“He is paying for this apartment and your support, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. You’re keeping this apartment through illicit means. You had better tell us everything.”
“Why?”
“Miss Faulkner, would you like to see Alan Stanwyk named in an eviction action? An eviction action taken on moral grounds?”
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe this is happening. Who complained?”
“It is our policy not to report that sort of thing.”
“Make the world safe for informers, huh?”
“We’re very grateful to people who tell us when things are amiss among our apartments. How else would we know? Now, I suggest that you take our attempt to grant you a fair hearing sincerely, and tell us all.”
Sandra Faulkner was looking at Fletch as a lady-in-waiting caught rolling in the hay with a court violinist might have looked at Queen Victoria.
“Do you always wear your sunglasses in the house?” she asked.
“I have a failing in the eyes,” Fletch said, “which is not a subject for general conversation.”
“I see. Wow. Okay. What do you want to know? I used to work as a receptionist at Collins Aviation. Alan Stanwyk is sort of important at Collins Aviation.”
“We know, Miss Faulkner.”
“I’m not Miss Faulkner. I’m Mrs. Faulkner. My husband was a test pilot. For the navy. One day, trying to land on an aircraft carrier, he missed and crashed. I couldn’t work for a long time thereafter. Jack and I had put off having children, thinking there would be plenty of time …”
“This person you refer to as Jack was your husband?”
“My husband. The insurance ran out. Unemployment ran out. I was drinking heavily. Very heavily. At first, Alan Stanwyk’s office would make a call to see how I was doing. It was just professional courtesy, I think. One morning, very early, I was drunk out of my mind, and I told the secretary to go fuck herself. The next day, Alan Stanwyk showed up at the door with his secretary and some flowers. This was more than a year after Jack had died. They put me in a hospital for a while. And paid for it. Alan is a flier himself. He was overseas. He has a scar on his belly from where he was wounded. The day I was released, Alan picked me up in his car and brought me home. It’s been that way ever since.”
“You see him twice a week?”
“Yes, about that. He’s given me something to live for. Himself. I hope someday to have his child.”
“He comes here on Mondays and Wednesdays?”
“The neighbors don’t miss much, do they? The sons of bitches.”
“Mrs. Faulkner, do you have any intention of ever marrying Mr. Stanwyk?”
“Why, no. He’s married. Joan Collins. He couldn’t divorce her. She’s the daughter of the chairman of the board, or something. John Collins.”
“You’ve never thought of marrying him?”
“No. We’ve never discussed it.”
“Yet you hope to have his child?”
“Yes. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Are you currently pregnant?”
“No.”
“In other words, Mrs. Faulkner, you intend to maintain this affair, unchanged, in this apartment, for the foreseeable future?”
“Yes. I do.”
“And Mr. Stanwyk has not indicated to you any desire for change?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it hardly needs pointing out, Mrs. Faulkner, you have no rights here. Alan Stanwyk could disappear next week, and you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Fine. If that’s what he wants to do. He owes me nothing. I could get a job now. I’m fine.”
“Is Mr. Stanwyk in good health?”
“Yes. Terrific. I wish I hadn’t let myself go so long.”
“And has he indicated any change in your relationship in the foreseeable future?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has he indicated to you that you might be taking a trip together?”
“No. I think I’m kept pretty much in the background. And I’ve never asked for any such thing.”
Fletch closed his notebook. He had written nothing in it.
“Very well, Mrs. Faulkner. I’ll make my report to Greene Brothers. I will ask them not to take any action on this matter, as it seems to be a discreet, adult affair.”
“Thank you.”
“There aren’t any other men who use this facility, are there?”
“By ‘this facility,’ do you mean this apartment, or me? The answer is no to both.”
“I see.” Fletch stood up. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Faulkner.”
She said, “You have a lousy management company.”