The voice was crisp and businesslike, yet Masuto felt he could detect an undercurrent of emotion and uncertainty. “This is Alan Greene. I was married to Mrs. Greene.”
“This is Sergeant Masuto. I’m in charge of the case.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No more than Mrs. Crombie told you.”
“There’s a damn sight more than that.”
“All right. Suppose you come over to headquarters tomorrow at ten A.M.”
Hesitation, then, “Okay, I’ll be there. Meanwhile, where have they taken Alice’s body?”
“To the morgue at All Saints Hospital. Could you notify her next of kin?”
“The only kin I know about is a brother in New Orleans. They haven’t seen each other in years. I don’t think the son of a bitch would lift his ass unless he’s in her will. I’ll take care of the funeral arrangements.”
“Talk of the devil,” Mitzie said as Masuto sat down at the kitchen table again.
“He said he’ll take care of the funeral arrangements,” Masuto told them.
“Alan’s all heart,” Laura said.
“And you think he hated her enough to kill her?”
“You never think in those terms, do you?” Laura Crombie replied. “He was paying her five thousand a month, but he could afford it. Would he kill her? He knew she’d never marry Monte and let him off the hook.”
“Monte Sweet?”
“Yes. The comic.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was in Vegas.”
“Do you know when? Is he still there?”
“If you’re thinking of Monte as a suspect, forget it. He couldn’t kill a fly. Anyway, she showered him with gifts.”
“What about her will?” Mitzie said. “Who else would she leave it to? That house of hers has to be worth half a million.”
“Mrs. Fuller,” Masuto said to Mitzie, “who would want to kill you?”
Oddly enough, she began to giggle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she apologized. Masuto found her enchanting, and silently called himself to order. He enjoyed beautiful women. They disturbed his objectivity, and Mitzie Fuller was very beautiful-orange-colored hair that did not come out of a bottle, large blue eyes, and a round figure that was five pounds short of being plump. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but your question-”
“I asked it.”
“I never thought of myself that way. Who does? Who ever says to herself, I’m being set up for a murder? Well, sure, Billy Fuller would like to kill me. If he could get away with it. If it wouldn’t interfere with his career. If it could be written into his contract. In fact, he specified the act. But who doesn’t? I mean married, who doesn’t?”
“I’m not sure I know what you do mean,” Masuto said.
“Well, you know how it is. No, maybe you don’t. Maybe the Japanese don’t operate that way.”
“What way?”
“You know-you bitch, I’m going to kill you.”
“You’re telling me that’s what your husband said to you?”
“But it doesn’t mean anything. First of all, I made the number one mistake that any woman can make. I married a film director. That’s a very special kind of guy. You know, Sergeant, your sex is nothing to write home about, even under the best of circumstances, but if you were to list types of men from A to Z, with A being the very rare nice guy, Z would have to be a film director. They are power-ridden little tin gods-”
“Oh, come on,” Nancy Legett interrupted her. “I’ve known decent directors. Some of them are pussycats.”
“But seriously, does your husband hate you enough to kill you?” Masuto asked.
“Yes,” she said, flatly and bleakly. The laughter was gone.
“Why?”
Her lips came together and tightened. Masuto waited.
“His hatred,” she said finally, “is a personal matter that I don’t intend to talk about. And it’s not the lousy alimony he pays. He took on a picture for seven hundred thousand dollars, and after a month of pre-production, the producers found him so obnoxious they paid him four hundred thousand to break his contract. So the money’s nothing.”
“Was he in the army?”
“The navy. He’s a lieutenant in the naval reserve.”
“And where is he working now?”
“They tell me he’s doing a film at Metro. I couldn’t care less.”
“And what about you, Mrs. Legett?” Masuto asked, turning to Nancy. “Who would want to kill you?”
“That’s a terrible thing to ask me.”
“But I must,” Masuto said softly.
“Why should anyone want to kill me? I’ve never hurt anyone. I never hurt my husband. Even when he told me he was leaving me, I didn’t make it hard for him. I knew he had stopped loving me long ago. Perhaps I had stopped loving him too. I don’t know. And I don’t have any lovers to make him jealous or angry. Look at me. Do I look like a woman who has lovers?”
She began to sob, and Laura Crombie put her arm around her and said to Masuto, “Must you, tonight? We’re all tired and frightened.”
“I’m afraid I must. Please, try to pull yourself together, Mrs. Legett. I promise you, there will be no more danger, no more hurt and fear-but only if you help me. You must help me.”
“I’ll try.”
“You don’t feel that your ex-husband hates you?”
“No.”
“That’s no good, Nancy,” Laura told her. “You have to tell him the truth. Otherwise we’ll never get to the bottom of this.”
“Why should he hate me? It’s four months since he made any support payments. I don’t dun him. I pay for the children’s support. I don’t ask anything of him.”
“Nancy!”
She sighed and nodded.
“Enough to kill you?” Masuto pressed her.
“No!” she snapped
“All right,” said Laura Crombie. “You won’t, I will. Fulton Legett is a cold-blooded bastard. He has ice in his veins. His children do not like him, and for that he blames Nancy-”
“Laura, stop,” Nancy pleaded.
“No, I will not stop. Someone has to tell Sergeant Masuto, and you won’t. Nancy wanted the divorce, because that bastard was destroying her. Cutting her to pieces, putting her down every time she opened her mouth, and do you know why? Because she has more brains in her little finger than he has in that stupid skull of his.”
“Please stop,” Nancy begged her.
“No, I will not stop. This isn’t gossip. We’ve just seen Alice murdered, and we’re sitting here fighting for our lives.” She faced Masuto. “He became a producer because Nancy made him one. That was twenty years ago. Nancy found a delightful story, emptied her own personal bank account to option it, and then talked Paramount Pictures into putting up the money to develop it and accepting Fulton Legett as the producer. That was a hit and his next three pictures were hits because Nancy chose them and supervised, even while she was pregnant. She still owns half of his company, and they have an agreement whereby if one dies, the other inherits.”
“Laura, how could you!” Nancy burst out. “You’re practically accusing Fulton of being behind this whole thing, of killing Alice and three other people. Why would he?”
“I don’t know why he would want to kill me,” Mitzie said. “He keeps calling and trying to take me out. I hate to say this, Nancy, but he does have the reputation of being bad news.”
“You never told me,” Nancy said.
