”

She tossed her head in what had to be a well-practiced motion. “No, but then he wouldn’t have. Charles had an irascible side — the way he lashed out at reviewers and editors and others he came in contact with in the professional world. But when it came to interpersonal relationships, he was very tight-lipped. For instance, he never wanted to discuss any of his old flames with me, or any other aspects of his private life, including his family.”

Wolfe glared accusingly at his empty beer glass. “Did you ever question him about the nature of his relationship with Miss Royce?”

“Just once. As I said to Mr. Goodwin when he came to see me last week, I told Charles on one occasion a few months ago that I thought Patricia was in love with him. He just laughed at me. He said they were just friends, professional friends, and that the idea of Patricia being romantically interested in him was laughable. So I dropped the subject. After all, I was the one who was going to marry him, not our Little-Miss-Phony-Meek-and-Mild.” Debra Mitchell’s voice rose with each word until she was almost shouting at the end of the sentence. She suddenly looked surprised, probably at hearing her own voice, and she sunk back into the chair, exhaling loudly.

“Did you believe Mr. Childress when he said Miss Royce was not interested in him?” Wolfe asked.

“I believe that he believed it. But it’s remarkable how many men, even supposedly sensitive ones, are totally oblivious to the signals women send out.” She seemed to speak from centuries of experience.

“Did Miss Royce ever threaten you?”

“No, but threats aren’t her style. I see her as more the sneaky type.”

“Madam,” Wolfe said, “if Miss Royce were as distressed as you suggest, and as enamored of Mr. Childress as you suggest, does it not seem likely that she would do violence to you, the interloper, rather than to him, the beloved?”

“Huh! You’re being logical, which I would expect, but people in love rarely are.” She sneered triumphantly. “They act on impulse. I know, I’ve been there on occasion myself.”

“While in the throes of romance, you, too, have been impulsive?”

Debra Mitchell started to smile but checked herself. “Yes — not to the point of murder, of course. I was tempted to do violence to a man once, years ago, but... well, that’s another story,” she said, brushing her hair away from her face with a hand. “Back to Patricia Royce; there is no question whatever in my mind that she aimed that gun at Charles and pulled the trigger.”

“I will not dispute the depth of your conviction, but there appears little substance behind it,” Wolfe pronounced evenly. “Mr. Childress never spoke to you — or apparently to anyone else — about Miss Royce having a romantic interest in him. And when you questioned him, he laughed it off. Miss Royce said nothing to you — or apparently to anyone else — about her feelings toward Mr. Childress. Can you suggest some other individual who might be able to supply details about the relationship between these two?”

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she responded in barely more than a whisper. “I told you earlier that Charles was extremely close-mouthed about his personal relationships. He was extremely uncomfortable discussing his feelings. I don’t think he had any true confidants. He probably was as close to Horace as to anybody else — other than me, of course. And he only mentioned Patricia to him once or twice, and then just in passing. I know — I asked Horace about it after Charles was killed.”

Wolfe rubbed an index finger on the side of his nose. “So we have nothing, other than your supposition, to link Mr. Childress and Miss Royce romantically?”

“All right — so there’s nothing!” Debra snarled through clenched, capped teeth. “But you’re supposed to be the genius. Talk to her. Question her. You can get the truth out of her if anyone can.”

“Madam, what devices would you suggest I utilize? Bullying? Harangue? Intimidation?”