“My husband. The insurance ran out. Unemployment ran out. I was drinking heavily. Very heavily. At first, Alan Stanwyk’s office would make a call to see how I was doing. It was just professional courtesy, I think. One morning, very early, I was drunk out of my mind, and I told the secretary to go fuck herself. The next day, Alan Stanwyk showed up at the door with his secretary and some flowers. This was more than a year after Jack had died. They put me in a hospital for a while. And paid for it. Alan is a flier himself. He was overseas. He has a scar on his belly from where he was wounded. The day I was released, Alan picked me up in his car and brought me home. It’s been that way ever since.”
“You see him twice a week?”
“Yes, about that. He’s given me something to live for. Himself. I hope someday to have his child.”
“He comes here on Mondays and Wednesdays?”
“The neighbors don’t miss much, do they? The sons of bitches.”
“Mrs. Faulkner, do you have any intention of ever marrying Mr. Stanwyk?”
“Why, no. He’s married. Joan Collins. He couldn’t divorce her. She’s the daughter of the chairman of the board, or something. John Collins.”
“You’ve never thought of marrying him?”
“No. We’ve never discussed it.”
“Yet you hope to have his child?”
“Yes. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Are you currently pregnant?”
“No.”
“In other words, Mrs. Faulkner, you intend to maintain this affair, unchanged, in this apartment, for the foreseeable future?”
“Yes. I do.”
“And Mr. Stanwyk has not indicated to you any desire for change?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it hardly needs pointing out, Mrs. Faulkner, you have no rights here. Alan Stanwyk could disappear next week, and you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Fine. If that’s what he wants to do. He owes me nothing. I could get a job now. I’m fine.”
“Is Mr. Stanwyk in good health?”
“Yes. Terrific. I wish I hadn’t let myself go so long.”
“And has he indicated any change in your relationship in the foreseeable future?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has he indicated to you that you might be taking a trip together?”
“No. I think I’m kept pretty much in the background. And I’ve never asked for any such thing.”
Fletch closed his notebook. He had written nothing in it.
“Very well, Mrs. Faulkner. I’ll make my report to Greene Brothers. I will ask them not to take any action on this matter, as it seems to be a discreet, adult affair.”
“Thank you.”
“There aren’t any other men who use this facility, are there?”
“By ‘this facility,’ do you mean this apartment, or me? The answer is no to both.”
“I see.” Fletch stood up. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Faulkner.”
She said, “You have a lousy management company.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you have a lousy management company. Not only are you nosy parkers, but these apartments are not adequately protected against burglary.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I was robbed last night.”
“You were?”
“Yes. All my cosmetics.”
“Your cosmetics?”
“All of them.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Come. I’ll show you.”
In the bathroom, she opened the medicine chest.
“This morning, that window was open, and all my cosmetics were missing.”
The medicine chest was bare, as were other shelves in the bathroom.
“Only your cosmetics were missing?”
“Some aspirin. My toothpaste.”
“Your towels are here.”
“No. One towel is missing.”
“One towel is missing. They must have used it to carry off the cosmetics.”
“That’s what I figure.”
“Surely, Mrs. Faulkner, that window is not large enough for an adult.”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“Some child in the neighborhood must have broken in and stolen your cosmetics.”
“I would say so.”
“Probably afraid to venture farther into the apartment.”
“I’m glad you’re so busy protecting the morals of the children in this neighborhood, Mr. Whatever-your-name- is, Greene Brothers Management. I’d hate to have them thinking dirty thoughts while they’re in jail for burglary.”
It was lunch time. The corridors of the
Fletch dropped two wrapped sandwiches and a carton of milk on his desk and took off his suit jacket.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number of the managing editor.
“This is Fletcher. I want to talk to Frank.”
“Are you in the office, Fletch?”
“Yes.”
“He’s at lunch. He’ll be back at two o’clock. Can you wait till then?”
“I’ll twiddle my thumbs. Please make sure I see him at two.”
Fletch loosened his tie and sat down.
While eating the sandwiches, he found the subpoena. Ordered to appear in court Friday morning at ten o’clock. Failure to pay alimony to Barbara Ralton Fletcher. Contempt of court. Failure to appear will cause instant arrest.
“Jesus Christ.”
Friday morning he had the choice of receiving a Bronze Star and thus being arrested, or facing contempt charges in court and thus being fired.
“Jesus Christ.”
The phone rang.
“Hello, for Christ’s sake.”
“Is this Mr. Fletcher?”
“If you insist.”
“What?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Mr. Gillett, of Gillett, Worsham and O’Brien.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Mr. Fletcher, I regret to tell you that the check you gave me the other day as payment of back and present alimony to Mrs. Linda Fletcher, in the amount of three thousand, four hundred and twenty-nine dollars, is no
