The Curse by Harold Robbins

coincidence.”
    â€œWhat coincidence?”
    â€œYou and her both being there … right at that moment … and you’ve never met each other before this morning.”
    â€œThe woman probably got the notion in her head that I was someone else. Maybe someone who stole her husband. So she wanders around my building until I open my door. Then she follows me when I leave. Or maybe we just happened to be in the same subway station at the same time.”
    He nodded, his jowls jiggling. “Interesting.”
    I lost it.
    â€œExcuse me, but what is so interesting about it? I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, when a poor sick woman decided to end it all. End of story.”
    He wasn’t buying it.
    â€œLook,” I told the subway cop, “it’s too bad that this woman didn’t get help with her problems, but she was obviously miserable. For some people, dying is better than living.” Which pretty well described my feelings about being trapped in this interview room with this detective. “I have things I have to do. There’s nothing else I can tell you.”
    â€œHell of a coincidence.”
    â€œThere’s that word again. What’s so hard to understand about ‘I don’t know her’? Never saw her before this morning. A complete stranger, as are most of the millions of other people in the city.”
    Staring at me, his wrinkled face, wide nose, and watery, red-veined eyes reminded me of a sad bloodhound.
    I felt sorry for talking so callously about the poor woman and I needed to go to someplace sane and have a drink.
    I got up, ready to leave, but paused, not wanting to be rude. I was beginning to feel sorry for him, too.
    â€œDetective, I really don’t know the woman. I’m not even sure it’s the same woman who was at my apartment.”
    A lie, but a good one. How would they prove that it was the same woman? I just as well could have run into two crazies on the same day. It wasn’t out of the question.
    Let me tell you, any juror in New York City would sympathize with that contention.
    I decided to beat the drum on the premise that it was an entirely different woman than the one that had wielded the letter opener.
    â€œThe more I think about it, I’m sure it wasn’t the same woman.” I locked eyes with him. “When you get the report I gave to the policeman at my apartment this morning, you’ll see that it’s not the same woman. The description is different.”
    The clothes were certainly different.
    â€œThe woman in the subway approached me because I made the mistake of meeting her eye. You know as well as I do that you should never do that with a crazy. Then she went running in front of the train. That’s all I know. Can I go now?”
    â€œHave any business dealings in London or Egypt?” he asked, ignoring my question to leave.
    â€œNot—not really.”
    I rubbed the sweat from the palm of my hand on the money bulge.
    â€œSounds like you’re not sure.”
    â€œWhy do you ask?”
    â€œHer name is Fatima Sari. She had an Egyptian passport. Flew in yesterday from London.”
    I tried to keep a poker face but my guilty conscience got my tongue wagging.
    â€œI’ve never heard of her. I did talk to someone, not this woman, about an Egyptian piece recently. But that’s all. I’m an expert on antiquities. I’ve dealt with Egyptian artifacts hundreds of times. But like I keep telling you, I don’t know this woman from Adam.”
    â€œA complete stranger speaks to you, someone you’ve never seen before, and you just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.…”
    â€œExactly.”
    Was he finally getting it?
    â€œAnd she has your business card in her pocket.”
    â€œWhat?”
    He holds up a business card. “Madison Dupre, Art Inquiries—”
    â€œThat’s my card.”
    â€œUnless there’s