'Know any Jamaicans in London?'
'No.'
'When did you first learn Andrew Hale was being difficult?'
'I don't know anyone named Andrew Hale.'
'He's Cynthia Keating's father. Did you know he once owned the underlying rights to Jenny's RoomT
'I don't know anything about him or any rights he may have owned.'
'No one ever informed you of that?'
'Not a soul.'
'Then you're learning it for the first time this very minute, is that right?'
'Well ... no. Not precisely this very minute.'
'Then you knew it before now.'
'Yes, I suppose I did. Come to think of it.'
'When did you learn about it?'
'I really can't remember.'
'Would it have been before October twenty-ninth?'
'Who can remember such a long time ago?'
'Do you remember how you learned about it?'
'I probably read it in a newspaper.'
'Which newspaper, do you recall?'
'I'm sorry, I don't.'
'Do you remember when that might have been?'
'I'm sorry, no.'
'Was it a British newspaper?'
'Oh, I'm certain not.'
'Then it was an American paper, is that right?'
'I really don't know what sort of paper it was. It might have been British, I'm sure I don't know.'
'But you said it wasn't.'
'Yes, but I really don't remember.'
'How well do you know Cynthia Keating?'
'Hardly at all. We met for the first time a week ago.'
'Where was that?'
'At Connie's party.'
'The Meet 'N' Greet?'
'Why, yes.'
'Never talked to her before then?'
'Never. Am I supposed to have spoken to her?'
'We were just wondering.'
'Oh? About what?'
'About when you first spoke to her.'
'I told you . . .'
'You see, after we learned Mr Bridges was from London . . .'
'Big city, you realize.'
'Yes, we know that.'
'If you're suggesting he and I might have known each other, that is.'
'But you said you didn't.'
'That's right. I'm saying the population is even larger than it is here. So if you're suggesting I might have known a Jamaican, no less, from Euston or King's Cross . . .'
'But you don't.'
'That's right.'
'And you never met Cynthia Keating, either . . .'
'Well, not until . . .'
'The party at Connie Lindstrom's, right.'
'That's correct.'
'Never even spoke to her before then.'
'Never.'
'Which is what made us wonder. When we were going over our notes. After we learned Mr Bridges . . .'
'Oh, you take notes, do you? How clever.'
'Mr Palmer,' Carella said, 'it might go better for you if you stopped being such a wise ass.'
'I didn't realize it was going badly' Palmer said, and raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes wide and smiled impishly. 'I was merely trying to point out that scads of people are from London, that's all.'
'Yes, but not all of them are linked to Cynthia Keating's father.'
'I never met Andrew Hale in my life. And I'm certainly not linked to him, as you're suggesting.'
'Mr Palmer,' Carella said, 'how did you know Martha
Coleridge wanted a hundred thousand dollars from each of you?'
The blue eyes went wide again. The eyebrows arched. The lips pursed.
'Well ... let me think,' he said.
They waited.
'Mr Palmer?' Carella said.
'Someone must have told me.'
'Yes, who?'
'I can't remember.'
'You didn't talk to Miss Coleridge herself, did you?'
'Of course not. I never even met the woman!'
'Then who told you?'
'I have no idea.'
'Was it Cynthia Keating?'
Palmer did not answer.
'Mr Palmer? It was Cynthia Keating, wasn't it?'
He still said nothing.
'Did she also tell you her father owned the underlying rights to the play?'
Palmer folded his arms across his chest.
'And was refusing to part with them?'
Palmer's look said his carriage had just run over an urchin in the cobbled streets and he was ordering his coachman to move on regardless.
'I guess that's it, huh?' Carella said.
Palmer took an enameled snuff box from the pocket of his brocaded waistcoat, disdainfully opened the box, and sniffed a pinch of snuff into each nostril.
Or so it seemed to the assembled flatfoots.
They called Nellie Brand and spelled out what they thought they had. At the very least, they figured they were cool with conspiracy to commit first-degree murder. Nellie advised them to pick up Cynthia Keating and bring
her in. She herself got there in half an hour. It was seven thirty-five on the face of the squadroom clock, and it was still snowing outside.
They brought Cynthia in ten minutes later. Todd Alexander came to the party at ten past eight. He promptly informed them that his client would not answer any questions and he warned them that unless they charged her with something at once she was marching right out of there.
It now remained to see who would blink first.
'I wouldn't be so hasty, Todd,' Nellie said. 'You stand to make a lot of money here.'
