Page 149 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Airtight

“How about a cup of coffee, Lieutenant?” I couldn’t bring myself
to call her by her first name. It just didn’t fit with her unyielding
professionalism. “There’s a fresh pot on the credenza.”
“That would be fine, Miss Day.” She sat down, and I walked
behind her to get a couple of Styrofoam cups. She was sitting as stiff
and straight as a drill sergeant. I fumbled with the cups, finally filling
both to near the brim. No point in saving any now.
“Cream or sugar?”
“No, thank you.”
I sat down opposite her. “I’m going to have to prepare a press
release concerning these events,” I began. “Could you give me a hint
about what direction things are going?”
“Certainly. First, you may be wondering about my methods—
although this is not going to be of immediate interest to the press. It
is not standard practice to question witnesses or suspects and then
send them back into each other’s company. The testimony can
become tainted or distorted, as you may well imagine. But I was
confronted with a group of people who had developed camaraderie
over a period of close confinement and isolation from others. I had
to break through that barrier and set them to reacting against each
other. Sparks would fly, and things would be said that otherwise I
might not get a chance to hear. Therefore I made an effort to
uncover facts about them that they probably had concealed from
each other. Your personnel files were a big help in doing this, I
should add.”
“Glad to be of service.” She had taken out her notebook and was
tapping it vigorously with a ballpoint pen very close to the cup of
steaming coffee. I hoped it wouldn’t get knocked over in my
direction.
“In Toro Batrakian’s case, as you may have surmised, very few
external stimuli were necessary to get him to talk. He is not the soul
of discretion his taciturn personality might suggest. Without too
much coaxing he told me about all the women he had had affairs
with in this company, including you and Blanche.”
“Blanche? But when—”
She waved her hand dismissively, and the pen flew out of it, past
my shoulder and onto the floor near the credenza. She started to rise,
but I welcomed the diversion. “I’ll get it.” The news about Blanche

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