“All right, skip it. Get this quick. There were ten people at our place tonight. The five from Softdown — Helmar, Brucker, Quest, Pitkin, and Miss Duday. Also Sarah Jaffee and her attorney, Parker. Also Eric Hagh — the ex-husband. He flew in today—”
“I know he did.”
“Hagh and his lawyer, Irby. Also Andy Fomos. They left a little after midnight. Sometime during the evening one of them took the keys to Sarah Jaffee’s apartment out of her bag. She didn’t miss them until she got home, and she phoned me, and I’m here now in her apartment. Whoever took her keys came and got in and waited for her, and at two minutes to two he conked her and strangled her, and she’s dead. She’s here on the floor. I’m telling it like this because it’s now just two-thirty-six, and thirty-eight minutes isn’t much time for getting out of this building and getting somewhere, and if you get a move on—”
“Is this straight, Goodwin?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in the Jaffee apartment now?”
“Yes.”
“By God, you stay there!”
“Drop that phone and get your hands up!”
It was a little confusing, with two city employees giving me commands at once, one on the phone and one in person but behind my back. Purley Stebbins had hung up, so that was all right. I turned, lifting my hands plenty high enough to show that they were empty, because there is no telling how a random flatfoot will act just after discovery of a corpse. He may have delusions of grandeur.