'From the dinner table and said, 'Let's just you and me...''
'Miss Futtle suggested it,' said Hutchmeyer.
'Oh she did, did she? And what did Mrs Hutchmeyer have to say about you going sailing with another woman?'
'Miss Futtle isn't another woman. Not that sort of other woman. She's a literary agent. We do business together.'
'Naked on a yacht in the middle of a mini-hurricane you do business together? What sort of business?'
'We weren't doing business on the yacht. It was a social occasion.'
'Kind of thought it was. I mean naked and all.'
'I wasn't naked to begin with. I just got wet so I took my clothes off.'
'You just got wet so you took your clothes off? Are you sure that was the only reason you were naked?'
'Of course I'm sure. Look, no sooner had we got out there than the wind blew up...'
'And the house blew up. And your cruiser blew up. And Mrs Hutchmeyer blew up and this Mr Piper...' Hutchmeyer blew up.
'Okay, Mr Hutchmeyer, if that's the way you want it,' said Greensleeves as Hutchmeyer was pinned back into his chair. 'Now we're really going to get tough.'
He was interrupted by a sergeant who whispered in his ear. Greensleeves sighed. 'You're sure?'
'That's what she says. Been up at the hospital all day.'
Greensleeves went out and looked at Sonia. 'Miss Futtle? You say you're Miss Futtle?'
Sonia nodded. 'Yes,' she said. The police chief could see that Hutchmeyer had been telling the truth after all. Miss Futtle was not a little lady, not by a long way.
'Okay, we'll take your statement in here,' he said and took her into another office. For two hours Sonia made her statement. When Greensleeves came out he had an entirely new theory. Miss Futtle had been most cooperative.
'Right,' he said to Hutchmeyer, 'now we'd like you to tell us just what happened down in New York when Piper arrived. We understand you arranged a kind of riot for him.'
Hutchmeyer looked wildly round. 'Now wait a minute. That was just a publicity stunt. I mean...'
'And what I mean,' said Greensleeves, 'is that you set this Mr Piper up for a target for every crazy pressure group going. Arabs, Jews, Gays, the IRA, the blacks, old women, you name it, you let them loose on the guy and you call that a publicity stunt?'
Hutchmeyer tried to think. 'Are you telling me that one of those groups did this thing?' he asked.
'I'm not telling you anything, Mr Hutchmeyer. I'm asking.'
'Asking what?'
'Asking you if you think it was so goddam clever setting Mr Piper up for a target when the poor guy hadn't done anything worse than write a book for you? Doesn't seem you did yourself or him a favour the way things have worked out, does it?'
'I didn't think anything like this...'
Greensleeves leant forward. 'Now I'm just telling you something for your own good, Mr Hutchmeyer. You're going to get the hell out of here and not come back. Not if you know what's good for you. And next time you dream up a publicity stunt for one of your authors you'd better get him a goddam bodyguard first.'
Hutchmeyer staggered out of the office.
'I need some clothes,' he said.
'Well you're not going to get any back at your house. It's all burnt down.'
On a bench Sonia Futtle was weeping.
'What's the matter with her?' said Hutchmeyer.
