“I’ve located another witness who saw her.”
Another witness? Maybe one who would prove to be more reliable than Belinda? One who had also seen the fatal struggle in the parking lot? The noose seemed to be tightening around Jasmine Day’s pretty little neck. My pulse beat faster in my throat, and I felt a sense of rising excitement like a trailing hound catching a scent.
“Where?” I demanded. “Down by the tunnel? In the parking lot?”
Maxwell Cole enjoyed his brief moment of triumph. He wanted to bask in it, to rub my nose in it. He pursed his lips and shook his head. The movement sent his thick glasses sliding down his nose. He shoved them back into place.
“Are you going to tell me who she is or not? I’ve got a hunch, but I want to know for sure.”
“This isn’t ‘Let’s Make a Deal,’ Max,” I reminded him. “It’s a homicide investigation. If you knowingly withhold information, I’ll personally see to it you go to jail. You can count on it.”
Maxwell Cole suddenly looked uneasy. He’d never make it playing poker. His face gives him away. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” he whined.
“Try me.”
“Up on Bellevue,” he said.
“What?”
“My witness saw the same blonde up on Bellevue, right in front of the house where the other guy died. Same blue dress, same long gloves, same blonde hair.”
“What time?”
“Around one or so. That squares with what the medical examiner’s office says was the approximate time of death.”
I took out my notepad. “Who’s the witness?”
“An LOL who lives down the street.”
“What’s this little old lady’s name, and what exactly did she see?”
“Her name’s Mavis Davis.”
I must have looked dubious.
“Honest to God, J. P., that’s her name,” Max continued. “I didn’t make it up. She’s got this ugly little mutt named Corky, an old dog. Corky’s been sick. The other night, he had to go for a walk. Late. While she was waiting for him to do his job, she saw a cab stop in front of the house on Bellevue. A woman in a long blue dress got out.”
“What kind of cab?”
“She didn’t say.”
“So what happened?”
“She said she watched the woman get out of the cab, pay the driver, and go inside the house.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Did the cab go or stay?”
“It left.”
“Did she say what kind of cab?” I asked again.
“No. Only that it was green.”
“How did you find her?”
“I was up there poking around, trying to find an angle, and I just stumbled into her. It was blind luck. She was out walking her dog. Again. He’s still sick.”
I couldn’t recall the name Mavis Davis surfacing in any of the apartment buildings Big Al and I had visited the previous morning, but then we must have talked to seventy-five people while we were searching for a possible witness.
“Where does this woman live?” I asked.
“Just off Harvard, a couple of blocks north.”
“What’s her number?”
“Wait a minute. You haven’t told me about the blonde.”
“And I’m not going to. What’s the number?” He gave it to me finally, under protest, and I wrote it down.
“Is it Jasmine Day?” Max blurted suddenly.
“What makes you think that?”
“Just a hunch, that’s all.”
Maxwell Cole doesn’t have a modest bone in his body. His diffident answer was totally out of character. I had made the connection between Jasmine Day and Richard Dathan Morris, but I wanted to know how Max had done it. If there was another trail leading to Jasmine Day, I was going to check it out myself.
“Bullshit!” I told him. “You got the idea somewhere, Max. It’s a long jump from a witness seeing an unidentified blonde in a blue dress to accusing a particular blonde of murder, especially if the blonde is a famous singer. I want to know who put that notion in your head, how you made the connection.”
Max backed away from me. “Why should I tell you? You won’t help me.”
“I’ll help you, all right. I’ll keep you from going to jail. Now tell me where you got your information.”
Max blinked and looked puzzled. “Does that mean it isn’t her?”
I didn’t answer, but Max jumped to his own conclusions. “If it isn’t her, why did someone call me and say it was?”
“Someone called you? Who? When?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know who it was. Just an anonymous tip. You know, people think newspaper people can actually do stuff. A guy called late this afternoon, right when I got back to the office after talking with that Davis woman.”