Lucid Intervals (2010)

that sounded like my fiancée. They asked where she was, and I said I didn’t know for sure, but I thought she might have gone shopping. Then these two detectives arrived, and they asked me a lot more questions, and I started to get the idea something was wrong. Then they told me Sheila was down on the sidewalk. I ran to the . . .”
    “Parapet.”
    “Yeah, and I looked down, and the ambulance was driving away and the doorman was scrubbing the sidewalk. The four cops all followed me out, and I said I had to go to the hospital. A detective said there was no need to do that, since she was dead.”
    “Did you tell them about your argument with Sheila?”
    “Well, yeah. I told them everything I knew, then they arrested me and took me down here to the precinct.”
    “Did they tell you why they were arresting you?”
    “Yeah, they said for murdering Sheila. Honest to God, Stone, all I did was ask her to go see you.”
    “Herbie, you said the sliding glass door to the terrace was already open when you went outside.”
    “Right. Sheila closed it when we came in last night. We were going out to dinner.”
    “You didn’t touch the door?”
    “No.”
    “Do you know when it was last cleaned?”
    “Yesterday. The maid came.”
    “Did you touch the sliding door after the maid came?”
    Herbie thought about that. “No. Sheila opened it when we went out there for a drink, and she closed it when we came in.”
    “Where did you go to dinner?”
    “At that place you told me about, Sette Mezzo.”
    “Did you have a good time there?”
    “Oh, yeah. Sheila was in a great mood, which she wasn’t always in, but she was last night. We laughed a lot.”
    “Herbie, during the argument, did you happen to hit Sheila?”
    “No, no. I never hit her in my life.”
    “What was she wearing when you went into the john?”
    “Silk pajamas,” Herbie said.
    “Okay, you sit tight. I’m going to see if I can cut this short, before they arraign you.”
    “Okay, hurry back.”
    “I’ll do my best,” Stone said, and left the interview room.

43
    S tone walked up to Dino’s office and was waved in and introduced to an attractive young woman who was sitting in one of Dino’s chairs.
    “This is Carla Rentz,” Dino said. “She’s prosecuting your client, Mr. Fisher.”
    Stone sat down and tried to look puzzled. “Prosecuting him? For what?”
    “For murder,” the young woman replied.
    “On what evidence?” Stone asked.
    “Mr. Fisher was the only one present when she was thrown off the roof,” she said.
    “Excuse me,” Stone said. “What evidence do you have that she was thrown off the roof?”
    “Well, she’s dead.”
    “Have you considered suicide?”
    “Why should I consider suicide?”
    “Because it’s one of two possibilities,” Stone said. “Either she was thrown off the roof, or she jumped.”
    “What is her motive for suicide?”
    “What is Mr. Fisher’s motive for murder?”
    “I’m sure that will emerge.”
    “Well, if a motive emerges, you may have cause to arrest Mr. Fisher but not now. Tell you what. Send a couple of Lieutenant Bacchetti’s detectives over to a restaurant called Sette Mezzo, on Lexington near Seventy-sixth. Mr. Fisher and Ms. Seidman had dinner there last night. Ask the headwaiter and their waiter what their demeanor was during dinner there. You’ll be told that they were very happy, enjoying each other’s company. You see, he was in love with her, and they planned to marry.”
    “If they were so happy, why would Ms. Seidman commit suicide?”
    “Anger is a motive for suicide; people kill themselves all the time, because they think it will hurt the people they’re mad at.”
    “You say he was in love with her. Was she in love with him?”
    “In my opinion, no,” Stone replied. “Ms. Seidman was a working prostitute who had serviced Mr. Fisher on a number of occasions, and when Mr. Fisher won a large sum in the New York State Lottery, her interest in him became more . . . acute, shall we say. And so did the interest of her employer.”
    “You still haven’t given me a motive for suicide,” Ms. Rentz said. “Why was she angry?”
    “She was angry because Mr. Fisher had asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement. She didn’t want to go back to her pimp and tell him that, so she was between a rock and a hard place. I had already spoken to her earlier about a prenup, and she became angry at the mention of it. She was uncontrollably angry before she