“But …,” bleated Bender.
“You gonna come quietly? Don’t wanna scare the ladies, do you?”
“I want to call my lawyer!”
“Now, now,” Gilligan reproved him, “ain’t no need for that. You ain’t under arrest … not yet. I just wanna ask you a few questions where it’s peaceful and quiet, that’s all.”
“Elva!”
“I’ll call him, Bart. What’s his name?”
“Macpherson, James P. Macpherson.”
“See, your memory’s improving already.” Gilligan put a heavy hand on Bender’s shoulder.
“O.K., I’m coming, I’m coming!”
“I’ll telephone Mr. Macpherson, Bart. Right away.” As the sergeant and his minion bore off the hapless man, Mrs. Carmody jumped up, agitated. “I never knew he did it, I swear.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, ma’am,” Rosenblatt soothed her, adding with some asperity, “that is, I dare say he didn’t. Our good sergeant is inclined to jump the gun.”
But, Daisy noticed, he made no move to stop Gilligan.
“I must call his lawyer. Poor Bart—will they use the ‘third degree’?”
“Of course not, Mrs. Carmody. Not on a prominent citizen with a good lawyer. So there’s no hurry for you to telephone. Just sit down, and maybe we can clear this all up here and now.”
Once more dabbing her eyes, Mrs. Carmody sat. “If he did it, I didn’t know nothing about it,” she declared again.
“Did Mr. Bender ever make threats against your husband?”
“Oh no, not seriously. Of course he’s real sweet on me, so he was madder’n a hornets’ nest when Otis wouldn’t do the right thing by me. But he was talking mostly ’bout what his lawyer’d do to Otis, not his boys.”
“Mostly?” insinuated Rosenblatt.
“Well, he did say Otis’d change his mind in a hurry if he was to set the boys on him, but I said he mustn’t and he promised he wouldn’t. I still loved Otis, see.” Mrs. Carmody sniffed delicately and dabbed again. “I wouldn’t’ve wanted anything bad to happen to him, however mean he was. I just didn’t wanna fritter away my life playing second fiddle to his work. You unnerstand, don’t you?” she asked Rosenblatt meltingly.
“Sure. You’re only young once, right? A beautiful lady shouldn’t waste her youth on …”
“Uh …” Gilligan reappeared, rather pink in the face. “Hey, you, Lambert!”
“Who, me?”
“Aw, geez, let’s not get into this cross-talk deal again! You finished with that mug book?”
“Er … I have, but I don’t think Mrs. Fletcher’s gotten quite all the way through. I didn’t recognize anyone.”
“I guess Mrs. Fletcher better finish up. If you was to reckernize wunna Bender’s toughs, ma’am, we’d have him cold.”
Daisy didn’t want to return to those beastly faces when she could be listening to Rosenblatt and Mrs. Carmody. “I don’t want to delay you,” she said. “Suppose I give the book to Detective O’Rourke when he comes back, or is he going with you?”
Gilligan looked taken aback, as if he had forgotten O’Rourke’s existence. Perhaps he had. “That’ll be fine, ma’am,” he said. “O’Rourke can bring it back to Centre Street.”
“Shall I tell him that’s where you’ve gone?”
The sergeant’s face turned purple, but he reined himself in and merely snapped, “You can leave that to me, ma’am.”
“Right-oh,” said Daisy, and Gilligan stalked out. Daisy stayed put.
