“Irish that is, ma’am, that word, not American. A fight, sure enough, though being a lady and gentlemen they used hard words, not shillelaghs.”
The chambermaid had the Irish gift for story-telling. While she talked, Daisy could imagine herself cowering in the bathroom, listening involuntarily to the harsh voices.
First had come the peremptory rap on the outer door. Brisk footsteps crossed the room to answer it.
“What the heck do you want now, Elva?” That was Carmody, bored, irritated.
“We can’t talk in the hallway, Otis.” A female voice, high-pitched, with a hint of a whine—Mrs. Carmody. She was a pretty woman, with an air of fragility, Bridget said.
A long-suffering sigh next reached the maid’s ears. “O.K., come in then if you insist. Yes, you too, Bender. I don’t know what more you think there is to say.”
“Not my idea,” spluttered the unknown Bender. “Leave it to the lawyers.”
“Honey, the lawyers can’t help if Otis won’t cooperate.” Mrs. Carmody now spoke in tones of sweet patience. “He’s not one of your tenants to be evicted. I don’t see why you won’t give me a divorce, Otis.”
“I’m quite ready to divorce you, sweets.” Carmody’s voice conveyed a sardonic grin. “For desertion, or adultery, whichever you choose.”
“You know that’d damn me in the eyes of the best New York society. Why can’t you be a gentleman and give me grounds to divorceyoufor adultery?”
“Because I’m too much the gentleman ever to be unfaithful.”
“Oh, don’t give me that hooey!”
“Now, now, Elva, don’t be vulgar,” chided Carmody. “The best New York society won’t stand for vulgarity.”
“Damn you! I’m sick of your sarcasm. I’m sick of never knowing when you’re gonna get paid. I’m sick of playing second fiddle to your damn career, running around at all hours digging up dirt that makes important people hate your guts. I’m never coming back to you, so why won’t you just go and have a fling with some little chorus girl?”
“So you can set your private dick on my tail, peering through keyholes and jumping out of closets with his Kodak to catch mein flagrante?” Carmody was angry now. “Sordid, Elva, sordid! No, I’m not putting myself in the wrong for your sake, so Bender’s goddamn blood-sucking lawyers can strip me of what little I possess!”
“Hold it there, buddy!” bleated Bender. “I don’t need your two bits to keep the little woman in furs and diamonds.”
“Maybe not, but I’m not taking the risk. And it’s no good saying you’ll sign a paper. I know what a smart lawyer can do with a piece of paper, and I know all the judges in this burg got elected on the Tammany ticket, and I know you’re in cahoots with Tammany. So forget it, buster. You’re notgonna wring a nickel out of me, let alone two bits. Why don’t you take her to Reno?”
“It takes six weeks to get a Reno divorce,” snapped Elva Carmody. “Barton can’t leave his business that long. You can’t expect me to go through an ordeal like that without his support.”
“Afraid you’ll lose him?” sneered Carmody. “Out of sight, out of mind.”
“Bastard! Of course not. I trust Barton absolutely.” Her voice changed to a coo. “We’re in love, aren’t we, honey?”
“Sure thing, honey baby. Come on, let’s go. It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
The door to the hall had not quite slammed. Bridget heard the scrape of a match, then Carmody had drawled, “It’s safe now, girl. You can come out.”
He was seated at his desk, smoking, apparently unruffled, when the chambermaid scuttled past him with her armful of dirty towels. She had not dared to face him since, making sure he was absent when she had to enter his room to perform her duties.
So much for Sergeant Gilligan’s theory, Daisy thought. But that did not mean Mrs. Carmody’s lover had no motive for shooting her husband, especially if he truly loved her. Surely, though, it would have been much simpler to manage somehow to take her to Reno, wherever that was.
Except that Tammany Hall had once again reared its ugly head. A Reno divorce would not solve that side of the equation.
Or maybe something had been said on the return visit, of which Daisy had heard the end, which made Carmody’s death imperative. She wished she had seen more of BartonBender than the balding top of his head. Could he have been the man who escaped down the Flatiron Building’s stairs?
“Did you see Mr. Bender?” Daisy asked Bridget. “Then or at any other time?”
“No, ma’am. ’Twas when Mr. and Mrs. Carmody first came to the hotel I saw her, before she up and left. I never seen Mr. Bender.”
“Never mind. You can tell the police his name and they’ll find him. And however slow they are, I don’t think there’s much fear of your forgetting what they all said. You had every word down pat, and they won’t expect such accuracy.”
“Yes’m. I was listening hard ’cause I was scared, so it stuck in my mind zackly what they said. But the other time I heard Mr. Carmody quarrelling, I only heard a little bit and I don’t remember so well.”
