“Well,” O’Sullivan said, smiling, “she was sweet on Herbie, she really was. When he was charged with his wife’s murder, she refused to believe it. She was in court every day, took him things in jail—books, fruit. But you have to understand, women loved Herbie Mitteldorfer. I mean, he wasn’t good-looking, but he was a snappy dresser, had charm and wit, never forgot any woman’s birthday. He had quite a beautiful wife. I was astonished when he killed her; we all were.”

“Mitteldorfer was released from prison a few days ago,” Dino said, “and this morning, Eloise Enzberg’s body was found in the East River, her throat cut.”

O’Sullivan’s face fell. “Well, I’m really sorry to hear that. She was a very nice lady.” He thought for a moment. “And Herbie’s out? Do you think there’s a connection?”

“Do you think Herbert Mitteldorfer could have killed Eloise Enzberg, Mr. O’Sullivan?” Stone asked.

“Of course not,” O’Sullivan scoffed. “That could never have happened. Herbie wouldn’t have done that.” He looked thoughtful. “Of course,” he said, “that’s what we all said when Herbie murdered his wife.”

26

HOWARD MENZIES LEFT HIS APARTMENT building at the stroke of 9:00 A.M., dressed in his most conservative suit, unconsciously fingering his rather recently grown Van Dyke beard.

The doorman greeted him warmly, “And how are you and Mrs. Menzies today?” he asked.

“I’m very well, Jeff, but I’m afraid Mrs. Menzies was taken ill last night while visiting a friend, and she spent the night over there. I’m just on my way to see her now.”

“I hope she’s better,” Jeff said. “Would you like a taxi?”

“No, I think I’ll walk,” Menzies replied. “Oh, by the way, some men will deliver some boxes this morning and will be doing some installations. Please let them into my apartment.”

“Of course, sir.”