On the other side of the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, at Queens Plaza, Devlin pulled into the old Q39 bus stop and went into the Dublin House to make another telephone call. Susan Michaels, Jane Milburn’s roommate, was on Manhattan’s Upper West Side—and certainly sick and tired of talking to police. Still another detective calling now might even raise her suspicions. How did Devlin feel? The humidity was making him sweat. After three rings, a young woman said hello.

“Susan Michaels?”

“Yes.”

He was using an Irish accent. “My name is Michael Finn, and I’m a reporter for the National Enquirer. You know why I’m calling. I’ll try to make it easy for you—”

“You don’t know how much I’ve talked in the past thirty-six hours, Mr. Finn,” she said. “I’ve got to go out to New Jersey this afternoon and I’m already late for the office. I really don’t know what I can tell you …”

“And that’s exactly the point, Miss Michaels,” Devlin said smoothly. He hadn’t pulled a stunt like this in years. “At the Enquirer we’ve learned that people often don’t realize the importance of what they know, and need a little direction to bring it out.”

“The police said the same thing yesterday.”

“I’m not surprised.” Devlin had only paraphrased what Levine had told him Monday night. “We consult the same authorities on interviewing. What I want to do is make a time when we can get together. And another thing: Even though the police must have searched your roommate’s belongings, they may have missed something the Enquirer will pay you for—”

“I’m not interested in money,” she said.

“On a story like this, we’ll pay up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed! And if you stop and think, the police didn’t search the whole apartment. As for what you can tell us, we can protect you.”

“Let me have your telephone number. I want to think about this. She said things to me. I mean, she’s dead, what difference would it make if the world found out she had an attitude?”

“Not the slightest.”

“Right. You’re nobody’s fool, Mr. Finn. Maybe we can talk. Will you people pay me for just a straight interview?”

“I’ll see what can be done.” He gave her his home telephone number, thinking he didn’t care if the message was intercepted, but then he thought again, quickly. “If you get my answering machine, which doesn’t give my name, use the name Gail. We operate in a very crazy world.”

“There’s only one reality, and we all have to live in it,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”