night up at your hotel.”
Stubb nodded.
“And that was the end of the news—practically the end, anyway. Now curfew nods to tell of parting day; that’s what my father always used to say about that time of night, when the churchbells rang. We went to bed with the chickens a whole lot earlier then.”
“And then the two women came?”
“Well, not right away.”
“How long after?”
“I left the TV on just like I usually do, but I don’t remember now just what the show was. And I went to fix my dinner. I had real Irish stew, the frozen kind. I lit the gas and put it in the oven and set the table and so on—poured my milk—and just when I was finishing they come a-tap, tap, tapping like the poor raving.”
“Finishing setting the table or finishing eating, Mrs. Baker?”
“Finishing eating, but Lord, that didn’t take more than a couple of minutes. Then I got up and went to the door and they came in and I turned the TV off and gave them some tea.”
“How long would you say the frozen stew took to cook?”
“Wait just a shack.” The old woman got up and hobbled across her kitchen to the outside door. “This is the one those nice policemen broke,” she said. “I have to get it fixed.”
She stepped out onto the snowy porch, and returned a moment later holding a shiny little carton. “I always keep my garbage back there until collation day. They used to come oop the alley, but now they won’t, and I don’t see why. Anyhow here’s the stew box, Mr. Barnes. I was wrong about the Irish—Hungarian galosh, they call it. I haven’t got my glasses, so you’ll have to read the back yourself. I only wear them when I want to see something. How long does it say?”
“Then it must have been about six when they came.” She filled her mouth with cornflakes and milk.
“Yeah. And that’s about half an hour after Free’s face was on the news. But they wouldn’t have come here— next door—first. First they would have gone to Free’s and poked around a little to see if he was still there, or had maybe left a note for the milkman or something. Say ten minutes for that. They got here in about twenty minutes from wherever they were. Did they have a car?”
Mrs. Baker nodded and swallowed.
“Did they
“There was a car in front of the house when I got the door, and when they left I heard a startup. I saw the lights in my curtain too, now that I come to think. What lights through yonder window breaks, as they say, though naturally they didn’t really break it.”
“When you came to the Consort, how’d you get there, Mrs. Baker?”
“Cab.” Her mouth was full of cornflakes. “Drink your cooco. It’ll be as cold as a cumberbund.”
Stubb took a sip. “You phoned for one and it came? Or did you go to a busy street and flag one down?”
“Phoned.”
“When it came for you, did the driver stop in front of your house, where the two women’s car had been?”
“I believe so, but I can’t imagine where it makes no never blind.”
“It means it’s probably no use for me to look for tracks from the women’s car in the snow. What sort of car was it?”
“Like General Matters, you mean? I didn’t see.”
“Standard? Subcompact?”
“Kind of bewitched and between.”
“That’s a compact. Old or new?”
“New, I think. It looked kind of shinish. But listen here, Mr. Barnes.” The old woman scooped up more cereal. “Suppose I knew just exactly how it was—I don’t, but preposing I did—what good would it do for poor Mr. Free?”
“I don’t know,” Stubb admitted. “Maybe none. But maybe I’d come across that car someplace else and be able to link the two up.”
“If they come again, I’ll look better.”
“Thanks. Write down the license number if you can. Getting back to this time, you said it looked shiny. What color was it?”
“Black, I think, or midlight blue.”
“Could it have been gray?”
She shrugged. “You know what they say—at night all cars is gray. Is that important too?”
“It’s the usual color for cars in the General Services Motor Pool, that’s all. Two doors or four?”
“Four, I believe. Two on the side I saw.”
“You didn’t see the women get out of the car? Or get back into it?”
