unalloyed truth. Then he said, To decide if she committed suicide.'
Tom shook his head firmly. She wasn't the type.'
Czernin nodded, wishing he had a dollar for every grieving relative who said as much in these cases.
And there would have been a note.' Tom raised a questioning eyebrow at the detective. Is there a note?'
We haven't found one.'
Well that's the end of that,' said Tom.
I know this is difficult for you at this terrible time,' said Czernin. But the law is the law. Look, if you could answer some questions right now, I wouldn have to bother you again.'
Tom swallowed the rest of his drink and lit a cigarette with a trembling hand. Okay,' he said. I guess it's yet to sink in anyway.'
When did you last see your wife?'
Not since last Saturday. She worked at the Democratic Party headquarters in Miami. For George Smathers. She was in and out of the house at irregular times. In the final days of the campaign the whole team was working more or less round the clock. And then partying the same way when Kennedy won.'
And when you last saw her, how did she seem?'
Tired. And perhaps a little fearful that the campaign was lost. There was a lot of hate literature for Kennedy. And then the polls were see-sawing one way and then the other. Mary said it was too close to call. The way things turned out, Florida wasn't a landslide like Illinois, but then it wasn't a marginal either, like Nevada or New Mexico. For a while back there, they were worried. Real worried. We spoke on the telephone, you see. Even if we didn't see each other, we liked to keep in touch.'
She was under a lot of pressure?'
For sure. Mary was one of those people you naturally rely on a lot. And who takes more and more work upon herself.'
Czernin wore a dark suit and a pearl-grey weskit. The hat he kept turning in his hands was a low-tapered grey-felt with a narrow-brim black band. The man looked tougher than his clothes. The hands were hard and leathery and the stance nautically square, as if at any moment he expected a sudden gust of wind. Short grey hair covered his bucket-shaped head like iron filings on a magnet. From time to time he let go of the hat and stroked his hair as if it had been the nap on a piece of velvet.
They were standing by the bar in the lounge. Tom helped himself to another Kentucky Gentleman and watched the cop's eyes rack up all the liquor bottles on display.
Did she drink much?'
She was a social drinker. She wasn't one to drink alone.'
What did she like to drink?'
Cocktails. Stuff with little umbrellas in. She had a collection of those, somewhere. Otherwise champagne, mostly.' Czernin started toward the bedroom and, sensing that Tom had stayed put, turned and said in a way that indicated he wanted Tom to follow, Do you mind?'
No, sure, go ahead.'
Tom pushed himself off the bar top and went after the cop, into the hallway with its director's chair, telephone table, and the three-dollar framed sunken treasure map of the Caribbean, and through the bedroom door, squeezing past a photographer who was packing up his flash lamps and his reflective umbrellas. Tom surveyed the crumpled sheets on the thin-edge bed, the clothes on the floor, her Prince Gardner key-gard, the Llama slippers, and next to them, the books she had been reading: James MacGregor Burns's biography of John Kennedy, Joseph Dineen's book on the whole Kennedy family, and The Ugly American, by William Lederer and Eugene Burdick, which was Mary's unread Book of the Month Club choice.
The maid found her,' explained Czernin.
I figured,' sighed Tom.
The cop approached Mary's swagged-leg bedside table, home to a little vase of nearly dead freesias, and picked up one of the many pill bottles that surrounded the Bonvita opalescent lamp. Quite a little dispensary, wouldn't you say? And all on her side of the bed.'
We were different people, you know? Couple of Bufferin's about the only pill-popping I do.'
Let's see, we've got Valium, Tryptizol, Nembutal, Seconal, Chloral Hydrate, you name it, it's right here. If it's not, it's in the bathroom cabinet.'
I tried talking to her about it. But she never paid much attention.'
And from different drugs stores, too. Breedings Drug Stores - use that one myself sometimes. Sheey's Pharmacy on Beacon Boulevard. Know that one, too. Lile's Pharmacy, in Coconut Grove.' Czernin indicated the bottles he was examining. If you wouldn't mind taking a look, Mister Jefferson. Just to make sure that there's nothing here you don't know about. And of course, I'll need the name and number of her doctor.'
Tom saw Mary's shoulder bag hanging on the back of the door. He took out her address book and read out the name and number, which the cop noted down. Then he glanced over the bedside table. It all looks familiar enough, I guess,' he said. But among all the bottles was a highball glass containing what looked like Scotch. He bent down to the glass, careful not to touch it, and sniffed.
It's what it looks like,' said Czernin. Scotch.'
Tom shrugged wearily.
Was your wife in the habit of mixing drugs and alcohol, Mister Jefferson?'
I wouldn't say it was a habit, exactly. But sometimes, when she came home, and I knew she'd had a drink, she took pills on top. But she never washed them down with alcohol. At least, not when I was around.'
And exactly where were you last night? In Key West.'
Exactly?'
We already know from a neighbour that she returned here at around twelve, last night. It would help to be able to eliminate you from the picture, Mister Jefferson.'
Let's see. I had dinner around nine with a couple of friends. Frank Sorges and Doctor Bosch. They're both of them staying at La Casa Marina on Reynolds Street, in case you should want to speak to them.'
What did you eat?'
I had green turtle steak. I think Mister Sorges had Shrimp Sebastian. I don't remember what DoctoraEU| look, is this really relevant?'
I think so,' Czernin said evenly. In my experience people are only ever vague about these matters when they're lying. Specificity is the hallmark of any proper alibi.'
Do I need one? I mean, I thought you said she took an overdose.'
This is a homicide, Mister Jefferson.' Czernin took out a packet of Salem and lit one quickly. Homicides have to be investigated. And investigations need facts. In these matters you can never have too many facts. What time did you finish eating dinner?'
Eleven. Maybe a little after. We looked in on a couple of bars. Mom's Tea Room and Sloppy Joe's. Mister Sorges, he wanted to see Hemingway's bar-stool, only someone had stolen it. At around twelve fifteen, we went to the Mardi Gras. Not the carnival. It's a strip club on Duval Street. It's getting a little hazy after that. But I'm sure we stayed there until gone two o'clock. Probably got back to the hotel around two fifteen. Next thing I knew, you boys were on the telephone.' Tom uttered a big sigh and sat heavily on the bed.
Shit.'
Sounds like you had quite a night.'
If I had only known,' whispered Tom.
What about B-girls? Take one back to your room maybe?'
No.' Tom frowned.
It's just that suicide looks better with a motive, that's all. A husband fooling around with another woman. You know the kind of thing. How about it, Mister Jefferson? Did you see other women?'
No.'
What about her?'
How do you mean?'
Czernin had moved around to Tom's side of the bed and was browsing through the surface contents of the other bedside table, as if he had been a customer in a gift shop. The rifle and the priest's outfit were still in Key
