Judging Time

Mike stroked his mustache speculatively. 'Nice job.'

'You need any help?' the doorman tried again.

'Police,' April said. 'We're fine.' She nodded him away.

'You're blocking the street,' the doorman pointed out.

'That's what we're paid for,' she told him.

'All right, you ruined my boots, you practically killed my friend. What are you doing here?'

'We're investigating a homicide.'

'I had nothing to do with it. I hardly knew the woman. Let's go, Giorgio.' Daphne turned away.

'Mrs. Petersen, would you mind getting in the car?' Mike said.

The widow swung back, stunned by the request. 'What for?'

'We want to talk to you.'

'You talked to me before.' She eyed April now.

'You didn't tell me anything I wanted to know,' April said evenly. 'Now we're really going to talk.'

'But I don't know anything,' she protested:

'Funny, that's not what you said on TV.'

The woman's face reddened. She glanced at her friend. 'You'd better go now, Giorgio.'

He peered at her as if he'd never heard such a command in his life. 'Where?' he asked dumbly.

'Wherever you want, honey. You're a big boy.'

He gave her a pathetic look, a hunk deprived of purpose, then scowled at the two cops. 'Huh?'

'Go,' Daphne commanded impatiently.

Giorgio looked at her again, saw that she was determined, then sloped off downtown, his shoes squishing on the sidewalk.

She turned to them angrily. 'I don't know where he kept the stuff or who he got it from. I know that's why you're here.' She leaned toward them on the

sidewalk, speaking passionately. 'It's not my problem. I told you he was a cocaine user. I warned him it would kill him one day if he kept drinking the way he did.' Her cheek glistened in the light. She raised a white-gloved hand to wipe away the single tear that teetered on the curve.

April couldn't help herself. She glanced at Mike.

'Where were you the night your husband died?' he asked.

She gestured to April with the gloved hand. 'I already told her. I was at home watching a movie. I talked on the phone. I have a list of people who dialed my number.'

This was the first April heard of that.

'Tor died of an overdose,' Daphne went on. 'I hadn't seen him since—oh, I don't know, a couple of days.' She started shivering inside the heavy coat.

'Who told you that?' Mike asked.

Daphne looked at him as if he were retarded. 'Don't you people talk to each other? That's what they told me.'

'Who told you?'

'Some woman from the police called and told me the toxi . . .'

'Toxicology,' April prompted.

'Yeah, those reports came in, and Tor was just'— Daphne shook her head—'chock-full of cocaine and alcohol.' She swiped at her face again. 'That's what killed hini. I asked her to keep it on the QT, you know. It doesn't help to spread that around, does it?' She looked yearningly at her building. 'Can I go home now?'

'We'll come with you, make sure you're all right.' Mike's face was impassive at the news of more official blundering.

Daphne made a face and hurried inside.

They left the car where it was on the street and took the elevator up to Petersen's apartment where the TV cables were gone, but plants and bouquets of flowers covered all available surfaces. The flowers were mostly lilies, April noticed. Many of them looked dried or hung over, as if the advice on the accompanying card, 'Water me,' had not been heeded.

In the living room, which overlooked the park, Daphne opened her fur coat and threw it on a chair. Underneath she was wearing exercise clothes—white tights and a pink body suit with a thong. She threw herself into a deep sofa, careful to keep the boots off the silk.

'You know Tor's death was his own fault. So why are you bothering me?'

'Because you haven't told anybody the truth about anything. That makes a problem for us.' April tried not to stare at her body. 'Let's start with your original statement. You told us you'd seen your husband the morning he died.'

'Well, I didn't.' The widow looked at them defiantly, tossing her hair. 'I didn't know what the story was. I felt silly, you know. He'd spent the night somewhere, and I felt—awkward.'

'Awkward?' April cocked her head. The woman's husband had been murdered and she felt awkward.

Daphne checked her nail polish. 'One doesn't exactly enjoy being a jilted wife, you know. I was pretty certain I didn't have much time with him left, and I just—you know, I didn't say anything. I hoped it would blow over. Sometimes they do, you know. It's my own fault, of course,' she added.

Mike was sucking his mustache. April could almost hear him think.

'What's your fault?' she asked.

'Marrying him, thinking it would last. Silly me.'

April glanced around the lavish living room, full of silk chairs and shiny tables, objects of art from countries and centuries she could not have identified if her life depended on it. Silly Daphne didn't turn out to be so silly. Her straying husband with the dangerous habits was conveniently dead, and she was his final wife, after all. April unbuttoned her own coat and considered the chair possibilities.

'Do you mind if I take my coat off?'

Daphne flicked her a glance that didn't take anything in. 'No, of course not.'

April took her coat off and sat in a wing chair covered with red leather that sat at an angle to the sofa where Daphne was displaying the sweat stains in her crotch to Mike, who sat in a similar chair opposite her. Lovely girl.

'So, your husband was a cocaine user. What about you?' Mike asked.

'I'm a strict vegetarian,' Daphne said, sullen now. 'I must respect the divinity in myself.'

Uh-huh. 'Earlier, you told us you warned him that his substance abuse was serious enough to kill him.' Now April.

Daphne didn't answer. She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

'All the drinking and cocaine use must have made him pretty difficult to deal with,' April went on.

'It was sad to watch,' Daphne said flatly. 'Are we almost done?'

April ignored the question. 'You told a TV reporter your husband was having an affair with Merrill Liberty, and that Liberty killed them both in a jealous rage.'

'So what?'

'Well, you also said you knew your husband would kill himself with drugs.'

'What does it matter what I say? I'm crazed with grief.' She appealed to Mike for understanding.

'Well, you accused a man of murder on national TV. That might matter to some people,' Mike said. 'He might sue you. We might think you did it for us, so we'd go after him and not you.'

'I watched a movie and went to bed. Even if I had killed him, how could you prove it?' Daphne circled her head around her shoulders, loosening up those tight muscles.

'Why did you say you thought Liberty killed them?'

She scratched her cheek. 'Maybe I thought so at the time. The interviewer thought so, too,' she said defensively.

'And now?'

Daphne made a face. 'Well, Liberty had no interest in women. I don't know if he and Merrill even made it together. He might be a fairy, you know. But he might have been upset if Tor wanted his wife. That's poaching, isn't it?'