“I was getting into the tub. I don’t shower in the morning. I discovered years ago that if I take a shower in the morning, I can never get my hair organized again, for the whole day.”
“Yes. You had already run the tub?”
“Yes. While I was brushing my teeth. And all that.”
“So there must have been a period of time, while the tub was running, that you couldn’t have heard anything from the living room—not the front door, not the television, not talking?”
“I suppose not.”
“So the second time you heard the door close, when you were getting into the tub, you actually could have been hearing someone leave the suite.”
“Oh, my. That’s right. Of course.”
“It would explain your son’s not having returned, your husband’s not having left, and your not hearing talking.”
“How clever you are.”
“Then, what? You were sitting in the tub.…”
“I’m not sure. I think I heard the door open again. I believe I did. Because, later, when I went into the living room, when I… I… the door to the corridor was open.”
“All right, Mother.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Neale. This is difficult.”
“Would you like to take a break? Get some coffee? Something?”
“Would you like an eye-opener, Captain Neale?”
“An eye-opener?”
“I’m making myself a Bloody Mary,” Junior said.
“Oh, no, Junior,” Lydia March said.
“A little early, for me,” Neale said.
“Let’s get it over with,” Lydia said. “I heard Walter coughing. He never coughs. Not even in the morning. He’s never smoked.… Then I heard him choking. It got worse. I called out, ‘Walter! Are you all right? Walter!’”
“Take your time, Mrs. March.”
“Then the choking stopped, and I thought he was all right. The telephone began ringing. Walter always picked up the phone on the first ring. It rang twice, it rang three times. I became very alarmed. I screamed, ‘Walter!’ I got out of the tub as fast as I could, grabbed a towel, opened the door to the bedroom.…”
“Which bedroom?”
“Ours. Walter’s and mine.… Walter was sort of on the bed, the foot of the bed, his knees sort of on the floor, as if he hadn’t quite made it to the bed … he had come from the living room… the bedroom door was open … the scissors … I couldn’t do a thing … he slipped sideways off the bed … Walter’s a big man … I couldn’t have caught him even if I had been able to move! He rolled as he slipped. He fell on his back … the scissors … face so white … Captain Neale, a big blood bubble came up between his lips.…”
“Mister March, why don’t you give your mother some of that?”
“Come on, Mother.”
“No, no. I’ll be all right. Just give me a moment.”
“Just a sip.”
“No.”
“We can postpone the rest of this, if you like, Mrs. March.”
“I don’t even remember going through the living room. I went through the open door to the corridor. I was just thinking, Helena, Helena, Jake… I knew they were in 7 … we had met for drinks there the night before … there was the back of a man … there was a man in the corridor walking away, lighting a cigar as he walked … I didn’t know who he was, from behind … I ran toward him … then I realized who he was … I ran to Helena’s door and began banging on it with my fist… Helena finally opened the door. She was in her bathrobe. Jake wasn’t there. …”
“Mrs. March, did you go back into that suite?”
“My mother has not been back in that suite since.”
“I was on Helena’s bed. They left me alone. For a long time. I could hear people talking loudly, everywhere. Eleanor Earles came in. I asked her to find Junior.…”
“Did you know, at that point, your husband was dead?”
“I don’t know what I knew. I knew he had landed on the scissors. I asked for someone to get Junior.”
“And, Mister March?”
“I was in the coffee shop. I heard myself being paged in the lobby. Eleanor Earles was on a house phone. I came right up.”
“What did Ms. Earles say to you, Mister March?”
“She said something had happened. My mother wanted me. She was in the Williams’ suite—Number 7.”
“She said, ‘Something has happened’?”
“She said, ‘Something has happened. Come up right away. This is Eleanor Earles. Your mother’s in Jake Williams’ suite—Number 7.’”
“What did all that mean to you?”
“I couldn’t imagine why Eleanor Earles was calling me about anything. In the elevator I was thinking, maybe there had been an accident. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Mrs. March, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. March. Who was the man in the corridor?”
“Perlman. Oscar Perlman.”
“The humorist?”
“If you say so.”
“Why didn’t you speak to him?”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry? You said you ran toward him, and then you didn’t speak to him.”
She said, “Oscar Perlman has been very unkind to my husband. For years and years. Very unfair.”
“Mother … realize what you’re saying.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. March. You’ll have to explain that.”
“Well, years ago, Oscar used to work on one of the March family newspapers, and he thought he could write a humor column. He always was lazy. I’ve never thought him funny. Anyway, Walter encouraged him. He really developed the column for Oscar. Then, well, as soon as the column was established in one March newspaper, Oscar went off and sold it—and himself—to this syndicate.… Very unfair. Walter was terribly hurt. Even last year, when Walter was nominated for the presidency of the Alliance, Oscar was saying bad things about him. Or, so we heard.”
“What sort of bad things?”
“Oh, foolish things. Like he tried to pass a bylaw saying only journalists could vote in the Alliance election, no private detectives.”
“‘Private detectives’? What was that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, who knows? Oscar Perlman’s a fool.”
“Mister March, do you know what ‘no private detectives’ means?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Walter March said. “Oscar Perlman has a coterie of followers—mostly Washington reporters—poker players all—and he keeps them entertained with these sophomoric gags. I don’t know. March Newspapers is pretty well-known for its investigative reporting. Maybe he was trying to make some gag on that. I really don’t know what it means. No one did.”
“Utter hateful foolishness,” Lydia March said.
“Mrs. March, your husband was a powerful man. He had been all his life.…”
“I know what you’re about to ask, Captain Neale. I’ve been lying awake, thinking about it myself. Walter was a powerful man. Sometimes powerful men make enemies. Not Walter. He was loved and respected. Why, look, he was elected President of the American Journalism Alliance. That’s quite a tribute to a man—from his colleagues, people he had worked with all his life—now that Walter was, well, about to retire.”
