' 'Not really'?' said Irving. 'I mean, either you was or you wasn't. It ain't a 'not really' kinda question.'
'I don't want anybody to get the wrong impression.'
'We're not doin' impressions today, we're listenin',' Irving shot back.
'Just level with us,' Johnson said softly, with a broad, friendly, 'trust me' smile. 'Did you have a key to the penthouse apartment?'
'No!' she said, as if insulted. 'Edith was the only one I know who had a key.'
'Edith Stoddard had a key? How do you know that?'
'The time I went over there, I took a cab over at lunch. He had a desk in his bedroom and he had spreadsheets all over it. He said he worked there a lot because he never could get anything done at the office. He had some sandwiches brought in and we talked about the job. That's when he told me that Edith had a key because he was thinking of having the lock changed when she left. I mean, that's not uncommon, you know? When somebody leaves - to change the lock.'
'Did he say why she had a key?' Johnson asked.
'He told me there were times when I might have to go over there to pick something up or to sit in on meetings outside the office. He also said I was never to mention the apartment. That it was a very private place for him and he wanted to keep it that way.'
'Do you own a gun, Miss Stewart?' Irving asked suddenly.
'No!' she said, surprised. 'I hate the things.'
'You know does the Stoddard woman own a weapon?'
'I have no idea.'
'Did Delaney have any problems with Edith Stoddard recently? Over this thing, I mean?' said Johnson.
'I don't know.'
'When's the last time you saw him?' Johnson asked.
'Uh, This is Thursday? Monday. Monday or Tuesday. . I was coming back from lunch as he was leaving the office. We just said hello. I told you, I didn't see him that often.'
'And when was Stoddard due to leave?'
'Today was her last day.'
When they had dismissed Miranda Stewart, Irving snatched up a phone, punched one of a dozen buttons, and tapped out a number. Johnson was going back over his notes.
'Who's this?' Irving asked. 'Hey, Cabrilla, this is Irving. No, Si Irving, not Irving whoever. Yeah, down in Homicide. I need a check on a gun purchase. Well, how often do they turn 'em in? Okay, if it was the last week I'm shit outta luck. The name is Edith Stoddard. S-t-o-d-d-a-r-d. I don't know her address, how many Edith Stoddards could there be? Yeah.' He cupped the mouthpiece with his hand. 'They turn in the gun purchases every week. He says with the new law, they're behind entering them in the comp - Yeah? Oh, hold on a minute.' He snapped on the point of his ballpoint pen and started scratching down notes. 'That it? Thanks, Cabrilla, I owe ya one.' He hung up the phone, punched out another number, spoke for a minute or two, then hung up.
'Mrs Stoddard purchased a S&W .38 police special, four-inch barrel, on January twenty-two, at Sergeant York's on Wabash. I called Sergeant York's, talked to the manager. He remembers her, says she asked who could give her shootin' lessons, and he recommended the Shootin' Club. That's that indoor range over in Canaryville, mile or so down Pershing. Wanna take a break? Tool over there?'
The Shooting Club occupied the corner building of a shopping strip a mile or so from Delaney's office. Inside, glass-enclosed islands displayed the latest in friendly firepower: pistols, automatics, shotguns, assault weapons, Russian night-vision goggles, laser scopes, zoom eyes, robo lights. Patches from US and foreign armed forces lined the top of the wall. At the rear, a steel door led to the shooting range. Viewed through tinted glass, thirty slots offered target shooters the opportunity to shoot human silhouette targets to bits. The range was soundproofed. There were three or four customers in the showroom and a half-dozen people were firing away behind the glass.
The owner was a ramrod-straight man in his forties with bad skin, wearing a tactical black camouflage parka and trousers and heavy Special Forces boots with thick lug soles. His black cap was pulled down to just above his eyes. Johnson showed his badge. The man in black introduced himself as Roy Bennett.
'No problem, is there?' he asked in a hard voice he tried to make friendly.
'We're interested in talking to whoever teaches on the range.'
'We take turns,' Bennett said. 'All our personnel are ex-military and qualified expert.'
'We're checking on a woman, probably come over either at lunch or right after work,' Irving said. 'The name Edith Stoddard wake ya up?'
'Older lady? Maybe fifty, fifty-five, 'bout yea high?' He held his hand even with his shoulder.
'Yeah,' Irving said. 'She purchased a .38 Smith & Wesson from Sergeant York's. They sent her over here to learn how to use it.'
'That's the lady.' Bennett reached under the counter and brought out
