The Innocent Woman

to the right of the storefront. Steve went in and found himself in a small foyer. There was an inner door and a row of mailboxes with push buttons. Steve hesitated a moment, then pushed the button for F. L. Jewelry. He was not at all surprised when no one buzzed the door open. He considered trying the other buttons to see if anyone in the building would buzz him in. First he tried the door itself. To his surprise it clicked open.
    Steve went in and took the stairs to the second floor. The door straight ahead said F. L. Jewelry. Steve walked up and was about to knock when he noticed the door was open a crack. There was a light coming from under it.
    Steve took a breath. He paused, pushed open the door.
    Whatever he had expected to find wasn’t there. It was just your typical small business office, furnished with a desk, file cabinets and stacks of packing cases.
    Steve walked over to the desk. It was clearly secretarial, with a switchboard, intercom, rolodex and typewriter on a stand. Just in case there was any doubt, the top drawer was open slightly, displaying a movie magazine.
    Steve walked around the desk and stopped.
    The middle drawer on the right hand side was open. So was the cash box inside it, which was empty.
    Steve leaned forward to look. Sure enough, underneath the cash box was some sort of bound book, obviously the petty cash ledger.
    Steve sighed. Oh boy. Bad news all around.
    He checked the inner offices. The first one was neat as a pin. The large oak desk held a telephone, an intercom and nothing else. Aside from that was a desk chair, two straight backed chairs and a file cabinet. Either Mr. Lowery or Mr. Fletcher’s office.
    Steve tried the last office. The light was off. He fumbled on the wall, switched it on.
    The body of Frank Fletcher lay face down on the floor. His head was twisted to one side, and his eye was open, staring. He was lying in a pool of blood, which seemed to have begun at his chest and spread out almost to his outstretched arms.
    He was clearly dead.
    There came the squeak of floorboards from the outer office.
    Steve wheeled, tiptoed to the door.
    Peered out.
    It was Tracy Garvin.
    Steve stepped out, said, “Tracy.”
    She started, then recognized him. Relief flooded her features. “Steve!” she said. She ran to him, fell into his arms.
    “Hey, hey.” he said. “Take it easy.” He grabbed her shoulders, held her up till she looked at him. “Get a hold of yourself. Are you okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You see Amy?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You know what’s in the next room?”
    Tracy looked at him, wide-eyed. The answer was all over her face.
    Steve exhaled. “We gotta get out of here.”

12.
    “A LL RIGHT, WHERE IS SHE ?”
    Tracy Garvin looked up at him. Steve Winslow had whisked her out of F. L. Jewelry and had not stopped until they were safely around the corner on Sixth Avenue.
    “In the office.”
    “No, she’s not. I just called there.”
    “When?”
    “Just now. Before I went in there. I got the answering machine.”
    “The office machine?”
    “Yes, of course. Why do you say that?”
    “It must have been while we were down the hall.”
    “Oh?”
    “Amy thought she was going to be sick. She went to the ladies room.”
    “There’s a bathroom in the office.”
    Tracy gave him a look. “You wanna argue with me about it? I’m leading her up to the office, she says she’s gonna be sick and runs down the hall. I followed her, got her together and brought her back. You must have called then.”
    “Then what did you do?”
    “Went out to look for you.”
    Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
    “Amy said she left a message for you to meet her at the jewelers.”
    “Then she said not to.”
    “Right. But I figured you would anyway. And you did.”
    “I see,” Steve said. “So this all just happened. I mean, you were just a few steps ahead of me. You got here, met her, took her to the jewelers. You got her out of there, took her up to the office. You were down the hall when I called. You parked her in the office and came out to get me?”
    “That’s right.”
    “How long ago did you find the body?”
    “I don’t know. A half hour. Twenty minutes. Why?”
    “I’m trying to figure out what to do. Did you touch anything up there? Leave your fingerprints?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “What about her?”
    “She may have. But she worked there. Her prints would be there anyway.”
    “Yeah, but not for some time. She’s up in the office