Another Senseless Killing
B J Bloch

I

   The soft discordant rumble of distant thunder and the intermittent dull flashes of light served as strong indicators that an out of season electric storm was somewhere in the vicinity and getting closer. The blustery north wind had all but stopped, surrendering to occasional gusts, as the temperature tumbled to around forty-eight degrees, well below normal for the lower Midwest in early October.
   At six-thirty PM a faded blue two door Chevrolet Caprice stopped at the corner of Main and Fifth Streets near the outskirts of Cardwell, Ohio, a suburb of Cleveland. A short stocky middle-aged man with unusually smooth skin, close set bloodshot eyes, and thick black eyebrows, slowly got out of the car. He glanced at the dented fender through his wire- rimmed glasses, shook his head in disgust, then studied the ominous black and gray sky. He peered about him nervously before entering the rickety graffiti-covered phone booth. Broken glass from a broken panel covered the floor. It would have to do. He cursed the missing phone book, and dialed O. It would be a long distant call. Sweating profusely, and after depositing the exact amount of change that the mechanical sounding operator specified, he waited. He took out a dirty green handkerchief and wiped his face. A sudden burst of thunder and lightning made his heart accelerate and his body jump. He waited some more. Then feeling unusually jittery, he pushed the glasses up on his short pointed nose.
   The phone finally rang --- once --- twice --- .
   A dog howled far off in the distance and crickets screamed to their mates punctuating the brief quiet interlude while the caller waited for his party to pick up the phone.
  --- three times --- four times ---.
   "Hello." The voice sounded tired.
   The caller hesitated.
   "Hello." The response was louder this time.
   There were several seconds of silence. Then the caller, breathing heavily, put his mouth close to the receiver and spoke softly but distinctly, careful to enunciate every word. This time there must be no
misunderstanding. Everything would go as planned. "I don't like to repeat myself. But I will." The caller wiped his face again. "I told you last time that I was there. I saw you do it."
   "Damn it!" The second voice interrupted. "We discussed this. I don't have it. So you listen."
   "NO!" The caller screamed into the mouthpiece. "You listen!"
   Once more there was silence except for the caller's heavy breathing --- more pronounced this time.
   The caller looked around him again --- anxiously --- cautiously. The proximity of a sharp flash of lightening and a loud clap of thunder almost caused the caller to drop the phone. Telephones and storms were a bad combination. But he held on and continued, softening his tone. "You didn't bring the money to our prearranged spot. I told you --- "
   "I don't have it. Just give me a little more time. Be reasonable for Christ's sake!"
   "Sorry. I am not a reasonable man."
   "Look, I can't --- "
   "Shut up and listen, okay?" The caller kicked away a small rock. "Either you get the money we talked about or the police will put your fucking ass in a sling. This is your final notice."
   "Damn you!" Fatigue was mixed with anger.
   "So don't fuck with me, asshole. I call the shots!" The caller smiled as he spoke with confidence. "And by the way, the price has gone up."
   "You son-of-a-bitch!"
   Now the thunder was softer and the flashes duller. Maybe the storm would blow over.
   "The price is now twenty-thousand." He waited. There was no response. "Today is Wednesday. Bring the money tomorrow night at eleven o'clock. Drop it in the wire waste basket at the corner of Main and Race Street across from Harley's Drug Store." The caller took a deep breath. "I'll be watching."
   After a brief pause, the other voice asked, "What if I refuse?"
   "You won't. Because we both know that would be stupid."
   There was more silence. The storm had definitely blown over. The wind was calm. The streets were still deserted.
   "Like I said. I will go to the police." He wiped his face again then put the handkerchief into his back
pocket. "And come alone. No smart-ass shit! Remember --- I'll be watching."
   The caller hung up. Then he left the phone booth and stopped, looking in all directions. When he was satisfied no one had seen him, he ran to his car and sped away.
*














 

   11

   "Where is Arthur?” My sister yelled from the bedroom. “Is he home yet?” When she yells it's usually from the bedroom, where she spends most of her time --- going to bed early and getting up late "I'm going to lie down. I have this awful migraine."
   Today it's migraine. Yesterday it was arthritis. Last week it was colitis. "He's not home yet, Bea." I yelled back. "He's still out."
   Arthur is always 'out'. Usually bar hopping in out-of-the-way restaurants looking for men. On two separate occasions I spotted him with the same young man, and on both occasions we chose to ignore each other's presence. He never discussed it or even alluded to it, and I sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up. But he definitely knows that I know. I'm not sure about Bea. Maybe she doesn’t want to know.
   "Tell him to come upstairs when he comes in." Bea added.
   It’s not hard for Art to pretend because he’s not your stereotype gay. He is tall and solidly built with penetrating gray eyes, thick black wavy hair and a short firm masculine chin. And at age sixty-three, Art looks younger than me.
   "Okay, Bea."
   Personally, I would kick his ass out of the house. Art certainly won't leave because he is married to a very rich woman. Bea has a lot of money as part of a settlement from a very short but profitable marriage. She is secure financially but insecure emotionally. And I suppose as bizarre as it seems, Art must fill that emotional need.
   So if she doesn't mind him going out every night, why the hell should I? As much as I dislike the man, at times I cannot totally blame him for staying away. Being married to my sister has got to be a constant struggle.
   My sister lets me live rent free, which is a tremendous help financially. Being a private detective is far from a lucrative profession. But if I could afford to leave, I would. As much as I love my sister is as much as I hate being a freeloader.
   "I'm gonna defrost a TV dinner." I continued to yell.
   "I'm sorry I'm not up to making you a real dinner." she said apologetically.
   I just shrugged. I tell her she has too much free time to think about her ailments. I tell her to get a part time job or find a hobby. Something --- anything to keep her mind occupied. I might just as well speak to the sofa.
   "Manny, why don't you come up to the bedroom so we don't have to yell."
   "Later." Never! I can't stand to go into their bedroom. Seeing my sister play the invalid depresses the hell out of me.
   I put the frozen turkey dinner in the microwave, setting it for seven minutes. Just then, Arthur walked in. His black silk Fila warm-up and his top-of-the-line Reeboks totally outclassed my torn tee-shirt and Fruit-Of-The-Loom boxer shorts.
   “Dressed to ‘the nines’, I see.” He snickered then went up to the bedroom.
   If anyone else had said that, I would have laughed. Coming from Arthur, the prick, it annoyed me. But then everything about Arthur annoys me.
   Aside from his screwing around, our relationship has been strained ever since he bought an annuity from one of my competitors eight years ago. Ordinarily I never hold a grudge. But in this case I’ll make an exception. Those were the days I averaged one job per month. That month I sold annuities.
   I sat down at the small dinette, which is situated between the kitchen and the hallway to the two bedrooms. I thought it was poorly located, but I only live here.
   As I opened the Cleveland Plain Dealer to the sport section, the bell on the microwave announced that my food was ready. I poured a diet soda, took the food from the microwave, and put the entire dinner on the dinette. I sat back looked at the sport section. If I see one more article that says my Cleveland Browns will finish last, I will never read another sport section for the rest of my life. And since I'm forty-eight years old, according to the longevity tables that would be about twenty-seven years! As it was, there was no such prediction. A temporary respite. Hooray! All they said was ' Bellicheck is rebuilding and Testeverde will make a difference.'
   "Jesus!" I said it aloud. "There is no getting around it. The Browns are gonna suck this year!"
   "Big deal." Arthur's husky voice startled me.
   "It’s a big deal to me!" I spoke to the newspaper. I could almost feel his eyes riveted to the top of my head.
   "How do you eat that shit?" he asked
   Without looking at him, I knew he was making a face. I extended my middle finger, never taking my eyes off the newspaper in front of me.
   "Fuck you too, shamus!"
   I ignored the remark and took another bite of my turkey. Then I washed it down with the soda.
   "Arthur." Bea called from the bedroom.
   "Yes, Bea." I could hear the disgust in his voice. "I'll be up in a few minutes."
   I took a final bite of my dinner. "Mmm --- very good." I closed my eyes and licked my lips.
   He went into the family room and dialed the phone. After a couple of silent minutes, he returned to the kitchen.
   As I was taking my dirty dishes to the sink, I said , "Don't tell me he wasn't home." I emphasized the word 'he'. I looked up and he was glaring at me. His face was blood red. I decided to glare back. I was always good at this. Art finally blinked and broke the spell. I knew he would. Then he pointed his finger at me and opened his mouth to speak.
   "Arthur." My sister's voice interrupted him. "Where are you?"
   "Coming, Bea." He answered mechanically.
   "Look, Arthur," I turned toward my brother-in-law. "I know it's none of my business, but --- "
   "You're right." I thought smoke was going to come out of his ears. "It's none of your business!"
   I was ready to kick ass, but I never got the chance as he quickly changed directions and went out the front door instead of going up to the bedroom.
   What an asshole!
   "Arthur?" Bea was at the top of the stairs now.
   I put the paper away and threw the garbage into the compactor.
   "He went out, Bea." I said, then I waited.
   After a long pause, she responded meekly, "Oh."
   I considered making the sacrifice and going up to her bedroom to see if she was okay. After all, it was my sister. But I decided not to. Maybe next time.
*













   

   
 
III


   It was five-forty-five p.m. My feet ached as if I were walking on hot coals and my head pounded as if it had been hit with a sledgehammer. My underwear clung to my body and my sweat-soaked socks stuck to my feet. I needed a long hot shower and a good night's sleep in my brand new waterbed. But for now, I still needed to earn a living.
   "Is this your husband?" I asked the tiny young woman seated in the worn cloth chair across from me. She was eighteen years old. Her dirty tan hair was short and her face was small with little exaggerated features, except for her hazel eyes, which looked too large. Overall, she was very unattractive. Her white sweatshirt had a large yellow stain right in the center. She reminded me of a mouse.
   "Yes." She answered in a grating high-pitched squeal. "That's Alex."
    She even sounded like a mouse. No wonder I had a fucking headache.
   I held the snapshot in one hand and wrote with the other. My notebook lay between the radio and the telephone; the only part of my desk that was uncluttered. I know it's hard to imagine, but even though the desk is an ungodly mess, I know where everything is.
   The snapshot showed a man not much older than my client, with long blond hair and a partially grown mustache and beard. His face was narrow and his blue eyes were wide and deep.
   "You think he's seeing another woman."
   She straightened up in the chair. "I'm certain of it."
   I nodded.
   "I know Alex. I just --- know. I can sense it."
   "Hmm --- not much to go on." I pulled my wet pants away from my ass and changed positions in the chair. "Tell me, Mrs. Delvecchio, --- "
   "Carmen." She smiled. "Call me Carmen."
   I hoped she wasn't coming on to me. I can't imagine what an eighteen year old mouse would want with a forty-eight year old partially employed private investigator sporting a ratty gray beard, hook nose and thin hair slowly approaching baldness. I immediately dismissed the passing thought as ridiculous.
   "Okay, Carmen ---, " I continued to write. " --- tell me when you saw him last and what he was wearing."
   She told me in detail as I turned to the last page.
   "How old is he?" I tried to sound like I cared.
   "Uh --- twenty-one --- and a half."
   "I see." I closed the notebook and put it and the pen in the top drawer of my desk. "Can I keep this snapshot?"
   "Yes." She took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed her eyes. "Of course."
   "Well, Carmen," I put the snapshot into my shirt pocket. "I think that's all I need for now."
   We both stood and I quickly but gently ushered her out of the office. I closed the door and took a deep breath. Trailing promiscuous men was not my favorite thing to do. But I guess it comes with the territory. And I was getting paid! I looked at the clock --- again. 6:05. It was time to leave. First, I needed five minutes to relax and unwind. I turned on the radio.
Bach suddenly flooded the room. Then I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. Perfect. "Five minutes." I said it aloud.
   My reverie was interrupted by a soft tap on the door. I opened my eyes and spoke to Bach. "Now what?" I waited a second, then I spoke louder and aimed my words at the door. "Who is it?" I wondered if Carmen forgot something. I waited some more. There was still no response. I took a pistol from the top drawer. "Who is it?" I repeated. After a couple of seconds the door opened slowly. I pointed my piece at the shadow in the open doorway.
   "Don't shoot." An attractive young woman emerged with her hands in the air and stood motionless. "Can --- can I come in?"
   I couldn’t talk. I could only gape. She came in anyway.
   "Is this how you treat a prospective client?" She closed the door with her hip and came closer.
   I finally got my mouth to work "I work by appointment." The weapon remained pointed at her.
   "Okay, so I don't have an appointment." There was a brief silence as we sparred with our eyes. "Can I lower my hands?"
   I got up from behind my desk and approached her. She had long auburn hair that hung loosely to her shoulders, deep dark brown eyes and full moist lips. Her nose turned up slightly and she had a tiny overbite. For me, that's an ideal combination. She also smelled of Giorgio. I recognized the aroma because my second wife, Ann, wore it. It drove me crazy. Unfortunately, it was the only thing about her that did.
   As I stood staring at her cleavage, I realized my mouth was open. I closed it quickly and walked toward the desk. Then for some stupid reason I wondered if she liked Bach.
   "Excuse me." She was pleading. "Can I lower my hands --- please?"
   I turned my stare from her chest to her eyes. "Sit over --- " I pointed to the ratty chair recently vacated by Carmen Delvecchio. " --- there." Then I sat down behind my desk and tried not to stare at her anymore. It was impossible.
   "Do you have to keep that --- that thing pointed at me?" she asked wearily.
   I looked at the forty-five, then slowly put it back in the top drawer. I followed her eyes as she casually looked around the tiny office with its dull gray walls, dull gray carpet and dull gray drapes covering the only window. Besides my desk and the two chairs, the only other furniture was a large green empty file cabinet in the far corner.
   “Why are you staring at me like that?” She asked.
   “I --- I didn’t realize I was.” I couldn’t lose the feeling that I’d seen her before.
   There was another long pause. She uncrossed her long legs, then crossed them again. I felt like she was teasing me. I loved it. I took out a cigarette, sat back in my chair, lit up and blew a large smoke ring at the ceiling.
   "Where's your receptionist?" she asked. She uncrossed her legs and put her knees together. Show time was over.
   "I don't have one --- yet." And I doubt if I ever will!
   I took the cigarette out of my mouth and began to pull on my beard. I hoped she wouldn’t equate a beard --- graying at that, and a receding hairline with old age. I narrowed my eyes and leaned toward her. "Are you going to tell me why you're here, or do you want me to guess?"
   She squeezed her black clutch purse and produced a faint smile. "I need your help."
   "I already figured that much out." I took another drag of my Camel. "Can you be a little more specific?"
   The smile vanished. "My sister has been missing for about a week."
   I took a fresh notebook and a chewed up pencil from the top drawer. "Have you notified the police?"
   She cleared her throat nervously. “My sister has a passion for privacy. Going to the police would be a bad idea. She would really be upset."
   I tried to write as fast as she talked. "I see." I spoke to the notebook and began to rub my beard again. Then I put the pencil down, put out my cigarette in the overcrowded ashtray and asked her point blank. "How did you get my name?"
   The feeling that I’d seen her before was intensifying.
   She took the guesswork out of it. "We met about two years ago --- briefly, at a writer's conference in Louisville, Kentucky."
    I took a long final drag. "You're kidding."
   "Nope. And my sister was with me." She crossed her legs again. “You are Manny Gold --- aren’t you?”
   “The last time I looked I was.”
   A diesel drove by. It sounded like it was coming through the wall.
   “How could I not remember you?” I asked.
   "Well --- there were a lot of people, and --- "
   I blinked. "But you remembered me."
   "Yes." Her smile was back.
   "I'm flattered." I returned the smile. "As a rule, I never forget a pretty face."
   She paused a moment, then narrowed her eyes. "Is that a pass?"
   I didn't respond at first. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds before I shifted gears. Then I asked as nonchalantly as I could, "Did you or your sister do anything with your writing?"
   She shook her head. "Nah. Neither of us had the talent. What about you?"
   "What," I gestured broadly. "and give up all of this?"
   Neither of us laughed. It wasn't funny. I looked back at my paper and put out my cigarette. The room was smoky and I couldn't smell Giorgio anymore. The music switched to Mozart.
   "Tell me your name." I felt really stupid. We had been talking for almost twenty minutes and I just now decided to ask her what her name was. "I know we met some time ago and I marvel at your recollection, but --- "
   "Margo Blair."
   I looked up quickly. “Margo --- Blair?”
   “Yes. And you’re staring again.”
   “I’m sorry. It’s just that --- “ I cleared my throat. “Uh --- where was I --- ?” My mind was suddenly a total blank. "How old are you?" It was the only question I could think of.
   "Why is that important?" She squeezed her purse.
   "It's routine." I lied.

   She hesitated before answering. "Thirty-six."
   Middle thirties. Perfect, I thought. "I like your dress. What is it --- black?"
   She took a deep breath and looked me directly in the eye. "It's navy blue silk. I live on Elaine Street. I hate jewelry. I'm an animal rights activist. I --- "
   "Whoa --- " I put both hands up, palms out. "We are a bit testy here."
   "I came here in good faith." She stood and her clinging skirt hiked way above her knees. "I remember you as being an okay guy. But --- "
   "Margo, I am okay." Our eyes began to spar again. "Now sit down." I softened my tone. "Please."
   "What if I don't? Are you going to --- shoot me?"
   We paused a moment then we both smiled. She sat back down slowly and put her knees together. There was another long silence.
   I turned the page. My hand was shaking.
   "I --- I'm sorry." she said. "You're right. I am a bit --- testy."
   I didn't interrupt. I just let her talk.
   "I need your help --- obviously. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here." She took a deep breath. "I need someone I can trust."
   "I'm your man." I answered too quickly. But it didn’t matter because deep down I didn’t want her to leave. "Okay. Let's talk about your sister again." I opened a fresh page. "You say she's been missing four days?" I turned off Mozart and lit up another cigarette. "Tell me where and when you last saw her."
   "You smoke too much."
   "It's my only vice." I blew another smoke ring. "Now I repeat. When and where did you last see her?" My clothes were soaked with sweat and my rear end was numb.
   She thought for a moment, then consulted the small calendar on my desk. "At her house on --- September thirtieth. We had dinner."
   "What did you eat?" I wanted to pull back that inane question.
   "Chinese food. Ming Po delivers. Neither of us likes to cook."
   "And that was the last time you saw her." I made it a statement instead of a question.
   "Yes. I left her house --- oh --- around ten."
   "And she acted okay?" I took a final drag and continued to stack the ashtray.
   Margo crossed her legs again and thought a moment. "Yes. I thought she acted okay."
   I continued to write, trying to catch up. My fingers were ready to fall off. I wasn't used to writing this much. "Can you remember what she was wearing?"
   She wrinkled her forehead. "No --- well maybe her brown cashmere sweater."
   I looked up at her. "Well --- was she or wasn't she --- wearing a brown cashmere?"
   She paused a second, then slowly nodded. "Yes. I'm sure."
   "She had good taste, I gather." I knew I couldn't sit here much longer.
   "She loved cashmere."
   "What else?"
   She thought some more. "I can't remember."
   I picked up the pencil and started writing again. "I'm sure it'll come back to you."
   I turned the page. "Can you describe her?”
  "My sister is gorgeous. Hollywood gorgeous!"
   My fingers were cramping. At times like this a lot could be said for being ambidextrous. Another diesel went by. I waited patiently.
   "She's almost five-feet-nine and thin --- about one-hundred-twenty pounds." She took another tissue from her purse and blew her nose. I wanted to jump over the desk and comfort her. I didn't.
"Her face is --- perfect. Long brown hair, dark brown eyes, --- "
   I continued to write. Between the shaking and the cramping it was near to impossible.
"She always wears too much makeup." Margo added. "We both know she doesn't need it." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "When she dresses up --- makeup or no, everyone takes notice."
   I felt a hint of hostility in her voice. Was it jealousy? I kept writing.
   "I told you she loves cashmere. But her entire wardrobe is dazzling. Lots of originals."
   "She must have a good job to be able to afford those clothes."
   She didn't respond at first. When she did, the hostility was more pronounced. "She --- she inherited a great deal of money."
   I looked up slowly. "From --- ?"
   "I don't think that's important, do you?"
   I put the pencil down. "Yes, I do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked you."
   Margo took another deep breath. She looked like she was in pain. "From her father. Now, can we go on?"
   I began to vigorously exercise my fingers. "You don't want to discuss it?" I asked.
   "No! Let's just go on --- okay?" She sat back rigidly.
   I tapped the end of the pencil on the desk for several seconds, then asked as an afterthought, "How old is your sister?"
   She paused a moment, then shook her head slowly. "You’ve got a thing for age, don't you? Twenty-nine."
   I thought I would give it one last try, so I snuck up on the subject and asked casually, "You and your sister have the same father?"
   I wasn't sure if she was going to laugh or cry. "Of course! What kind of a question is that?"
   "Well --- I just --- "
   "I told you, I don’t want to discuss parent-child relationships. Can we go on --- " Her tone softened. " --- please?"
   I looked up. Her eyes were a strange mixture of fury and sadness. So I changed the subject. "Does your sister work?"
   There was no response. I wondered if she'd heard me, so I repeated the question.
"Does she --- "
   She quickly interrupted. "Kate works as a part time receptionist and is a student at John Carver's School for Models."
   “School for --- “ My stomach dropped to my ankles. “Did you say Kate?”
   Margo nodded. “Yes.”
   “Kate.” I repeated as I absently turned the page. “And --- uh --- just what does Kate do at this school?”
   “What’s the difference what she does?” The hostility in her tone returned big time. “Don’t ask me any more questions about that school!”
   “Okay.” Time to shift gears again. “Tell me about her personal life.”
    “Her personal life?”
   “Yes. Does she date? Does she go out?” My entire body felt like one large piece of wood.
   “She doesn’t tell me much about her personal life.” Margo sighed deeply. “I told you she’s a very private person.”
   “Even with her sister?”
   This is lunacy. I must have sperm for brains taking this case!
   “Even with her sister.”
   “I see.” But I didn’t see.
   Margo looked at her watch. “How much longer?”
   “I have one final question.” I knew I’d have to be careful. “If your sister is dead --- “
   “She’s not dead!”
      "Margo, this is purely hypothetical. If she's dead --- " I emphasized the word 'if'. " --- who gains the most from her death?"
   Her breath came in short spurts. She licked her lips repeatedly. I stifled another urge to leap over the desk and console her.
   "This is police work.” I spoke softly. “Your sister is missing --- " I thumbed through a couple of pages. " --- four days.
   She stared at the floor.
   "I want her to be alive as much as you do. The pain in her face became more intense. I knew she was unconvinced. I softened my voice another notch. "I know this is tough, but --- who stands to gain the most if --- "
   "I will inherit three million dollars!" Her voice was barely audible.
   I stared at my client for what seemed like eons. Then I whistled softly. But before I could respond, she put her hand up.
   "Can we not talk about this anymore --- please?" She took a tissue from her purse and blotted her eyes.
   I took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. I give up." I knew the interview was over. I put the pencil and notebook away in the top drawer next to the notes on Delvecchio. "Well, this gives me a little something to go on --- for starters." I took a key out of my pocket and locked the desk. "Do you have a picture of your sister?"
   She opened her purse and handed me a snapshot.
   I stared at it long and hard. “You’re right, Margo. Kate is beautiful.” I could feel the photo pulling my eyeballs out of their sockets. “Her face is --- perfect.”
   “I told you.”
   “Your features are similar.” I continued to stare at the snapshot.
   She laughed. “Hardly.”
   “I think the resemblance is overwhelming.”
   "We both have brown eyes and long auburn hair." Margo sighed. "But that's as far as it goes."
   I started to protest her self-deprecation, but changed my mind. I took another long look at the picture before putting it in my shirt pocket. Kate would have to share space with Alex. I got up slowly. The parts of my body that didn't ache were numb. I walked to the window and drew the blind. I looked at the clock. It was six-forty-five. My stomach began to growl angrily.
   "How about dinner?" I asked.
   "No thanks. I have to meet a client at the far north end of town." She stood and smoothed out her dress. "But I'll take a rain check."
   "You got one." We shook hands and locked eyes for an instant. I wanted to kiss her as hard as I could. Her voice brought me back to reality.
   "We haven't talked money yet." she said.
   Time to be professional again. "My fee is fifty dollars an hour plus expenses."
   She didn't respond.
   I continued. "I also ask for a thousand dollar retainer."
   She paused then nodded. "That sounds fair." She didn't look as shocked as I thought she would. I was sorry I didn't ask for more. I glanced at my appointment book.
   Besides Carmen Delvecchio, the pages were depressingly empty. I closed the book before Margo looked.
   “Why don’t you stop by my apartment tomorrow night around eight o’clock and pick up the money.” Margo said as she walked towards the door. Then she turned back to me. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get away because I’ve got all this work to do.”
   Her remark caught me off guard. “Sounds like you work too hard.”
   “Tell that to my creditors.”
   “There’s really no rush.” The growling in my stomach was getting louder.
   "Manny, the sooner we get started, the better."
   "You're sure I won't be interfering?" Hunger pangs and a throbbing backache battled for my attention.
   "No. I'll probably need a break by then anyway." She took a small pen and a piece of paper out of her purse. She spoke as she began to write. "This is my address. And these are the --- directions. It's quite easy to find. You can't get lost. But , just in case --- " She smiled again.
" --- here's my telephone number."
   I took the paper, glanced at it briefly and put it in my shirt pocket next to Kate Blair's photo. The pocket was getting crowded. Then I moved the chair against the desk.
   She said “goodbye” as she was walking out the door. I stared after her.
   I knew that taking this case was a huge blunder. But it was too late. I was hooked.
  As the cigarette smoke cleared. I could smell Giorgio again.
 

  IV
   I walked into Junior's Deli at five minutes past noon. As usual, it was mobbed with a long line of drooling patrons --- mostly tourists. The privately owned Sixth Street delicatessen, now in its nineteenth year, claims to have the best corn beef and pastrami in the world. I, for one, would never dispute that ambitious statement. I love to just walk through the noisy restaurant and smell the cold cuts and the pickles. One whiff and it’s instant hunger followed eventually by heartburn. There are only twenty tables at the small twenty-four hour establishment, but the owners have no plans to expand. Why should they? People are willing to wait in line for hours to get in. The round counter in the center is always filled --- day or night.
   The cash register, take out section, and deli and dessert cases are all in the front. So that you have to pass the mammoth selections as a teaser when you first enter and as a final reminder when you leave. The dessert case has huge cheese cakes with all sorts of fruit toppings. There are a dozen different types of chocolate cakes ranging from black forest to six kinds of rum --- not to mention the rugeleh and the strudel. Large chunks of virtually every cheese known take up two full shelves. There are huge slabs of corn beef, pastrami, turkey and tongue. Three and four foot salamis hang on hooks in the window. If you're on a low fat diet, forget it!
   The walls are covered with photos of personalities that have frequented the place over the years: Gerald Ford, Bob Hope, Tom Hanks, Madonna --- and on and on.
  The room is loud and smoky. Two large fans, even at high speeds don't help. My biggest complaint is that there is no privacy with the tables all jutted up against each other. But, judging by the success of Juniors, no one else minds sharing their meals with total strangers.
   At twelve-thirty-five I was seated, and ordered coffee and a piece of cherry cheese cake. At twelve-forty-five Nick Foley came in, tieless and wearing his customary three piece suit. Nick is five-foot-eight and a solid two-hundred pounds. His walk is almost a waddle. His thick white hair matches his bushy eyebrows, both offset by a W.C. Fields nose and a ruddy complexion. Nick has been with the Cleveland Police Department for almost twenty-six years. His twenty-nine year marriage has produced three boys and three girls. None of them have decided to pursue a career in law enforcement. I know this bothers Nick, even though he never discusses it.
   Today I thought he looked terrible. He had dark gray circles and bags under his eyes that were large enough to shop with. I saw lines I never saw before.
   "Hello, Nick. I wondered if you were gonna make it." I lit up a cigarette. "You sounded like you were asleep when I talked to you on the phone earlier."
   "I probably was." He yawned. "There was a fucking homicide three nights ago."
 The table on our immediate left had a young family with four children and the table on our right had a family with three children. All the children looked to be under ten and both sets of parents must have thought that discipline was a capital crime. The children all spoke at the same time and didn't seem to care how loud they were or that anyone else was in the room.
 The youngest, maybe two years old, was crawling on the top of the table
with his hand in the pickle jar. The whole family thought it was hilarious. I wanted to smack the little shit.
   "I've been up with the medical examiner for damn near forty-eight hours."
   "Juan Morales?"
   "That's him."
   In spite of the din, I tried to try focus my attention solely on Nick and ignore the assholes on either side of us --- especially the moronic brat on the table.
   "I'm ready to retire, Manny." Foley took a sip of water, then put a cigar in his mouth.
   I laughed. "Nick, we have this stupid conversation at least once a month"
   "Exaggeration!" Nick said, pointing his cigar at me jokingly.
   "You'd be plain fucking bored and you know it."
   "Hell, I'm fifty-six years old. I'm ready to take that chance." He turned the cigar in his mouth. "This shit is for young people."
   "Nick." I took a deep drag of my Camel. "How can you stand to put those awful cigars in your mouth?"
   Nick took the cigar from his mouth and put it under his nose. Then he sniffed and smiled. "I love 'em. They relax me. And besides, I never light 'em." He put it back in his mouth. "How do you have the nerve to talk about my cigars with a cigarette smoldering between your lips."
   "These don't smell." I said gallantly.
   "Manny, one day you're gonna set your fucking beard on fire." We both laughed as he sat back and closed his eyes.
   The bratty two year old was off the table and the dysfunctional family of four was getting ready to leave. Thank God!
   The waiter, a stout elderly man with short white curly hair and a face that looked more like a road map, came over with my food. He took out his small pad and pencil and looked at Nick.
   "That looks good." Nick pointed his head at my food and spoke with his cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "I'll have exactly what he has."
   "That's quite all right." The waiter spoke broken English. He peered over his half-eyes and as he spoke his double chins shook. "It's not a crime to be unoriginal." Then he bowed and left.
   Nick and I looked at each other.
   "Was that supposed to be funny?" Nick asked.
   I shrugged. "Apparently the waiter thought so."
   The one family finally left and the other one, although still seated, had quieted down --- at least for the moment. Now we could talk without yelling and hear each other without straining.
   "Who was it?" I asked belatedly.
   "Who was what?" Nick asked as he took a sip of water. Before I could repeat the question, he took a napkin and wiped the table. "Christ, this table is filthy!"
   And I thought I was picky. "Call the busboy, Nick. That's his job." I took a bite of cheese cake and a sip of coffee. "The homicide."
   "Oh." Nick bit down on his cigar and opened his vest. His white shirt had a small tan stain. I chose not to mention it. I knew his wife would. He continued as if he'd never been interrupted. "A middle-aged guy by the name of Curt Warner got himself killed two nights ago. His Saint Paul driver’s license had slipped into the lining of his coat. We had one helluva time finding it." Nick stopped and stared at me. "Hey --- you okay?"
   I stared back. "Yeah. Why?"
   "Well, you looked a little pale, and --- "
   "I'm fine." I shrugged it off. "So where did you find this Warner?"
    Nick moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "His landlady found him by accident in a dumpster near the corner of Main and Race."
   "I guess the city needs to be more conscientious about picking up the trash." I said it jokingly. Nick didn't laugh.
   "It took us several hours to calm this landlady down before we could even begin to question her. The woman was hysterical." Foley took his napkin and laid it next to the ashtray. "We finally got her to go to the morgue and ID this guy --- or what was left of him. Then she got hysterical again."
   "So it was pretty bad, huh?" I motioned for the waiter.
   "The right side of his head was blown away. Preliminary reports, according to Morales, indicate a thirty-eight caliber pistol." Nick took the cigar out of his mouth to emphasize his point. "Manny, I could be a cop forever and still never get used to shit like that." He quickly put the cigar back in his mouth. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re --- “
   “I’m okay. This talk just makes me squeamish.”
   “See it first hand. Then you’ll know how I feel.”
   We sipped our coffee silently for several seconds. Then I asked, "Nick, how do you ID someone with only half a head?"
   "I guess there was a part of him she recognized." Foley suddenly realized what he had said and he and I looked at each other and began to laugh. "What I meant was --- ah --- forget it."
   I lit another cigarette with the butt of the last one. The waiter came over with the check and filled our coffee cups.
   Nick went on. "This landlady is positive the deceased came from Minnesota, which confirms his Saint Paul driver’s license." He sat back in his chair. "She has no inkling as to why the guy was zapped. Lived alone and no one ever came to visit. No friends or family she knew of." Nick took another bite of his cheesecake and a final sip of coffee. "'Strange' was the word she used to describe him. Says he'd been knocking around lately as nothing less than a fucking vagrant."
   I put out my cigarette and finished my coffee.
   "So," Nick continued wearily, "I need to do some digging and find out who this bird was and why anyone would want to bump him off."
   "No witnesses, I assume."
   "I spoke to businesses and people in the vicinity. No one recognized his photo. The night of the murder, no one saw or heard anything. Or if they do, they're claming up."
   Both tables were suddenly empty. Two busboys feverishly cleared away the dirty dishes and wiped the tabletop.
   "Anything I can do?" I asked.
   "Nah. Everything is pretty much under control."
   "Well, Nick, good luck."
   "Yeah. I'll need it." Foley removed his cigar and took a final bite of the cheesecake, talking with his mouth full. "This is awesome!"
   People speaking with their mouths full of food generally annoy me. With Nick Foley, I take exception.
   The table on the right filled up with two adults and two teenagers.
   Nick looked around him, then for some reason blurted out, "Fuck old age!"
   The family of four turned and looked at him.
   "I'll drink to that." We raised our water glasses, touched them and took a sip.
   We both sat back in our seats, then after several minutes, I said, "Nick, you don't really want to quit, do you?" I knew he'd be climbing walls.
   He hesitated a second. "Oh --- I guess not. Just get in the old lady's way."
   I motioned for the waiter again.
   "But if people do insist on committing murder,” Nick continued, “ I wish to hell they would have the decency to do it in someone else's territory."
   We both paused a while, fondling our empty water glasses.

   A wide smile suddenly appeared on Nick's broad face.
   "Why the grin?" I asked curiously.
   "Oh --- just thinking back to Chicago."
   "We do go back a few years." I returned the grin as I fell in step with Nick's sudden reminiscent mood. "What? Twenty --- thirty years?"
   "Oh --- Easy. Foley's Hat Store on Mohawk --- Irish Catholic, and Gold's Hat Store on Grant Street --- Orthodox Jewish." We both nodded. Nick went on. "I was a lot younger then, but I still remember. God, I loved those days."
   "Yeah. Me too. Things seemed so much --- simpler then."
   "Manny, where the hell has the time gone?"
   I shrugged. I had no answer. Again there was silence between us.
   I broke the mood. "By the way, I got this client. And --- "
   Nick put his hand on my arm. "That's great, Manny. And I don't mean to be rude or disinterested --- but I'm so tired --- I mean I'm really beat --- "
   "So you want I should tell you about it another time?"
   "Yeah. Like when I'm awake." He leaned in closer. "Because I do want to hear about it."
   "Okay." I shrugged. "It's no big deal."
   He gave my arm a squeeze. "I knew you'd understand."
   I looked at my watch. "I got to go. Time to trail Mister Delvecchio."
   "I remember when I was a young and eager detective. I used to hate those shit details too."
   "It's that obvious?" Nick didn't have to answer. "Well, thanks --- I think."
   The perturbed waiter came up to our table with two menus under his arm for the next patrons. Too bad!
  "More coffee, please." I said.
   The waiter gave us both a long reprimanding look, then left.
   "Manny, I thought you had to go and trail that client of yours."
   "Yeah --- but I need some more coffee first." Nick laughed.
   The family of four was still quiet. Then I realized the mother was mute and they were all signing. Most unobservant for a PI, I thought. I was certain Nick had caught it.
   "The Warner case sounds interesting." I said.
   The waiter filled our cups with the same angry expression. He never looked up, then vanished.
   "Wait ‘til you've done this for as long as I have, Manny. Apathy replaces interest and boredom replaces excitement. The challenges are few and far between." He took a fresh cigar out of his pocket. "It's sort of like marriage."
   I took a sip and pushed my cup aside. "I can relate to that --- the marriage part, that is."
   We both stood up much to the relief of the frustrated waiter. Nick left the tip and took the check to the front. I let him pay. I knew he enjoyed being the big shot. He also made more money than I did.
   Standing at the cash register, I casually asked Nick, "When we gonna play racquetball again?"
   "Never!" I could see my friend drooling over the dessert case. "You lefties kill me."
   "Crybaby."
   "And besides," he added, "ever since I hurt my Achilles tendon last year ---"
   "Excuses. Excuses." I love this banter.
   "Manny, it's just not worth the pain."
   We left the desserts and went outside.
   "Well, Nick, I rather enjoyed blowing you off the court. It builds my ego."
   "Yeah. And all of it at my expense."
   "So," I suggested playfully, "maybe we can take up chess. At least you won't get physically annihilated."
   "Very funny!" Nick didn't laugh. "Look, I would love to keep up this snappy chatter, but I do have to go to work --- tired or no. I wouldn't want you taxpayers to think I was fucking off."
   "That's a good idea." I did a bad impression of Stan Laurel scratching his head. Then we shook hands warmly and parted company.
*
   In an out of date powder blue polyester jump suit and cheap Converse sneakers, Juan Morales was sitting with his feet up on a table in the far corner of the county morgue watching a local news program on a nine inch black and white TV. The large orange drink in front of him was half full.
   "Hello." He waved.
   Nick and I waved back.
   He took a Wendy's bag from under the table and removed a sandwich. Judging by Morales' size, I guessed the sandwich was a Wendy's triple with bacon and cheese and anything else that would fit inside the bun.
   Juan Morales has been the Filmore County Coroner for twelve years and a friend of Nick Foley for almost as long. He was born forty-one years ago in Austin, Texas and educated at Harvard Medical School. His parents were both Spanish and he speaks with a slight Spanish accent.
   Juan is short and fat with no eyebrows. He sports a thin mustache under a large pock marked nose. His olive colored skin is like leather and his greasy black hair is combed straight back. His tortoise frames support thick myopic lenses.
   The room reeked from obnoxious smelling chemicals that I couldn't identify. Everything was white: White linoleum, white walls, white ceiling. Two small windows were at either side of the room with the white blinds drawn shut. Several useless vents were scattered over the walls and ceiling. Microscopes, assorted bottles, knives and scalpels were lying on small tables against the walls.
   I had been in this antiseptic room only five minutes and already nausea was setting in.
   Morales turned off the TV and consulted a large piece of yellow paper. He took another bite of his huge sandwich and followed it with a large swallow of his drink. Then he motioned to us and we came into his office, which was tiny but surprisingly neat.
   "Curt Warner is in the cooler. He hasn't moved since you saw him last." Then he laughed.
   Nick and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Did he do this routine very often or just for our benefit?
   Juan put his dinner on a tray on an adjacent table, and sat on the desk. Nick and I sat on chairs opposite him.
   "Nothing much new, Nick." Then he turned toward me. "This dude was shot through the head. I would guess five or six times."
   Nick nodded. "I think it'll be easier to talk without his landlady around."
   "So, Nick, you remember he had half his fucking head blown away."
   I only wanted to get the hell out!
   "The damage was done by a thirty-eight." Morales reached back and took a bullet out of a box. "This was lodged in the dura mater around the brain."
   He looked at me again. My nausea intensified. "Normally it doesn't smell this bad in here. But I'm all out of deodorizer." He forced a smile. "Some people never get used to the odor."
   "You can include me." I said.
   Juan's smile remained frozen. "Next time it'll smell better. I promise."
   Next time? I was dying for some fresh air and a cigarette.
   "There." Juan dumped the small piece of metal into the palm of my hand. "There were powder burns --- " He turned the page. " --- so he was shot at close range."
   "Possibly by someone he knew." Nick added.
   Juan thought a second. "Possibly."
   I rolled the disfigured metal piece in my hand and gave it to Nick.
   "Death was quick." Juan said.
   Nick gave back the bullet and the medical examiner returned it to the small box.
   "Do we have the weapon yet?" Nick asked.
   I began to inch toward the front door.
   "No." Juan shook his head. "When ballistics has it, they'll contact me." Then he reached over and took a final bite of his sandwich, which had to be ice cold. He made a face accordingly. Then he finished his orange drink. After a gigantic burp, he threw his garbage into the wastebasket under his desk.
   "Well." said Morales as he folded his large hands and put them on the desk. "Any other questions?"
   I wanted to ask if there was a place I could throw up, but I didn't.
   Nick asked, "How long has he been dead --- unofficially?"
   "Oh --- I would estimate --- around four or five days. That would make the murder date --- " He consulted a small calendar on his desk. " --- October fifth or sixth."
   "How long can you keep him here?" Nick asked.
   "We'll keep him in the cooler for maybe another week. Then hopefully the landlady --- or someone will come and get him." Juan opened the top drawer of his desk. "I almost forgot." He handed Nick a brown envelope. "I had some prints made of Warner's face from his driver's license --- as per your request, Nick."
   "Thanks, Juan." Nick smiled broadly. "I knew I could count on you."
   "I don't do this for everyone. Here's three copies."
   "I'll take one." I said, planning to show it to Margo.
   Nick looked at his watch. "Ready, Manny?"
   But I was already out the door.
*








 
V

   Nick Foley was in the process of moving into his new office, and the walls were bare, the carpet not yet laid. There was only a desk and two chairs. The desk displayed a phone and an eight by ten photo of his wife and kids. Some papers were scattered across the center. Nick sat in the chair behind his desk. I occupied the chair opposite him.
   "I can still smell the paint." I said wrinkling my nose.
   "Yeah, I know. They used oil base. But this is nothing." Nick looked at the papers on his desk as he spoke. "You should've been here two days ago."
   "I'm glad I wasn't." My insides began bouncing in all directions.
   Nick looked up and pointed at me. "What's sticking out of your shirt pocket?"
   "Huh --- ?" Kate was escaping from Alex. I couldn't blame her. "You mean this?"
   "Yeah. Is that a photo?"
   "It's a photograph of my new client's sister." I pushed the photo back. "Want to hear about it?"
   "Well, I'm sure it's interesting --- " Nick threw a quick glance at the clock above the doorway.
   "--- but I've been here since early this morning. I passed exhausted long ago. We can discuss
   it --- "
   "Fine!" I didn't mean to snap.
   Nick sat back in his chair and loosened his collar. "Okay, go ahead. Just be quick about it."
   "Okay. This --- " I took Kate's picture out of my pocket and showed it to Nick. "is my client's sister."
   "Let's see." He got his face close to the snapshot. Then his mouth dropped open and his eyes became two cue balls. "I'll be a son-of-a-bitch!" He took a photo from the top drawer of his desk and showed it to me. "Look familiar?"
   My reaction would have been no different then if someone had kicked me in the balls. I tore it out of his hands.
   Nick looked at me as if I'd gone berserk. I wondered if I had.
   "Curt Warner, the homicide I'm working on, had this in his pocket." Nick added.
   I held the two identical photos of Kate Blair in either hand and stared at them for what seemed like hours. There was dead silence in the room except for the soft ticking of Foley's clock.
   Nick broke the spell. "I think it's safe to say that the chances of there being two identical Kate Blairs are slim and none."
   "The odds are about the same as me making it with one of my ex-wives." I lit up a Camel. It was tough because my hand was shaking. I took a deep drag. It didn't help. "Kate has been missing for about --- six days. Her sister, Margo, hired me to help find her."
   Nick took a cigar out of his vest pocket, looked at it then put it back. "Well, Manny." Nick spoke with a renewed vigor. "I guess we'll be working together on this one."
  "Well --- " I took another deep drag, then exhaled slowly. " --- I don't know about that, Nick."
   He folded his hands on top of his desk and leaned in towards me. "What do you mean --- you don't know?"
   "I --- I'm not sure I want to take this case, and --- "
   "Why not?" He answered for me. "Of course you'll take it."
   "And besides, I would probably just get in the way, so that --- "
   "Look." Nick interrupted. "We've never worked together before. And since these cases are obviously connected, it's a natural."
   I started to protest, but he put his hand up almost in my face.
   "It's settled." He produced a wide grin. "We're a team." Then he stood up and stuck out his fat hand. "Put it there, partner."
   Nick could be more stubborn than me at times. I could see that arguing would be a futile. So I stood to face him and shook his hand reluctantly. "Okay --- partner."
*
 
VI

   "Nice apartment." I was impressed. I poured Margo and me each another glass of Riesling dry. Both the room and the furniture were of a strictly modern decor. Sharp lines and sharp angles. The sofa we sat in was a smooth white fabric with black spots running through it at random. Two thin black contemporary lamps stood on either side. A black chair with white random dots was on the opposite wall next to a huge bone white entertainment center. Books and knickknacks covered the walls on both sides of an unused fire-place. The two windows had simple mauve drapes and the carpeting was a tight charcoal weave. All the walls and the ceiling were wallpapered with an off-white shadow stripe.
   I set the decanter on the tray on an s-shaped glass table in front of us.
   "So --- " I said as I looked at the Ms. and BSc. degrees from Ohio State University, " --- you are a certified interior designer.
   "Yes." We both took another sip.
   "Did you do your own apartment?" I asked innocently.
   Margo paused and stared at me. "Sure. Why not?"
   I shrugged. "Oh --- some people might think it's better to get another's opinion out side the realm of your own environment."
   "More objective, you mean.”
   "Exactly!" I agreed.
   "Well --- " She smiled. " --- I guess I'm not some people."
   I nodded. Her brown eyes were starting to get to me. So was the wine.
      "Manny Gold." She said thoughtfully as she moved to the chair across from me. "Doesn't sound like a detective." She finished her drink and put the empty wine glass next to mine. I liked the way it looked.
   I smiled. "How about --- Sam Spade?"
   She laughed. Her eyes sparkled. "I believe you’re too late for that one."
   I picked up my glass and finished the wine, then I took out a fresh pack of Camels. "Where's the ashtray?"
   "Ah --- ah." She said waving her forefinger at me. "Put them away, Sam Spade. This is a non-smoking apartment.”
   I nodded. "I should have guessed." I immediately put the cigarettes back in my pocket.
   She got up and went to her purse. "Here." She handed me a white envelope. "Open it."
   I opened it slowly and looked at Margo. Then I looked back at the envelope. I took out the twelve hundred dollar bills and stuffed them in my side pocket.
   "A thousand plus an extra two-hundred for time and miscellaneous expenses. I hope that's enough to get you started."
   "Yes. That's fine."
   "And you have her picture?"
   "Yes." I patted my shirt pocket.
   There were a few minutes of silence as we both sat motionless. Margo broke the spell.
   "You know, Manny. I just don't understand Kate. She has looks, talent --- she could be anything she wants: An actress, a high profile model --- anything."
   I started to interject, but Margo continued. "She lives day to day. No concern about the future." She took out a tissue and wiped her eyes. "I love her dearly, but she’s so --- irresponsible." She put the tissue away and sat back. She folded her hands on her lap and looked at me.
   Her brown eyes suddenly seemed larger.
   Margo took a deep breath and spoke with a sneer. "I saw her a couple of times with this --- this black guy."
   "I assume you dislike him."
   "Despise would be a better word."
   I waited.
   She proceeded with difficulty. "I know damn well he beat her!"
   I sat back on the sofa. "She told you this?"
   Margo hesitated a second. "Let's just say she alluded to it."
   "Sounds vague. I'm not sure that's enough to --- "
   "What if I saw bruises on her cheek and her arm?" I started to respond but she continued emphatically. "Manny, I just know that bastard beat her!"
   "Did you ever discuss it with her?" I suddenly got very angry.
   "I told you. Even with me Kate is a very private person."
   "So she never admitted the beatings." It was a statement not a question.
   Again Margo hesitated. "No. But she never denied them either. She was --- evasive."
   "So maybe someone else hit her." I put my hand up to stop her angry reply. "I'm playing devil's advocate here, okay?" I took out a small notebook and pencil. "What's this guy's name?"
   "Rowland." She spat the words out like they were snake venom. "Herb Rowland."
   "Do you know where I can find him?" My hand was shaking as I wrote.
   She shook her head. "When Kate disappeared, Rowland disappeared."
   "Do you think it's possible they went away together?" I tried to be kind.
   "That is one horrid thought I've tried to put out of my mind."
   "But --- " I pushed gently. " --- it is possible."
   There was a long pause. "I --- I don't know. I sure as hell hope not."
   "Can you tell me anything about this Herb Rowland?" I knew I had to tread lightly.
   There was another long pause. I knew my client's blood was boiling. "I once heard her refer to him as a forty-one year old retiree. Forty-one year old bum would be a more apt description!" She uncrossed her legs and put her knees together. "I'm sure my sister gave him money."
   I didn't interrupt. I let her get it out.
   "That really pisses me off. He beat her and she gave him money!"
   After a long silence, I decided to alter course. "Margo. Do you know if Rowland has a car?"
   Margo thought for a moment. "I doubt it. And if he did, it would probably be registered in Kate's name."

   "I gather this Rowland has no money." I found myself despising this prick as much as Margo did.
   "Or credit." She added mechanically. I could almost see her breath. "Manny, please don't ask me any more questions. I've said more than --- "
   "I'll call my friend on the force, Lieutenant Nick Foley," I interrupted. "and have him check BMV."
   "Manny." Margo sat up quickly. The frightened look returned. "I told you I don't want the police involved."
   "Don't worry. They won't be." I put my finger to her lips before she could protest. "I know how you want this investigation handled. You have to trust me."
   We looked at each other for a long moment. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, the sparkle was back. She spoke slowly and resignedly. "Okay."
   I took out a photo of Curt Warner. "Know this man?"
   She studied it for several seconds, then shook her head. "No. Who is he?"
   "He was found murdered."
   "What's that got to do with --- ?"
   "Your sister's picture was in his pocket."
   "Oh my God!" Panic replaced fear. "So what does that mean?"
   "Right now, nothing." I spoke softly. "It just means that this man knew Kate."
   "I know but --- he's dead --- and --- "
   "That's true. But it doesn't mean Kate had anything to do with it." I could see she was unconvinced. I put the picture away. "Maybe this person was just a friend or --- "
   "A murdered friend."
   "Margo, let's not jump the gun here, okay?" I leaned in toward her. "All I need to know is that you didn't recognize this guy."
   "What's his name?"
   "Curt Warner. He was from Saint Paul."
      Our eyes met briefly and our legs touched. Then our gazes froze into each other.
   She shrugged. "I never heard of him."
   "Then forget it." I put my drink on the tray next to the decanter.
   Margo stood. "Easy for you to say."
   She smoothed out her dress, which had hiked up about a mile above her knees. I was dying to kiss her as hard as I could until my eyeballs hurt. But I knew it was a bad idea to even consider doing it. In fact, this whole fucking state of affairs was a bad idea.
   I stood to face her. "Just leave everything to me."
   She nodded but I knew she was still unconvinced.
   "Goodbye, Margo."
   "Goodbye, Manny."
   We shook hands and I left. I got in my car and sped away, headed as usual for a cold shower.
*
   
 
VII

   It was three p.m. on a dreary Monday afternoon and I sat alone in my office looking at a blank wall, pondering the tortuous route my life had taken. The phone rang and my heart stopped. It rang again. I continued to stare at it, waiting patiently for my vital signs to return to normal. I lit a cigarette then picked up after the third ring. “Hello.”
   “Hello, Mr. Gold.”
   I took a deep drag. “Hello, Carmen.”
   “Any news yet?” Her voice sounded shakier than mine.
   “No.” I expelled the smoke slowly.
   She continued to squeak. “I just can’t believe that Alex would ever cheat on me.”
   “We haven’t proved he is cheating.” Do I really need this?
   There was a long pause. I wondered if she was looking for some cheese.
   “Look, Carmen.” I extinguished my cigarette. “If I find anything out I’ll call you --- okay?”
   Another long pause.
   “Okay.”
   “Goodbye, Carmen.
*

   Margo was waiting for me as I pulled up in front of her apartment. She got into the car quickly. There was no mistaking her apprehension as she slammed the door shut. I gently put my hand on her arm. "I don't know why you insisted on coming. You told me you hate this place."
   "I changed my mind." She sounded adamant.
   "Why are you so damn stubborn?" I pulled away. "I am perfectly capable of handling this investigation alone!"
   "I'm sure you are!" She snapped.
   I just shook my head. I wasn't going to argue. "Well, as long as you're here, tell me again all you know about John Carver and this school."
   She hesitated. "But I already told you all I know over the phone last night."
   "I know. But clue me in again." I love being with Margo, but for now I would have preferred to be alone. "I want to be doubly sure of all the facts before we go there."
   Margo sighed deeply, then said suddenly, "I can't prove it, but I think John Carver has slept with my sister."
   "What!" My foot almost slipped off the accelerator.
   "And he's married --- with children yet!"
   "You didn't tell me that last night." I stopped for a red light.
   "I know." I glanced at her and could see her jaw tighten. "I have no proof, so I didn't tell you."
   The light changed and I drove away
   "I just want to find out first hand. I need to look the son-of-a-bitch in the eye and dare him to deny any dishonorable intentions as far as Kate is concerned. I want him to say it to my face!"
   "Well, now I know why you decided to come."
   Margo continued to rant. "I want him to look at me and say he never slept with her. I want him to tell me that he always treated her with respect. I dare him to say all that!"
   "Calm down." I said soothingly. "Of course he won't say it. He'll deny any allegations."
   "Well --- even so --- "
   "Look. When we get there let me ask the questions, okay? You're just too emotional."
   Margo didn't respond.
   "And considering that you're paying me for my expertise --- "
   "Okay, Manny. I get the message."
    After driving in silence for a while, I added, "Maybe they didn't just sleep together. Maybe there was a serious relationship between them that --- "
   Margo laughed nervously. "I doubt if Kate could be serious with anyone --- especially an asshole like John Carver!"
   "You really do hate this guy, don't you?"
   "You don't know what it's like, Manny. I was there only once. That was enough. I could hear him screaming at her --- ripping her apart! I told her later that she didn't have to take his crap." Then she softened her tone. "I told her she should take her talents elsewhere. She was wasting her time there. As usual she didn't listen." Then she shrugged. "But, that's my sister."
   I slowed down at an intersection. Then I smiled absently.
   “You find this amusing?”
   “No. It’s just that --- “ I looked her in the eye. “ --- first Herb Rowland, then John Carver. I would hate like hell to be on your shit list!"
   The hostility faded momentarily. "Then you better behave."
   I stopped the car and pointed to a building about a hundred yards away. "Is that the place?"
   Margo nodded. "Yes."
   I pulled up in front and we both got out of the car. The very modern Carver Building was fifty to sixty feet wide, one floor and all stone with gigantic smoked glass windows. The white borders and trim looked newly painted. A large brown sign with black and gold letters on the door read: JOHN CARVER SCHOOL FOR MODELS SINCE 1980. It was the only building on the block that was in use. The rest of the immediate surroundings were either empty lots or empty storerooms.
   Margo opened the door and we went inside. To the right was a short hallway with three doors. One said BALLET and one said MODELS. The third said OFFICES. The walls and ceiling were a glossy white. There were several pictures of young female dancers all in tights and all in various dance positions.
   "May I help you?" asked a thin attractive young girl with long blond hair, seated at a reception desk in the center of the entryway.
   Margo and I exchanged quick glances. "Sometimes Kate sits here." she whispered. I could see Margo was more than nervous. She was afraid.
   I spoke up. "We have an appointment to see Mr. Carver."
   The blond looked in her book. "Manny Gold and Margo --- " Now she looked up. " --- Blair?"
   "Yes." I answered for both of us.
   The blond stood. She must have been six feet tall. "You must be Kate's sister."
   "Yes." Margo forced a smile. Again we exchanged a glance.
   The blond smiled back. Then she walked to the door marked OFFICES and knocked. After a few seconds, the door opened and a short, bald, rotund middle-aged man in a wrinkled double- breasted suit peered cautiously behind his thick glasses. Quiet words were exchanged briefly between the two. Then he walked up to Margo. I couldn't believe someone as beautiful as Kate could in any way shape or form be sexually linked with anyone resembling a toad.
   "I feel terrible." He spoke in a monotone. Then he turned to the blond, now seated, and whispered something in her ear. She turned red and smiled bashfully. What that was about?
   "We all feel terrible." Margo interrupted his 'I'm sorry' speech, and introduced me. "This is Manny Gold. He's a private investigator I hired to help me find my sister."
   "Nice to meet you." Shaking his hand was like holding a piece of raw liver.
   We glared at each other. Neither of us smiled.
   "Have you had any success?" His question reeked of insincerity.
   "Not yet." I stood taller. "But we're very close."
   "That's good --- " We continued to stare at each other. Then he narrowed his eyes.
   "Have we met before?"
   "Not unless I sold you an annuity." I quipped.
   "Hmm --- it's just that --- " A telephone rang. "Excuse me. I'll take it in my inner office." He quickly went into another room, closing the door behind him.
   After a moment, Margo walked up to the blond receptionist. "Do you know Kate very well?"
   "Yes --- well --- sort of. She works right here." She looked at Carver's closed door. Then she looked back at Margo. "I've only worked here a few weeks. Kate and I alternate days --- "
   Again she looked at the office door. "--- so we've never really gotten a chance to know one another." She glanced at Margo then went back to her paperwork.
   Margo didn't respond. She stared at the blond for a few seconds, then her eyes roamed the area.
  I opened the door to the room that said BALLET. It was long and narrow. The walls were mirrored floor to ceiling and parallel bars extended all around the vacant room. The floor was a shiny hardwood. Everything looked brand new --- almost unused.
   John burst out of his office and quickly said apologetically, as if reading my mind. "As you can see, we're not busy. Mondays are always like this." He waited for a response. When he got none, he continued. His phony smile widened his double chin. "So what can I do for you?"
   Get the bullshit over with as soon as possible! "Can we go into your inner office?" I asked.
   He hesitated a second. "Certainly."
   He and the blond exchanged smiles again. There was definitely something going on between these two.
   He led us into a small office --- maybe nine by eleven. A desk was against one wall with papers neatly stacked in two little piles on one side. The rest of the desk, with the exception of the telephone and a large notebook, was unexpectedly clean. It was nothing like mine. Several chairs lined one wall. Two file cabinets were against the adjacent wall. The round fluorescent fixture overhead provided plenty of light. The thick red carpet looked like a large blood clot. I wondered what the interior decorator in Margo thought. Carver brought two chairs over and placed them across from his desk. He sat down and gestured for us to do the same. His phony smile remained intact.
   "So you teach both modeling and ballet here?" I asked.
   "Yes." He stuck his chins out. "This is the only modeling agency I know of that incorporates ballet as a part of the overall program."
   "Really?" I was getting fidgety. I needed a smoke.
   "It teaches them poise."
   "Yeah, well that's real interesting." I cleared my throat and finally got to the point of our visit. "Can you give us some idea of Kate Blair's whereabouts?"
   He rubbed his double chin and looked up at the ceiling. Then he looked at Margo and shook his head. "I haven't seen her since --- oh --- September fifteenth maybe."
   "As a model or as a receptionist?" Margo's tone was pure hostility.
   "Both. She worked and did some ballet a half day, then she worked on her modeling the other half." John rubbed his chins again then continued evenly. "Kate Blair is a fine prospect. I think she had --- " He caught himself and cleared his throat. " --- has a great and promising future."
   I took out a pencil and a notebook. Margo and I again glanced at each other. Her eyes screamed out ‘LIAR!’
   "I'm sure she’ll turn up." Then he cleared his throat again. "Have you gone to the police?"
   The craving for nicotine was becoming more intense.
   "No!" Margo answered sharply. "Why do you think I hired a private investigator?"
   John started to protest but Margo cut him off. "Kate is a very private person. We prefer to investigate on our own --- at least for now."
   I liked Margo's choice of the words 'we' and 'our'.
   "Well --- " He stammered. " --- I understand, but --- "
   "You don't understand!" Margo snapped.
   There were several seconds of rough silence. I felt I had to break the tension if we were going to get anywhere. So I asked inanely, "Are your male dancers straight?"
   His smile faded. He was offended. Tough shit!
   Margo turned her head.
   His eyes widened and his jaw stiffened. "All of our dancers are heterosexual!" He said it proudly and defensively.
   "I withdraw the question." I sat back and folded my hands.
   After an uncomfortable pause, Margo, in full grasp of her composure, leaned in toward Carver and asked point blank, "Are you sleeping with my sister?"
   I was afraid to move. John's head jerked and his glasses almost fell off his nose. He glared first at me then at Margo. He looked like he'd been stabbed in the groin.
   "I am a happily married man with two grown children, Ms. Blair." His voice cracked. "I think your snide remark is totally inappropriate!" He stood and his glasses almost fell off his nose again. "And if it were true --- which it is not, it would be none of your damn business!"
   "My sister is missing." Margo stood to face Carver and almost knocked the chair over. "And I'm making it my business!"
   I could almost see the heat rising between them.
   Carver walked briskly to the door and threw it open. Then he stood by it waiting for us to leave. His face was the same color as the carpet and his breathing was erratic and heavy.
   We left quickly, and he slammed the door shut. The blond jumped, then pushed her paperwork to the side. I don't know if she was startled by our sudden appearance or by the slamming of the door.
   We walked by her and nodded indifferently. Margo opened the front door. I stepped into the open doorway then turned back to the blond. Her face displayed both fear and confusion. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something fishy was going on here.
   I walked to the blond and asked quietly, "Just how well do you know Kate Blair?" My tone said 'don't lie to me'.
   "Like I said before," She began to shift nervously in her chair. "not too well."
   "And you last saw her --- when?"
   "I --- I'd have to check my appointment book."
   I waited while she flipped the pages.
   "It looks like --- sometime in the middle of September."
   I peeked at Margo, who was standing in the doorway with her arms folded. I lowered my voice some more and put both hands on the desk, leaning in close. "Do you and John Carver ever --- go out?"
   The color in her face disappeared. "I --- I don't think I should comment on that."
   "Okay." I could see Margo in the doorway leaning toward us and listening as I pushed on. "Do you know if Kate and John ever --- "
   Carver suddenly materialized. The blond didn't see him. Before she could respond, Carver interrupted in a booming warlike voice. "You don't have to answer that!"
   I looked up. He was in a rage. His eyes were wide and his face was redder than ever. "Now," he roared, "if there is anything else --- "
   I hesitated. It infuriated him even more. "I think not." I said mildly. Then I bowed to the blond and left. Margo was one step ahead of me.
   Outside, we stopped next to the car. "I told you, Margo, you're too emotional to ask questions. You should have left it to me."
   "Okay, Sherlock. How would you have approached him about his relationship with Kate?"
   "With a little more tact, first of all."
   She smiled smugly. "Oh right! Like --- are any of your dancers queer?"
   I laughed. "I thought things were a wee bit tense. I was just filling space, okay?"
   I opened the car door. We both stood silently looking at the building just as we had when we entered it.
   "Well --- " She took a deep breath."--- is there any doubt that he's sleeping with Kate?"
   "None." I lit up a cigarette. "Nor is there any doubt about him and that blond receptionist."
   We looked at each other a moment. Then I took a deep drag, careful to blow the smoke away from her and crushed the cigarette under my heel. We got into the car and I slipped behind the wheel. I didn't start the car at first as I watched her stare into space. Tears ran down her cheek.
   "You're afraid." I tried to read her thoughts and be consoling. I wanted to comfort her.
   She sighed again and nodded slowly. "Yes. I am very much afraid."
*
 
VIII

   Kate Blair’s home was located on the far west side of Pattersday, Ohio, a small secluded village nine miles from Columbus. The thirty-year-old house was made of stone and stucco with a green shingle roof supporting a large screened-in porch on one side. There was very little lawn, but what little there was, was meticulously weeded and professionally manicured. Along the short stone walk from the sidewalk to the front door and all around the house were miniature evergreens all neatly clipped and punctuated with well-kept azalea beds in full bloom. On one side of the house was a huge empty lot. On the other side was a large white frame surrounded by oak trees. Across the street was a string of condominiums that had just been built and according to a large sign on the center unit, occupancy was due to begin in four to six months.
   The streets and sidewalks were especially clean with barely a hint of any sort of debris. Except for an occasional bark or the sound of a passing car, the entire area was unusually quiet. And considering Margo's description of Kate's desire for solitude, this peaceful existence came as no surprise.
   I parked Margo's Nissan on the street directly under a sign that said: NO PARKING 9--11.
   "It's two minutes after eleven." Margo said, looking at her watch and reading my mind.
   She wore a loose fitting green dress and thin windbreaker. Her hair was pulled back in a short pony tail, and as usual she had on no make-up. Her bracelet and watch were her only jewelry.
   "But they don't ticket you here anyway." She continued. "There were too many complaints from the local residents."
   The scent of Giorgio suddenly attacked me. I caught her eye again but this time she turned away.
   "I have a key to Kate's house and she has a key to mine." She said it almost apologetically.
   "You don't have to explain." I said. "She's your sister."
   I put my hand on hers. "You sure you want to do this?" I asked.
   Her response was immediate. "Yes."
   I stopped abruptly. “You know my friend, Nick Foley, is an expert at this sort of thing. Maybe we should first ask him --- “
   She turned to me quickly, cutting me off. “”We don’t need Nick Foley!”
   “Well, it’s just that --- “
   “Look, Manny.” Her gaze was intense. It was the same one I gave my brother-in-law whenever I saw him slither out of the house to meet one of his lovers. “I’m going inside. You coming or not?”
   I took a deep breath and nodded resignedly. “Okay.”
   “I need your strength. So don’t fink out on me.”

   “Okay, Margo.”
   She turned the key in the lock and the door opened slowly and silently. Inside was a spacious entryway with a gray and white slate floor. The bottom half of the walls were also gray and white slate. The top half was smoked glass. Above me was a small but ornate chandelier. It all smelled of affluence.
   "Kate has money, all right." I didn't hide being impressed.
   "She likes nice things." Margo said.
   I tried to interpret Margo's evasive comment as we walked into great room. A large picture window, draped with brown velour, dominated one wall. The opposite wall led to the porch.
   The wallpaper was a tan pinstripe curio with assorted expensive looking collectibles stood between the two chairs. The carpet was very thick and very white. Recessed
lighting added to the rich atmosphere.
   In the dining room was a twelve foot long glass table with a large gold candelabra in the center and ten chrome chairs against it. Paintings by Schneer and Rothman were everywhere. Tibors and Iladros along with fine china covered glass shelves along one wall. More recessed lighting gave the room that final touch of elegance.
   On the left, a short walk took us into a small, spotless, and fully equipped kitchen. It was all in white --- just like my sister's.
   "You told me Kate doesn't like to cook."
   "She seldom has the time."
   I opened the cupboard beneath the sink. There was a garbage disposal and trash compactor. "Everything looks brand new."
   "Just about everything is." Margo said. Then she pointed to the right. "The bedrooms are this way."
   We turned and took three steps to a short hallway. Two rooms were on one side, one room was on the other side. I opened a door at the end of the hall and took a peek. It was a full bath twice the size of my sister's. This room was also spotless --- just like the kitchen. I opened the door to the large bedroom, all done in lavender: lavender walls, lavender drapes, lavender carpet, lavender comforter.
   "Is this your sister’s?" My chest was suddenly in a vice and I couldn’t breath.
   Margo thought for a second. "Sometimes."
   "Sometimes? That makes no sense."
   Margo opened another bedroom door. The interior was all done in various shades of green. "This room is never used."
   "Don't tell me you did the decorating."
   She turned to me and smiled. "Who else?"
   "Well --- I don't get the color schemes."
   "Manny, there's nothing to get." Margo said as she took another key from her purse and opened the last door.
   I didn't comment. I could see that her hand was shaking.
   "This is difficult." Margo hesitated a moment, then she took a deep breath and we entered.
   This room was the smallest of the three. In the center was a queen size water-bed with a red satin spread. The room smelled of a very sweet incense --- almost sickeningly sweet, an odor that even Nick's cigars could never compete with. All the walls and the ceiling were mirrored.
   I just stood and stared for what felt like days. Finally I heard Margo's voice.
   "Manny!" She was shouting. "Earth to Manny!"
   I turned quickly. "What?"
   "Look. I'm the one who should be all bent out of shape, not you."
   "I am not all bent out of shape."
   "Well --- you could have fooled me."
   “I happen to find strange empty houses --- spooky.”
   “Don’t worry.” She forced a smile. “I’ll protect you.”
   “Very funny.” Only it wasn’t
   Margo then motioned for me to follow her to the far side of the bedroom. "You have to take a look at this." She pointed to a tall and cylindrical lamp that emitted painfully blue light.
   "Are there any other lights in here?" I had to squint to see.
   "No. This is it."
   I ran my finger up and down a lamp that was shaped like a penis.
   “That lamp is one of a kind.” Margo said.
   “I believe it.”
   “Kate had it made for her a couple of years ago in --- I think Sausalito.”
   “So,” I cleared my throat. “to turn the light on and off, you just rub the --- “
   “Penis.” Margo grinned as she finished my sentence.
   "This room is very --- erotic." I said. My eyes were still on the lamp.
   "That's the idea, isn't it?" Margo said as she sat on the edge of the waterbed.
   “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like this before.”
   “I know I haven’t.” Margo spoke dreamily. "This is such an out of character role for Kate. I just don't understand why --- " Her words drifted off.
   “Margo, I’m very uncomfortable here.”
   “So am I.”
   “Then let’s leave.”
   She stood, then walked next to me. “First I want to see the basement.”
   “Basement?”
   "With a finished rec-room." She added.
   I followed her out of the sensual surroundings and into the hall. Then she carefully locked the door. We walked around the corner, and down a short flight of steps. The temperature, as recorded by a thermometer at the base of the stairs, said seventy-two. It felt more like ninety-two!
   "Maybe I should go back to selling insurance."
   She stared at me for a second, then shook her head. "Somehow, Manny, I can't see you as an insurance salesman."
   "Well, no one else did either --- which is why I'm now a P.I."
   The huge recreation room was nicely furnished with several Rattan chairs, a Rattan sofa and two matching tables. The walls were a dark paneling and the floor was a tight black and gray indoor-outdoor carpet. A forty-inch TV covered most of one wall. The adjacent walls were loaded with romance novels.
   "Your sister enjoyed reading these --- "
   She cut me off sharply. "Why are you speaking of her in the past tense?"
   I turned away. "Sorry." I would have to watch my verbs from now on.
   A sliding wooden door led to a combination furnace and laundry room.
   I lifted the lid to the washer. "This ever been used?"
   Margo shrugged and we went back to the rec-room. I opened a drawer to one of the tables. There was a pen, some blank pieces of paper, an old romance novel and a framed photo of two very young girls --- maybe aged twelve or thirteen. I took out the photo and showed it to Margo.
   She froze. "My God! I haven't seen this picture in years."
   We both looked closely at it. "I assume this is you and Kate."
   She nodded and smiled. "Even then her face was perfect."
   Margo took the photo from me, studied it a while longer, then slipped it into her purse. "Well --- nothing else here." I said rubbing my beard. "In fact, besides the --- sexy bedroom, there's nothing anywhere." I took several final glances about the room before we went outside. The door closed behind us as slowly and as silently as it had opened.
   “I want to talk to Kate’s next door neighbor.” Margo said as she locked the door and put the key away.
   The sky suddenly became overcast and a brisk wind decided to make an appearance causing a sharp drop in the temperature. I was glad I brought my ski sweater. I walked to the car and put it on. Margo and I looked at each other briefly. We both knew there were things to be said. It would obviously have to wait.
   “Are you sure you’re up to this interrogation?” I asked
   Margo shrugged. “Why not?”
   “Because if we had Nick here --- “
   “Well, we don’t!” She snapped. “So just forget Nick!”
   “What I meant was --- “
   “We can handle it ourselves, Manny.”
   “Right.” Once again I nodded resignedly as I followed Margo next door.
   She tapped the metal knocker against the door and we waited.
   “Who lives here?" I asked.
   "A forty-two year old widow." Margo said quietly. "Her husband was a prominent neurosurgeon." She hit the knocker again. "He died --- of all things --- of a massive stroke."
   "Recently?" I zipped my sweater up to my neck.
   "Yes. About --- oh --- three or four months ago."
   "So maybe you should say a rich forty-two year old widow."
   "You'll see she's a little strange."
   “Strange?” I don’t need this!
   We continued to wait. I looked at my watch. It was twelve-fifteen. We'd left Margo's over an hour ago.
   “If she’s strange, why bother to question her at all.” I asked. “Frankly I would rather --- “
   Just then the door opened. A short and very thin middle-aged woman stood in the doorway. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and had to weigh less than a hundred pounds. Her messy hair was the color of my beard: ratty gray with white specks. Her small nondescript nose, dark deep-set eyes, high cheekbones and prominent chin indicated a face that at one time could have been beautiful. But the lines at the corners of her eyes and on the back of her hands betrayed her.
   "Can I help you?" Her gaze searched for a place to land.
   "Yes." Margo spoke up. "My name is Margo Blair and this is Manny Gold. He’s a private investigator. We're investigating the disappearance of my sister, Kate." She hesitated a moment, then gestured toward the house with her thumb. "Your next door neighbor."
   The woman looked confused.
   "I know we've met before." Margo said.
   After several seconds of silence the woman said dreamily, "Well --- perhaps --- "
   "I didn't catch your name." I said cocking my head.
   "Oh --- " She looked past me. " --- Martha Bowden."
   Two cars sped by. This time we all looked.
   "You say we've met?" Martha asked Margo.
   "Yes." Margo was having a tough time orienting her. "When I came to visit my sister."
   "Oh." Martha frowned.
   Margo and I exchanged a brief but concerned glance.
   "I --- I do remember meeting you now, but --- " She was suddenly deep in thought.
   "But --- what?" Margo prodded.
   "I --- I'm not sure. Something --- " Martha blinked several times. "I --- I can't remember."
   "It's very important that you tell us all you know." Margo added emphatically.
   "Tell me, Martha." I spoke slowly. "When did you last see Kate Blair?"
   There was a long silence. Then Martha asked unexpectedly, "My, aren't my geraniums pretty?"
   Margo and I again exchanged a quick glance.
   "Martha --- " Margo started to speak.
   The tiny woman interrupted. "I'm seldom home anymore since Parker died. And when I am at home, I keep to myself." Then she looked up at the clouds and blinked again. "I don't see much --- like I used to."
   "Well then." I pressed on. "Maybe you could remember any visitors that Kate might have had over the past few months."
   She paused and looked around, deep in thought again, wrinkling her nose and narrowing her eyelids. "I'm sorry." She smiled. Her smile was nice and friendly. "My mind just doesn't seem to want to co-operate."
   Margo and I smiled back. I didn't know where her mind was. I felt sorry for her. She wasn't very old. I sighed and motioned to Margo. "Well, Mrs. Bowden," I said, "we're sorry to have bothered you. If you --- "
   "Although," she said suddenly, "I do remember a --- black man."
   "Rowland!" Margo sneered just like she did the last time his name came up.
   "Do you remember anything about this black man, or anything that may have taken place between him and Miss Blair?" I asked.
   It seemed like years before she answered. "I --- I'm afraid not."
   Margo and I glanced at each other again.
   "Mrs. Bowden." Margo pleaded. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?"
   There was another interminable pause. It was like pulling teeth.
   "Well --- yes, there is --- something else --- but --- "
   We waited patiently.
   "It --- it was so long ago --- ." She smiled again.
   "What was it?" Margo had to be ready to scream. "Think, Mrs. Bowden. Please."
   She shrugged. "I --- I'm sorry."
   I took a deep breath and returned Martha’s smile. "Thank you anyway. We're sorry to have bothered you."
   Her smile faded as she quickly closed the door.
   Margo looked at me with fire in her eyes as we walked to the car.
   "Herb Rowland!" She spat out the words. "I knew it!"
*
 
IX

   Trying to get the air bubbles out of a new water-bed is a nerve wrecking pain in the ass! But taking the damn thing back would be a bigger pain in the ass. My sister was no help and I wasn't about to ask my brother-in-law.
   I was about to add the smelly red conditioner when the phone rang. I lit up a Camel instead and picked up the receiver on the third ring.
   "Manny." I started to respond but Nick kept talking. "I got the damnedest phone call this morning from a guy named --- " I could hear paper rattling. " --- Clem Perkins."
   "Who the hell is Clem Perkins?" I hate it when people take an hour getting to the point. And Nick was an expert at it.
   "He's the groundskeeper at Saint Augustine Cemetery."
   St Augustine Cemetery!
   "Sorry, Nick." I took a long drag and exhaled slowly. "But I never heard of him."
   "Well neither have I --- until this morning, that is."
   I began to get impatient. "So, who is he?"
   "He says he was appointed by the trustees of the township to take care of this cemetery. But now, he claims he's nearing seventy-five years of age and feels it's time to quit."
   "And he told you all this over the phone?" I moved the ashtray closer.
   "There's more."
   I could hear more papers rattle. "I can't wait."
   "This cemetery is ancient --- like it's a very old burial ground."
   St Augustine Cemetery!
   "Clem says it's small, overcrowded and covered with weeds. And it's been this way for quite some time."
   "Nick, I hope to hell there's some point to this brilliant dissertation." I took another drag and sat down on the bed.
   "Just listen, okay?" A certain edginess crept into Nick's voice. "According to Perkins, the people buried there were buried --- oh --- seventy or eighty years ago. And the families of these people are dead, but buried someplace else."
   "Nick --- " An ash dropped onto the table.
   "Consequently, no one ever comes to visit."
   "Nick. What the fuck has all this got to do with anything?"
   "I'm getting to that." Nick went on. "I guess there's been a lot of red tape to go through over the years to get someone to claim these grave sites and relocate them to a newer cemetery. One where the grounds are cared for on a regular basis."
   "It's called perpetual care." I offered.
   "I know."
   "So, if things are so bad, why doesn't somebody complain?" I put out my cigarette.
   "Manny, you're not listening. They're all dead. And when Clem retires, it'll be like a ghost town --- excuse the pun."
   "Nick, I feel I've given you sufficient time. Now what is the reason for all this worthless information?" I got off the bed and sat in a chair, putting my feet up on the table.
   "Bear with me, okay?" He took a deep breath. "Since this cemetery is so small, Clem knows exactly where each and every grave is located."
   "I'm impressed." I lit up another cigarette.
   "It gets better." Nick paused. "One of the markers has a grave on either side of it."
   "Nick, ole buddy, this time you lost me completely."
   "Manny. Graveyards, even remote, desolated and neglected --- "
   "Like the ones at Saint Augustine." I interjected.
   "Yes, like the ones at Saint Augustine. They all honor a time worn tradition, which allows for one grave per marker."
   I put out my cigarette and took my feet off the table. "So what?"
   "So," continued the lieutenant, "this marker has two graves. One is old and one is new." There was a long silence before Nick asked, "Don't you get it?"
   "No. Look, Nick, I'm really tired. And now I'm totally confused."
   Then Nick said dramatically, "The point of all this is that someone is buried at Saint Augustine who isn't supposed to be."
   My heart skipped a beat. "And you think --- "
   "It's worth a visit."
   "I'll be right over."
  *
 
X

   The seldom-traveled narrow dirt road off Route sixty-eight was surrounded by nothing but farmland. Acres of corn and soybeans on either side made driving it the ultimate in boredom. The four miles seemed more like forty. The scant few isolated shacks and lakes did nothing to break up the monotony.
   “Nick, the more I think about it, the more absurd this whole business becomes.” I lit up a cigarette. “I mean --- who would dispose of a body this way?”
   “Well, I guess we’re gonna find that out, aren’t we.”
   I took a final puff and threw the butt out the window.
   We drove in silence for several minutes.
   “I hate cemeteries!” I said bluntly.

   “Well, it’s not my favorite thing either.”
   “We got to do this --- right?”
   “Look, Manny. No one is forcing you.” Nick slowed down as he drove over a ditch. “I’m perfectly willing to go it alone.”
   “Except we’re supposed to be working this case together.”
   Nick nodded. “That’s right ole buddy. We sure are.”
   I gave up arguing. I knew we wouldn’t turn back.
   "I should have driven my jalopy." I said as I rolled up the window. "Small cars weren't built to go over rocks and ditches."
   "This fucking road is the pits." Nick agreed. "I can't wait to see this so-called 'hallowed' ground."
   The wind kicked up briefly, just enough to blow dirt all around Nick's Honda, as if we were driving in a brown and gray snowstorm.
   "There it is!" Nick was pointing straight ahead.
   As the haze lifted, we saw before us a small, out of the way, God-forsaken cemetery. A large metal sign, dirty and dilapidated, hung on a fence post and said: ST. AUGUSTINE CEMETERY. A rusty chain-link fence was all around it with its gate hanging on a broken hinge. Actually, it looked more like a thread than a hinge. I was certain I could blow on it and make it collapse.
   We parked by the gate and a tall lanky man in a dirty black shirt and dirty black pants came up to greet us as we got out of the car. An old battered Cincinnati Reds baseball cap partially covered his long, unshaven, narrow and weather-beaten face. I assumed this was Clem Perkins. He had a wad of chewing tobacco in his left cheek, and when he smiled all we saw was yellow and brown. I thought his face and neck had more lines than the road map on the seat next to me. He looked closer to one-hundred-seventy-five than to seventy-five. His spidery hands felt damp and cold when we shook. Then he motioned for us to follow him.
   “Can we make this a quick visit?” I asked quietly. “This fucking place is freaking me out.”
   Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head.
   “I feel like, at any given time, a skinless hand is gonna come out of the ground to grab me.”
   “Would you rather wait in the car?” Nick asked.
   I considered it for a second. “No.”
   “You know, Manny, there aren’t too many choices here.”
   Clem was staring at me. I know he wondered why I came along. That made two of us.
   “Well --- I guess if I can handle living with my schmucky brother-in-law, I can handle anything.”
   I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”
   We walked onto the deserted grounds and up to the gravesite he indicated. The cemetery was just as Nick described it: old, crowded, and uncared for. Weeds and rocks were everywhere. Most of the graves had sunk so low that they were perfectly flat. I knew it would be useless to ask Clem for his job description. It definitely did not include perpetual care. I counted twenty markers with dates from nineteen-twenty-five to nineteen-thirty-five. People long gone with survivors, no doubt, also long gone. I could see what Nick meant. I found it all very morbid.
   "Here 'tis."
   He spoke with a terrible twang, and as he talked, a steady brown stream of tobacco juice ran down his chin. I had to turn my head. To Nick it seemed no big deal.
   I put my hands in the pockets of my topcoat and looked up. The sky had turned a strange shade of gray and now the wind had picked up again. When the wind stopped, an eerie calm settled on the empty cemetery. It would take an H-bomb to alert the nearest resident.
   "Is it always this --- " I gestured with both hands. " --- empty?"
   "Yep." He answered, then he spat and wiped his chin on his sleeve. I gagged. "Careful." He added. "Try not to step on anyone."
   Nick and I looked at each other. What difference would it make?
   "Nick, aren't you freezing in that lightweight jacket?" I asked. I was overdressed and still shivering.
   He shook his head absently. His gaze was fixated onto the stone in question. On one side it said: FREEMONT CLACKET 1852-1921.
   "Freemont, here," Clem explained. "had one son --- Clyde. Died about --- two years ago. Up 'til then, Clyde was the only living relative. He was also the last of the regular visitors."
   "Where's Clyde buried?" I don't know for the life of me why I asked that.
   "He's over at Mount Pilot Resting Place. Brand new and well-kept. His wife seen to that." He sniffed. "Now she's dead too. Buried right next to Clyde."
   I put my collar up. It felt like the dead of winter.
   The old man continued, pointing to a double headstone. "Next to Freemont is Dabney Smithers and his cousin, Eston. Both died in nineteen-twenty-six. If they have any family left, I sure as hell don't know where they's at." He spit again. "Then over yonder --- "
   "Mr. Perkins." I was glad Nick cut him off before he gave us a rundown on the entire graveyard population. "Let's get to the topic at hand. Namely --- this grave."
   I moved next to Nick and looked at a newer and fresher mound. It was higher and smoother than the rest of the grave and there were no rocks or debris.
   "This here grave weren't here three weeks ago." Clem said. "And that's the last time I was here."
   "Now, you're sure." Nick made it a statement not a question.
   "Hell yes, I'm sure!"
   "So you're not here full time then?" Nick asked.
   "What fer? I know the township made me a trustee of this damn place, but I can tell you there ain't no need fer full time help. Hell, I know everyone here, and --- " Then he realized what he said. "What I meant was --- "
   "We know what you meant." I said. I only wanted to get the hell out of here.
   Nick his hand over the mound. "Manny, these weeds are not growing out of the ground. And besides --- " He got his face closer " --- they're all dead."
   "They sure are." I agreed.
   "Someone placed them here recently." Nick added. He and I looked at each other.
   "See what I mean?" Clem asked. "That there is a brand new grave, by God!"
   How could the temperature drop so drastically?
   Nick and I stood, our eyes remaining fixed on the grave. Nick began to rub his chin, then reached into his vest pocket and took out a cigar. "Didn't your client say her sister had been missing for --- what? One week when she saw you?”
   I could feel myself staring at the dead weeds.
   “Manny.” Nick’s hand was on my arm
   I turned quickly to him. “What?”
   “I asked you how long your client’s sister has been missing.”
   "Nick, I know what you're thinking, but you’re wrong. And besides, Margo doesn't want the police involved just yet."
   "Well, Manny, it's out of our hands now. We may be looking at a possible homicide." He bit off the end of his cigar and spat it onto the adjacent field. "I'll get a court order to exhume this site."
   "I don't know if you can do that --- can you?" I asked.
   Nick put the cigar into his mouth. "Why the hell not?
   "Well --- isn't that desecration?"
   Nick thought a moment. "I'm not sure it's desecration if it's part of a police investigation." He moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "I'll have a crew out here first thing in the morning."
Then Nick turned to Clem and put his hand on the caretaker's arm. "Clem, we have to do some digging here and see who's under the mound."
   Clem scratched the back of his hairy neck and began to chew harder and faster. "Well --- I don't know --- "
   "This is official police business, Clem." Nick said. "I will take full responsibility."
   Perkins kept scratching his neck. "I --- I don't know."
   "Let me put it this way." Nick's hand was off Clem's arm. They were face to face. "If you refuse to cooperate, I'll have you arrested for obstructing justice."
   Clem squinted. "Obstructing justice? Hmm --- well, if you put it that way --- ."
   "That's the only way I can put it." Nick added.
   "Well --- " Clem spat again. " --- police or no police, the county is gonna take a mighty dim view of this."
   Nick pointed his finger at Perkins. "I told you, Clem. I will take full responsibility. And besides, you told us no one comes to visit. So what difference does it make?"
   "It's still hallowed ground." Clem said.
   Neither Nick nor I responded. We continued to look at Clem.
   After several seconds, Perkins said unconvincingly, "Well --- I reckon so."
   "Good!" Nick said, then he slapped me on the shoulder. "Let's go, Manny. This damn place is beginning to depress me."
   Beginning to? "Me too, Nick. I'm ready."
   "Hey Lieutenant." Clem was lumbering after us as we got to the Honda. "You be sure and let me know when you're a' comin. I think I should be here."
   Nick thought a moment, then nodded. "I think you should be here too."
   "Oh." Clem said as he wiped his sleeve across his chin. "Lookee here." He pointed to some faint tire ridges in the mud next to the road. "Them tire tracks is new too. They wasn't here three weeks ago neither."
   We both walked to where he was pointing. Nick knelt down, carefully scrutinized the tracks, then ran his fingers over the indentations.
   "I'll have ballistics check this out too." Nick said.
   "I sure as hell can't figure who'd be making tire tracks." Clem scratched his neck and spat again.
"No one ever comes here. I'm a telling you --- no one!"
   "I believe you, Clem." Nick said. He patted the old man on the shoulder and got in behind the wheel. I sat down next to him.
   Perkins came up to the open window and leaned his grubby face inside. He was squinting.
  "Just what in the damn hell is going on here anyway?" I detected fear as well as curiosity in his voice.
   Nick started the car. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?" And we drove off.
   I looked in the rearview mirror. Clem hadn't moved one inch. I saw him take his ratty hat off and scratch his head. I knew he was getting ready to spit again. I was glad not to be there when he did.
*
   
   
 
XI

   The piercing sound of the telephone sent a sharp pain through my spine, scaring the living shit out of me. I felt as if my body had somehow leaped ten feet in the air and remained suspended along the ceiling. I sat up in bed. It rang again. Where the hell was I? Things were swimming all around me and I couldn't tell which wall was which. My heart sounded like someone was in my chest playing the bongos. I finally oriented myself by the third ring.
   "Shit!" I screamed at the luminous clock next to the bed. Then I turned on the table lamp, and squinting through excruciating pain, I reached for a Camel.
   Fourth ring!
   I lit the Camel and picked up the receiver. "Hello." I could barely get the words out. My lids felt like lead and my tongue felt like sandpaper. The cigarette didn't help. In fact, it made things worse. But this was no time to quit.
   "Hello, Manny."
   I cleared my throat --- what was left of it. "Nick?"
   "You sound --- funny."
   "No shit!" I still felt partially drugged.
   "Manny --- "
   "Damn it, Nick. Do you know --- ?"
   "Manny! Just listen, okay?"
   "Nick, do you have any idea what time it is?"
   "Uh --- I believe it's five minutes to seven."
   "That's a.m., Foley. Fucking a.m.!" I took a deep drag of my Camel.
   "I know what time it is. Now will you just listen, for Christ's sake?" His voice sounded as fresh as it did in the middle of the day.
   "You must have a thing about fucking with my sleep, Nick."
   "Half the world is up and about, Manny."
   "Yeah, well I represent the other half." I got up from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. "This better be important, Nick. I'm too old for this shit."
   "You want me to call you back in an hour or so?"
   "Well, thanks to you I'm wide awake now." The world was back to normal. "So, go ahead. I'm listening."
   There was a brief silence. "We exhumed a body early this morning at Saint Augustine's."
   I took another deep drag of my cigarette and exhaled very slowly.
   Nick continued. "The body was wrapped in a large heavy plastic bag. The odor was worse than awful."
   I carefully and methodically extinguished my Camel. "Really."
   "Rigor mortis had begun and maggots were everywhere." It sounded like my friend was faltering. "But because of the cold hard ground, there wasn't a lot of decay." Nick took a deep breath. "It was a female. Her head was bashed in on one side and --- terribly distorted." It was one of the few times I could tell he was shaken up. "And poor Clem. His old weather-beaten face turned pure white."
   Another sharp pain attacked me. This time it shot from the top of my head to the bottom of my ass and then back up again.
   "Do you think it could be Kate Blair?"
   There was a long pause. I knew what he was going to say before he said it. "I think your client has to go down to the morgue and, if it is her sister, make a positive ID."
   "You didn't answer my question." My heart fluttered in my throat "Do you think the body
   is --- ?"
   "I can't say for sure, but it's very likely."
   I waited a full minute to ask a question I already knew the answer to. "Do you remember what she was wearing?"
   "It was hard to tell. But it was --- maybe a sweater. A brown wool sweater."
   I could visualize Kate’s photograph: the long auburn hair, the large brown eyes, a face that
was --- perfect. It made no sense --- nothing made any sense. I suddenly realized that Nick was talking.
   “What?” I asked.
  "I said we got no choice here, Manny, because if this isn't your client's sister then I don't know who the hell it is. She's the only missing person that fits the description."
   "No other people missing?" I asked hopefully.
   "There hasn't been a missing person report in close to two months."
   I stood up. "Okay, Nick. I'll call Margo and give her the news."
   "Do you want me to come over?" I knew Nick was playing with his cigar.
   "Nah. I've made tough phone calls before." Like asking my, then wife, who the putz was she was sleeping with.
   “Well --- if there’s anything else --- “
   "What about the tire tracks, Nick?" A shave and shower suddenly seemed like the two greatest events since the creation of the earth.
   "Ballistics took a mold. We should know something in a few days."
   "Anything new on Curt Warner?" I lit up another Camel.
   "Nope. I'm gonna check with the boys downtown later on him."
   "Well --- " I took one puff and put out the cigarette. " --- I guess I'll give my client a call. Wish me luck."
   "You got it. Goodbye, Manny."
   "Goodbye, Nick."
*
 
XII

   It was eight p.m. and Arthur was --- someplace. Probably banging one of his skinny young friends. Bea was asleep. She'd had an unusually difficult bout with colitis and lost. I knew she’d be better in the morning. I looked at the clock again. Two minutes past eight. It was time to make the phone call. I’d put it off all day and now it was time. It took four rings before she answered.
   "Hello."
   "Hello, Margo. It's Manny." I dreaded this moment. "I just spoke to my friend on the force: Nick Foley."
   "Manny. I thought we had decided not to --- "
   I knew she was going to bitch about bringing in the police. I had to cut her off. "A young woman’s body was discovered."
   There was a gasp. "You --- you think --- "
   "We don't know. The body was wrapped in plastic and partially decomposed." I paused. There was total silence. I could barely hear her breathing. "Nick said she might have been wearing a --- brown wool sweater." The bongo player was back.
   "Oh my God!"
   "She's at the county morgue." Surveillance sucks. But it's a lot better than this. "We need you to go there and make an ID --- either positive or negative."
   There was more silence. "Margo, are you okay?" What a stupid question! "Talk to me, Margo."
   "I --- I can't." Her erratic breathing was making it difficult for her to talk. "Manny --- I --- ."
   "Look." I said. "I'm coming over."
   She didn't argue.
   “Goddamnit!” I slammed down the receiver, knocking both the telephone and ashtray to the floor. Cigarette butts were everywhere. The mess would have to wait.
   I hopped into my car and raced through traffic. I was at her apartment in exactly nineteen minutes. I rang the bell and after a long two-minute wait, Margo came to the door. She had on a gray blouse and black slacks. With my black shirt and gray slacks we blended perfectly. Her hair was pulled back unstylishly and she wore no make-up. The scent of Giorgio was absent. She was still beautiful. She looked frightened and it didn't take a genius to know she'd been crying. We didn't speak. I grabbed her and held her in the open doorway. She held me as tight as I've ever been held. I thought my ribs would crack. We stayed like that for about a minute.
   I broke the silence and said optimistically, "Maybe it's not her." Now I could feel her body shake.
   She released the embrace and I put her face in my hands. Then I kissed her gently and gave her one final squeeze. The TV was on and showing an old re-run of F-Troop. I doubted if Margo was even aware of it. I went inside and turned it off. Then I opened the closet, took out a lightweight cardigan and put it around her shoulders. I then put my arm around her waist.
   "Are you ready?" I asked.
   She waited a second, took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes."
   The ride to the morgue took an exceedingly long fifteen minutes. Neither of us spoke the entire time. I knew her thoughts were racing in all directions. I parked the Silverado in front of the side entrance. Nick Foley was with his wife tonight or he would have been with us. I thought it best not to share that news with Margo.
   At five minutes to eight we walked in and were immediately greeted by an expressionless Juan Morales. We shook hands solemnly. He had thick short fingers and callused hands.
   I put my arm around Margo's waist again and held her tight. She buttoned her cardigan all the way to the top button. I could still feel her shake. I knew she was numb. Her gaze was riveted to the table in the center. A body was on it and it was covered head to toe with a white sheet. Juan walked to one side. Margo and I stood at the other side. Her eyes never left the white mound in front of us.
   I quietly calculated the odds of it miraculously not being Kate.
   This was my third visit to a morgue. I’d hated the other two visits too. I nodded to Juan. He remained void of expression as he slowly lifted the sheet to expose the upper torso.
   Margo's shrill scream shattered the dense air. Then she put both hands to her mouth. I could feel her body go suddenly limp. Juan covered what was left of Kate's face and came over quickly to help me carry Margo into his private office. The TV was off and we were surrounded by an eerie silence. The Godawful odors emanating from the large adjacent room were all but absent here. In fact, the aroma was almost pleasant. An empty desk was in the center of the small neat office and two chairs were against one wall. A narrow file cabinet was in one corner.
   "Got her?" Juan asked, pulling a chair away from the wall.
   "I think so." I replied as I helped her into the chair.
   I continued to hold her as he opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a small vial. He cracked it open, then waved it back and forth about an inch from Margo's nose. Her head began to roll and she slowly opened her eyes. I brought the other chair over until the arms touched. Juan calmly sat down behind his desk and just looked. I could see he'd been through this before.
   Margo lifted her head. She looked first at the medical examiner then at me. Her eyes were glassy and her stare was vacant. Then she began to cry hysterically. I held her tightly but I knew I couldn't make the pain go away. I remembered when my parents died. As bad as it was for me then, I knew it was nothing like this.
   Margo licked her lips and shook her head. "This --- this isn't happening. It --- it just can't be."
   Juan looked briefly at me then took out a piece of light blue paper from the bottom drawer of the desk. He wrote something on it then laid both pen and paper on a small table next to Margo.
   "I know this is difficult." Juan spoke slowly. His voice was surprisingly soft and soothing. I wondered if it was the Spanish accent. "But, as soon as you're able, I need you to sign this paper."
  "This can't be happening." Margo repeated it over and over --- very quietly.
   Juan continued to speak softly. "It's an official identification of the deceased --- by the next of kin."
   Margo hesitated a long moment. Then as if coming from another galaxy, she picked up the pen and looked absently at the paper.
   "Do you want me to read it to you?" I asked. "It's not very long."
   "It's mere formality." added Juan.
   Margo sighed deeply and without a word signed the document. It had to be the toughest thing she'd ever done. Then she looked at me. The blank stare remained. She started to speak but Juan interjected.

   "I know you have a lot of questions, Ms. Blair. But without doing more tests --- well, it's too soon to have all the answers. And I'd rather not speculate."
   "I'm sure she understands." I answered for her.
   Margo looked back at me. Her eyes suddenly had dark circles. Dark circles and a glassy stare were not things to compliment her sensuous eyes. It was time to leave. I stood up and nodded to Juan.
   He stood to face me. Again he reached into the top drawer of his desk. This time he took out a large plastic baggie. "These are Kate's belongings. Her lipstick, her money --- about ten bucks --- and a small notebook."
   "Thank you." Her voice was barely a whisper.
   "I didn't look at the notebook." Juan said. "I probably should have, but I knew it was private."
   "I'll give it to Nick." I volunteered. Then I gently helped Margo out of her chair. I knew the ride back would be as silent as the ride to the morgue. "Come on, Margo. I'll drive you home."
*
   I took Margo's keys and let us back into her apartment. We went right to the family room. I turned on the lamp nearest the door and we sat on the sofa quietly in the dim light for almost an hour. During that time, Margo just stared into space. I ached for her, but I knew there was nothing anyone could do. For now, I only listened to her faint erratic breathing.
   The kitchen clock kept up a soft steady hum and the faucet in the downstairs bathroom dripped to an even tempo. The only other sounds were occasional passing cars. I tried to bring her out of another dimension and into the present.
   "Do you feel like talking?" I hated to see her this way.
   Margo waited a long time to respond. Her voice was soft and raspy. "Her gorgeous face. Her --- her head. Oh, Manny!" She began to cry again.
   I felt helpless. I started to put my arm around her but she jerked away. Sorrow suddenly turned to rage.
   "What kind of an animal does something like that?" She was yelling. I didn't try to stop her. "It was Herb Rowland. I know it was him. That sick son-of-a-bitch!"
   "Margo." I said soothingly. "Why don't you try and get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow." I knew her thoughts were far away from this room.
   "Why, Manny? Why? " She was sobbing and yelling at the same time. "Why did this have to happen?"
   I could only shrug. "Do you want me to stay the night?"
   She stood up and stared at a blank TV screen for a long time.
   I waited patiently.
   She turned to me slowly and shook her head. She spoke so low I could barely hear her. "No. You go on home. And --- well --- thanks for helping me."
   "Forget it." I forced a smile. "You know how I feel about you. Well --- maybe you don't."
   "I--- I think I’ll lie down." She spoke dreamily.
   I realized she hadn't heard what I said. Maybe it was just as well --- for now.
   "I'll call you tomorrow." I said.
   But she was already out of the family room and on her way to bed.
   I let myself out of her apartment and made the long journey home.
*
   “Goodbye, Bea.” I yelled up to my sister’s bedroom. “Feel better.”
   “Goodbye, Manny.” As I opened the front door she asked, “Is Arthur home?”
   I hesitated before answering. “No.” “Do you know where he is?”
   Probably in some sleazy hotel room whacking somebody off! “No.” I waited a few more seconds, then left.
   When I got to my office, Carmen Delvecchio was waiting for me. Her clothes were more wrinkled than the last time I’d seen her and her hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed in months. No wonder Alex didn’t stay home.
   My first thought was to leave. But I had to talk to her eventually. I opened the door and we went inside. I sat behind the desk and Carmen sat across from me.
   “I saw Alex.” She blurted out.”
   “Really?”
   “Well --- “ She shifted in her chair. “ --- I think I saw the little creep.”
   “Carmen.” What the hell was I thinking to take on this mouse as a client. “Either you saw him or you didn’t!”
   She just stared at me through her pinpoint pupils.
   “Look, Carmen --- “
   “I think I saw him go into Cardo’s Restaurant.”
   I tried not to scream. “Cardo’s is an elegant and very expensive establishment.”
   “Well, shit! I know that. But --- “
   “Okay. Okay!” I stood. “I’ll check it out.”
   She stood and I rushed up to her, gently but firmly pushing her toward the door.
   “If I find out anything, I promise you’ll be the first person I call.” I opened the door quickly.
   She turned toward me. “I like your painting.”
   “Uh --- thank you.” I pushed harder.
   Again she turned. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
   Here it comes. “Sure.”
   “Are you married?”
   I knew it! “N --- yes.” Before she could respond, I added, “Plus I got six kids.”
   I stood motionless watching the door as it closed silently behind her.
 

XIII

   "Nick, when do you get used to things like --- coming to the morgue?" I followed Nick out of the patrol car hesitantly, then stood for a moment looking at the side entrance. "I get a fucking knot in my stomach just thinking about this place."
   Nick put his hand on my shoulder and squinted, deep in thought, then answered prophetically, "Never, Manny."
   The sign on the door said COME IN. Why? We went inside and the odor hit me across the face like someone swinging a dead catfish. Nick didn't bat an eye.
   "Hey, Morales." He yelled at the empty room. There was no response, so he yelled again --- louder. "Hey, Morales!"
   "Christ, Nick. Those vocal chords you got could raise the dead."
   "Well, Manny," Nick produced a wide grin. "we're in the right place then."
   I couldn't share his merriment. "What I meant was --- "
   "Hey, fellas." Juan Morales seemed to emerge from the wall. The Milky Way he was eating was lost in his huge hands. His wide smile displayed a mouthful of chocolate. "Nice to see you both again."
   "Juan," I said, "I got to tell you coming here is on a par with sky diving."
   "Ah." He hit my arm playfully. "It could be worse."
   I couldn't think of anything worse than smelling obnoxious odors and being surrounded by stiffs. But then I suddenly thought of Margo. Juan was right.
   Morales went to his desk and took out his yellow pad. Then he motioned for us to sit down.
   "How is Mrs. Blair?" he asked.
   I responded. "I'm sure she slept all day."
   "Best thing in the world for people in that situation." He took a final bite of his candy bar and threw the crumpled wrapper into the wastebasket. "It's bad enough to see someone messed up like that, but for it to be your own sister --- " He shook his head sympathetically.
   "You work a lot of hours, Morales." Nick said.
   "Comes with the territory." He jotted down some notes and turned the page. "Ron Weherle, my associate, was supposed to be in charge of this one --- until he quit yesterday."
   "Why did he quit?" I didn't really care. I just needed to get my mind off where I was. I thought making meaningless small talk would help. It didn't.
   "I don't know why he quit." Juan shrugged. "Lots of people just aren't cut out for this sort of work --- know what I mean?"
   "Yeah, Juan." I responded quickly. "I know exactly what you mean."
  "So." He smiled. "I guess that kinda puts me in charge."
   The odors were slowly working their way from my nose to my intestines.
   How does Nick do it?
   "This woman," Juan slapped at the notebook. "was a fucking punching bag."
   Nick opened his jacket and folded his arms.
   "Listen to this." Morales continued. “There was a recently healed hairline fracture of the jaw and two cracked ribs. There are lots of contusions from --- what looks like having been hit numerous times across both cheeks." He looked at us over his glasses. "And that's all noticeable, even with early decay."
   I could feel my intestines try to get out of my body. And listening to Juan’s grisly description only added to my distress. Nick seemed frozen to his seat.
   "Now, I believe the cause of death to be an instantaneous hemorrhage into the brain as a result of a severe subcutaneous hematoma brought on by a powerful blow to the head." Juan spoke nonchalantly, as he turned the page. "In other words, the whole side of her head was bashed in. The ear was gone, the eyeball was out of its socket, and three teeth had been knocked out."
   I could picture Kate’s once perfect face, and I had to turn away.
   "What a fucking waste!" Nick's voice was full of emotion.
   Everything inside me felt sour. I wanted to yell obscenities. "Yes." was all I could come up with.
   "This was definitely Kate Blair --- right?" Nick Foley was a cop to the end.
   Morales nodded passively. "We checked old hospital and dental records. The fillings and a tiny crack on her left back molar matched perfectly." He turned the page. "I've just seen this recently, since Wehrle left, so you'll have to bear with me for a moment."
   "You found all this out in a hurry." Nick said.
   "The fax machine and computer technology are truly incredible." He spoke to us but never looked up. "There is a small scar on her left knee --- a scar on her upper lip --- two scars on her right thigh." He turned another page. "She had a broken collarbone --- healed, from years ago." Juan scratched his head. "And there was an old scar on her left lung --- an old lesion. Probably histoplasmosis." He laid the tablet down and pushed it to one side. "Now, combine all of this with a positive ID from her sister --- and caramba!"
   "Juan." Nick leaned in a little. "How long has she been dead?"
   Morales pursed his lips and squinted. "That's difficult to say."
   "Just approximately." Nick pushed.
   "I would say she's been dead for --- maybe --- ten or eleven days."
   "Which puts it around --- " Nick consulted a tiny calendar in his shirt pocket " --- October first or second."
   "Now don't hold me to the dates, fellas. That was just an educated guess."
   "Juan," Nick said, "your educated guesses are usually quite accurate."
   "We also found some hair and skin under her fingernails." He added.
   I began to drown under another wave of nausea. My stomach was on borrowed time. I had to get the hell out of here!
   The medical examiner continued. "The lab is still analyzing everything. We should know something in a few days." Juan picked up the notebook and turned several pages, reading through them quickly. "And that's not all." Again he looked at us over his glasses. "This I found interesting and you're going to have to take my word for it."
   "Haven't we been doing just that?" Nick asked.
   "Yeah. But this is a little different."
   I glanced at the clock. It was five after eight.
   "Ron and I spent a lot of time studying this one."
   "What?" I asked as I shifted in my seat. Nick didn't move
   "The inside of Kate Blair's nose was --- " Morales looked at us. " --- fucked up."
   "Is that a new medical term?" Nick smiled.

   I give Foley credit for being able to find something in this fucking mess to smile about.
   Juan ignored him. "The insides of her nose were as smooth as the head of my dick."
   Juan's choice of words threw me. I didn't think he was capable of displaying such a warped sense of humor. It was something I would have said.
   "There was no hair and no lining." Juan put the notebook aside and folded his hands on the desk. "I'm pretty sure I know what it is, but I would rather confer with an ENT man before I render a diagnosis."
   "Ah." Nick said, twirling an invisible handlebar mustache. "So now we have mystery and intrigue."
   "I've only seen one of these since I've been a coroner, Nick. I just want to be certain."
   I was tired, weak and nauseous. If I didn’t leave soon, Nick would have to carry me out.
   Nick stood. He must have read my mind. "Okay, Juan. Call me when all the tests are finished."
   I couldn't stand up fast enough.
   Morales stood as well, then raised his right hand. "I promise."
   I started for the door. Juan's words stopped me. "Oh. I forgot the clincher. Ready for this?" He didn't wait for an answer. "After Kate's head was bashed in, she was shot."
   We both stared at the medical examiner.
   "Jesus Christ, Juan, you're full of surprises." Nick said.
   "That doesn't make sense." I added "Why would anybody do that?"
   "Well, I wondered the same thing." Juan said. "Then I remembered a couple of years ago a husband crushed his wife's skull in with a Magnum forty-four. Then he unloaded it into her chest."
   "I repeat." I said agitatedly. "Why would anybody do that?"
   "The psychologist I spoke to at that time said either the husband wanted to make sure she was dead and did it with full senses, or he had a violent temper and snapped at that moment."
   Nick started to speak, but just nodded. I knew Juan wasn't finished.
   "So if that's the case," Morales said, " the shooting would be a more irrational act than the cracking of her skull."
   "I see." Nick said. I wondered if he did.
   "Getting back to Kate Blair. One of the bullets was lodged in the lining below the left lung. Ballistics has it, and preliminary tests show it's a thirty-eight. And guess what?"
   Nick's eyes lit up. "Don't tell me this bullet matches the one that killed Curt Warner."
   "Bingo!"
   "I'm a son-of-a-bitch!"
   "The only thing that has me stymied is the trajectory of the shots."
   "Meaning what?" Foley asked.
   "The shots were fired at a slight angle from her right side to --- " Morales used his whole body to demonstrate. " --- left center and slightly upward. Then the bullet went through the chest, through the heart and out the back, between the cervical and thoracic vertebrates.
   "Morales," I said, "I'm sure you'll figure it out."
   "If I don't," Juan added elatedly, "I'm certain Lieutenant Foley will."
   "Nick." I was pleading. "Can we go?"
   Once outside, Nick turned to me and said seriously, "You know, Manny, you don't look too good."
   *
   
   
   



 
XIV

   "This has got to be the longest Goddamn light in the world." I said as I sat impatiently next to Nick Foley, pounding rhythmically on the steering wheel. I was about to go through the red light when it turned green.
   "Seeing her sister like that had to be a terrifying experience for your client."
   "Yeah. The worst. But I thought she handled it pretty well --- considering." I somehow ended up behind an Atlas moving van. I leaned on the horn.
   "Relax, Manny."
   "Large trucks make me nervous." I hit the horn again.
   A large bearded face popped through the truck's window. It turned toward me. "What's your problem, asshole?"
   Neither Nick nor I responded. We both stared, wondering what the rest of the man's body looked like. But we would never find out because he pulled away and turned the corner, quickly disappearing out of sight.
   "Is she taking any time off work?" Nick asked.
   "About a week of hibernation."
   "Good idea. Trauma like that can screw up your mind and body for quite a while."
   "As bad as Margo felt, she still wanted to go with us today." I turned right on a yellow light. "It didn't take much to talk her out of it."
   We drove for a while. I stopped for another light. A motorcycle whizzed past us and went through the red light. "What a fucking moron!" I thought out loud.
   "So basically your job is done, isn't it? I mean you did find her sister."
   The light changed and I took off. "But let's face it, Nick. You and I both know it wasn't how my client wanted it. It was the last thing she expected."
   "Manny, there are no guarantees --- not in this business."
   I hesitated a second before I agreed. "You're right, Nick. There really aren't." I stopped to let an elderly woman pushing a baby carriage cross the street. She smiled and waved. Nick and I returned the smile and waved back.
   "I just hope Margo won't be too pissed that I included the police. No offense, Nick."
   "Manny, we've discussed this before. This is no longer a missing person's case. Now it's a homicide. She has no choice."
   I didn't argue. I knew he was right.
   "Have you had a chance to get some of her views on all of this?" Nick asked
   "Some. She says a guy named Herb Rowland may have a lot to do with Kate's death."
   "Herb Rowland?" Nick's face reddened.
   "You know him?"
   "If it's the same guy, he and I had a couple of major run-ins several years ago." Nick rubbed his stubbly chin. "I thought that small time hood was still incarcerated."
   "Apparently not. At least not according to Margo."
   "So Rowland is out." Nick looked like he was ready to put his fist through something. "That's too bad."
   "And his name was in Kate's address book." I added.
   "Really?"
   "I peeked." I said
   "Well --- you are a detective. And detectives have always been known to --- " He looked at me sheepishly. " --- peek."
   "Anyway, Margo was sure Kate was seeing this Rowland. Why else would she be carrying his name around?"
   "Good point."
   "Margo is also sure that he physically abused her."

   "Well, if it's the same Herb Rowland --- and I'll bet it is --- he's a worthless two bit piece of shit!"
   "Say what you mean, Nick. Don't hold back." I slowed down. "Speaking of shit --- " I pointed to the JOHN CARVER MODELING AGENCY.
   I parked in front of the building under a sign that said 'two hour parking'. I hoped it wouldn't be that long. We got out of the car quickly and went inside. Nick led the way. I stayed close behind.
   The blond wasn’t at her desk. In her place was a young girl with coal black hair, too much make-up, and an exceptionally low cut dress.
   "Hello." Nick said. He couldn't take his eyes off her cleavage either.
   "Can I help you?" Her throaty voice added to her sexiness.
   "Is Mr. Carver in?" I asked. And are you sleeping with him?
   "Do you have an appointment?" She asked in an official sounding tone.
    I flashed a smile.
    Nick flashed a badge.
    The badge won. She sat up straight, never taking her eyes off it. She ignored my smile.
   "What happened to the blond?" I asked and smiled again.
   She turned to me and returned the smile. "Marti is off today."
   "I see." I said casually.
   Nick asked, "Did you know Kate Blair?"
   Her smile vanished. "I --- I read in the papers that someone killed her."
   He repeated the question. "Did you know her?"
   She cleared her throat nervously. "No. Not very well. I saw her once in a while, but I really didn't know her." She stood up. "I'll see if Mr. Carver is in. I just got here myself." As she walked to the door, her dress hiked up above her knees and clung tightly to her ass. I knew I was staring. So did she.
   "Careful, Nick." I waved my finger at him playfully. "You're married --- with children."
   "Just looking, Manny." He sighed. "It's about all I can do these days."
   While we waited, I pointed out the rooms. I also filled him in again on my previous encounter with Carver, re-emphasizing his reaction when Margo confronted him blatantly about him and Kate Blair.
   "I know, Manny. You told me on the way down here. I'm not senile, okay?"
   "I just want to make sure I didn't leave anything out."
   "You didn't." He hit my arm gently. "Relax."
   We continued to wait, wondering why it was taking so long.
   "Do you have Warner's photo?" I asked.
   "The blown up driver's license." He patted the pocket of his shirt. "Compliments of Juan Morales."
   Carver's office door opened just wide enough to allow the receptionist to exit, then closed rapidly. "Mr. Carver isn't in."
   I knew she was lying.
   Nick and I flashed a brief look at each other. "When will he be back?" I asked politely.
   She walked quickly back to her desk. "I --- I really don't know."
   "Well." said Nick. "Why don't we just wait."
   Nick knew she was lying too.
   "I hope that's okay." Nick added with a phony smile. He pasted on a fake smile better than anyone I know.
   "It could be quite a wait." She said. Phony smile now faced phony smile.
   "We have all day." Nick said calmly.
   The dark haired beauty began to absently move papers around on her desk. Then she began to move her ass around on her seat.
   "What's your name?" I asked point blank. She was caught off guard. Apparently visitors didn't socialize with the help. She batted her long false eyelashes.
   "Brenda. Why?"
   "Oh --- " I shrugged. " --- no reason."
   During a prolonged silence, I could hear faint sounds coming from one of the rooms --- familiar music. I scratched my head wondering which room was responsible. Then I turned my attention back to Brenda, hoping my smile looked as sincere as Nick's.
She looked confused and uncertain whether to sit down or stand up. Her gaze kept going back to Carver's closed office door.
   "Where are the models?" I asked.
   She looked at me as if she didn't know what the hell I meant. "Models?"
   "Yes." I repeated. "Where are the models?"
   She avoided my question. "Let me check one of the other offices." and went back inside.
   Then I recognized the music as Swan Lake. Class had to be in session --- somewhere.
   Brenda returned quickly, all flustered. "I --- I guess he's in after all." Her cheeks looked redder and there was moisture on her upper lip and forehead. "I seem to have made a mistake."
   "How fortunate for all of us." I said glibly.
   She left the door open and walked past us to her desk. When she sat down she put her knees together and turned her full attention to the appointment book in front of her.
   "You didn't make a mistake." Nick's smile was gone. "You knew --- "
   "Gentlemen!" John Carver materialized in front of his office. He wore a white short sleeve dress shirt, no tie and a dour expression. "I believe you wanted to see me."
   He cast a quick and disparaging glance at Brenda as we followed him into his private office. Carver took two chairs from against the wall and placed them in front of his desk just as he had done when Margo and I saw him five days ago. The room looked exactly the same. Then he sat down heavily behind his uncluttered desk. The shade was drawn but there was still enough light to see the apprehension on his face.
He pushed his glasses up on his sweaty nose, looked at his watch, then folded his hands under his double chin. "I assume you two are here in reference to Kate Blair's unfortunate demise."
   "I knew you would have heard all about it, John." I said sardonically.
   His apprehension quickly turned to fury. And it was aimed in my direction. "News like that travels extraordinarily fast in the artistic community!" He took a slow raspy breath, then added, "And besides, it was in all the papers and on TV."
   "Is that what we have here, John --- " I continued to be flippant. " --- an artistic community?"
   He looked to Nick for help and got none, so I went on. "Tell me, John, where are all your models?" He started to respond, but I cut him off. "The last time I was here it was empty too."
   He hesitated a moment. "School was --- out today. I had a lot of bookwork and we were short on teachers, so --- " He turned toward Foley again. "I am quite busy. Can we please get to the matter at hand?"
   "The reason I asked was --- well, I heard this ballet music and I thought --- "
   "I was testing the acoustics!" Then he snapped his head toward Foley and just glared. I wondered if fire was going to spew from his nostrils.
   Nick took a cigar out of his vest pocket and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.
   "You're not actually going to smoke that --- that thing in here, are you?" Carver was livid.
   Nick shook his head. "I don't smoke 'em. I only chew on 'em." Then he studied his cigar and put it back in his pocket.
   Carver grunted.
   I pulled out a pack of Camels. "What about these?"
   Carver's jowls tightened and his eyes bulged. "Absolutely not!"
   "Well --- I don't know if I can get through this meeting without one."
   Carver leaned in and glared at me. I knew he wanted to kill me. "Force yourself!"
   I put the cigarettes away. Nick and I both sat back, starring silently at this schmuck.
   John looked at his watch again. I wanted to rip it off his fat hairy arm.
   Carver turned to Foley. "I have already spoken to --- " He nodded his head in my direction.
" --- him. And to Kate's hysterical sister!"
   I started to get up but Nick, sensitive to the situation, put a firm hand on my arm. Then he spoke quietly and calmly. "I don't care who you talked to. Kate isn't missing any more. Kate is dead. So now it's a homicide. This is a whole new ballgame --- okay?" He took his hand off my arm and leaned closer to John. His voice remained calm. "So I suggest you tell us all you can about Kate Blair." The plastic smile suddenly appeared. "It's in your best interest to cooperate."
   Carver's face became ashen. He hesitated before he spoke. When he did, his entire conversation was directed at Nick Foley. "She was quiet. Kept to herself most of the time."
   "Did she ever fight with anyone?" Nick asked. "Was there bad blood between her and the other models?"
   "No." Carver answered quickly. "Not at all. Everyone got along with each other fabulously."
   What a prick!
   "She was a good worker and she was a great model." He thought a moment. "She had a bright future."
   "That's what Margo said." I spoke to no one in particular.
   Carver licked his thick lips. "Such a shame. I feel terrible." His expression went abruptly from sympathy to rage. "That nigger did it!"
   "And just which --- 'nigger' would that be?" I asked sarcastically.
   "I don't remember his name." He took out a handkerchief and first wiped his glasses, then his face. "But I've seen him with Kate."
   I waited for Carver to snarl. I was disappointed when he didn't.
   "Is his name Herb Rowland?" Nick asked.
   Carver’s eyes lit up. "Yes. I think that's it."
   "What makes you think this guy did it?" Nick pushed on.
   Carver's eyes stayed on Foley. "Well --- because --- a couple of times I saw him push Kate into his car and --- "
   "What kind of car was it, John?" Nick asked.
   "I --- I don't remember"
   "Did she resist much when she was forced into his car?" He didn't respond so Nick asked it again. "Did Kate Blair resist --- ?"
   "What kind of question is that?"
   "Just answer it." Nick said.
   "I --- I'm sure she did." Carver shifted in his seat.
   "But you can't say for certain." Nick added.
   "I --- I don't remember."
   "John." I said smugly. "Sounds like maybe you need a memory course."
   Carver whirled his head towards me. "I'll ignore that remark!"
   "You remember he pushed her into his car." Nick continued evenly. "But you don't remember if she resisted."
   "That's what I said!" He snapped. Then after a short silence he asked. "Just what are you insinuating?"
   "Maybe she didn't resist." Nick went on. "Pushed and forced are not the same."
   Before John could respond, Nick showed him a mug shot of Herb Rowland. "Is this the man you saw?"
   Carver's eyes lit up again. "That's him. That's him! Why don't you arrest him? Why --- ?"
   "You cannot arrest someone for murder because he may have pushed --- or forced the victim into his car."
   "I still say that nigger did it!" Carver wiped his face again.
   "We know what you think, John." Nick said. "When we find him we'll bring him in for questioning. But we're a long way from proving him a murderer."
   Several eternal seconds of silence crept by. Carver blew his nose into his soiled handkerchief. Then he started to speak, but Nick cut him off.
   "You know, John," The cynical smile made another brief appearance. "your name was in her address book. And this makes you, like Rowland, a suspect."
   Carver's jowls tightened again. His beady eyes began to dart back and forth between me and Nick. "This is ridiculous. I would never --- "
   "Aren't you gonna ask us how she died?" I barged in.
   He didn't respond.
   I told him anyway. "Her head was bashed in --- then she was shot!"
   His mouth dropped open and the ashen look returned.
   "Someone in a blind blazing moment of rage hit her across the head so hard half her skull was destroyed. Then, as if that weren't enough, this madman emptied a thirty-eight into her and --- "
   "STOP IT!" Carver's entire body was one huge convulsion. "Why on earth are you telling me all these sordid details?"
   "Oh --- " I shrugged disconcertedly. " --- you never know when it might come up in a conversation."
   Carver's ashen face showed blotches of bright red. He looked like a large bowl of borscht. He pointed his finger at me, but he was so riled he couldn't speak. Then he whirled toward Nick. "I did not kill her! And if you two clowns think you can --- "
   "John." Nick said evenly. "No one is charging you with murder."
   "Yet." I added.
   "We're just talking here, John." Nick stayed in control.
   There were several more seconds of silence. Carver was sweating as much as he was squirming. I loved it!
   "John," Nick asked, "do you own a thirty-eight caliber pistol?"
   He shook his head without hesitation. "No!" His gaze was fixed on Foley. "But I bet that nigger does!"
   "We intend to find that out, John." Nick said glibly. "Now is there anything else you can tell us about Kate Blair? Anything at all."
   "I’ve told you all I know." He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose again.
   Nick stuck a picture of Curt Warner under Carver’s chin. His expression went from anger to fear, and his color went from ashen to red and back to ashen. "I've never seen this man before."
   "Your nose just grew three inches, Carver." I said.
   "Goddamn it!" he roared. I thought his head would catch fire and explode. "I refuse to sit here and be harassed!"
   "Just take it easy." Nick said cordially. "I told you, we're only talking here --- off the record, if you will." He cleared his throat and leaned in closer to Carver. "How about --- we'll tell you all we know and you tell us all you know. Fair enough?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Whoever killed Kate Blair also killed --- " He pointed to the picture. " --- this man. Curt Warner." He put Warner's photo back in his shirt pocket. "Okay, John. Your turn."
   "My turn?" Carver couldn't have looked more confused.
   "Yes." Nick went on. "We tell you something --- then you tell us something."
   Carver licked his thick lips and wiped his face with his handkerchief. His shirt was drenched with sweat. "I've told you everything! There’s nothing more to tell."
   Nick and I looked at each other. I admired Foley's coolness.
   "Tell me, John. Just between the three of us --- " Nick looked around the room coyly. " --- was your relationship with Kate Blair more than --- "
   "NO! NO! NO!" Carver licked his lips again.
   "I went over all of that with --- " He gestured toward me. " --- him. Now I just got through saying that I refuse to be harassed any longer! I will not --- "
   "Calm down, John. We are not harassing you. We are investigating a murder. You are merely being interrogated. And, yes, you are a suspect. But as far as I'm concerned, anyone associated with Kate Blair is a suspect." Foley then softened his tone. "Over the years, certain people at certain times have tended to withhold valuable information --- for various personal reasons. I needed to know if this was one of those times."
   Carver waited a long time to reply. When he did, he spoke slowly and calmly for the first time. "My relationship with Kate was student and teacher or employee and employer. That is as far as it went. There was never anything between the two of us." He took a deep breath. "Now. I’ve told you everything." Then he put his head in his hands. I wondered if he was going to pass out. I really didn't give a shit. I knew he was lying. There was another long silence.
   "John," Nick asked, "what kind of a car do you drive?"
   The question took him by surprise. He didn't respond. He just stared.
   "It's a simple question, Carver." I was out of patience. "What kind of car do you drive, for Christ's sake? A Ford? A Chevy? --- "
   "A Blazer. I drive a light blue Blazer." He blinked several times. Sweat continued to roll off his face. "Why, may I ask, is that important?"
   "Very large tire tracks were found at the site where Kate Blair was buried." Nick said.
   "B --- buried?" His myopic eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
   "Buried!" Nick repeated with emphasis. "She was buried at an out of the way and deserted cemetery in Greensborough Heights. The killer thought he had dumped her somewhere where her body would never be found. The killer was mistaken."
   Carver merely shook his head.
   Nick went on. "We feel it's a strong possibility that the person who made those tire tracks is the one responsible for killing both Kate Blair and Curt Warner."
   "And you think --- "
   Nick finished Carver’s sentence. "Those tire tracks came from a utility vehicle." He sat back smugly. "A Blazer is a utility vehicle."
   Carver's borsht complexion returned. "Are you insinuating --- ?"
   "Hey. Come on, John." Nick spoke as if he were talking to a first grader. "We're not insinuating anything. We're just talking here, off the record --- remember?"
   Carver's eyes started darting back and forth between me and Nick again. "There are a lot of utility vehicles in this country. There are a lot of Blazers --- "
   "I would say," Nick interjected, "that we have a strong coincidence here."
   Carver stood. His beady eyes were like slits. "I have nothing more to say!"
  "So, John." I continued to be flip. "You're saying --- that's it?"
   He spun his head toward me. His tone was pure vehemence. "That's it!" Then he turned to Foley. "I intend to consult my attorney. I should have done so sooner."
   Nick shrugged. "As you wish."
   We both stood to face John. Then we headed for the door.
   With his hand on the doorknob, Nick turned back to Carver. Then as an afterthought, he said, "Just so you know, we plan on questioning both Brenda and Marti." John looked to be almost in a state of shock that we knew their names. "And, I might add, anyone else associated with this building: model, employee --- or both." Carver only stared. I know Nick's comment caught him totally off guard. "Now, John. Is that understood?"
   "And what if I refuse to allow you to interrogate anyone on these premises?"
   "You can't." Nick said. “If you try, you'll be arrested for obstructing justice!"
   Carver wiped his face on his handkerchief. "Well then --- I suppose you have my permission. Just be discreet."
   "We don't need your permission!" I said. Asshole!
   "Oh. One final question." Nick took a step toward Carver. "Do you know a Senator Reid Carlson?"
   He thought for a moment. "The congressman from Pennsylvania?"
   "That's the one. Do you know him?"
   "No, I don't know him personally. I remember reading about him. I've seen him on TV --- why are you asking me about him?"
   "You two have something in common. So I just thought --- "
   John's slits became cue balls. "I beg your pardon?"
   "His name is in Kate's address book."
   "So? I'm sure there are lots of people in that book. I can't possibly know them all."
   "Just thought I'd run it by you." Nick said. "No harm in asking, is there?"
   "So." Carver said emphatically. "This makes him a suspect too --- right?"
   "Technically." Nick agreed.
   "Did Kate ever mention Carlson to you?" Nick asked.
   "Nope. And as far as I'm concerned, he's a big fucking crook!"
   "I thought you said you didn't know him." Nick said.
   "I don't." Carver continued. "But he's a politician, isn't he?"
   "And you think all politicians are crooked?" I took out my pack of Camels. I was dying to light up in front of this prick. But I knew it would piss Foley off.
   "That's a broad statement, John." Nick said as he opened the door.
   "You guys get that nigger! He's the one!"
   "Yes, John." It was time to go. "We've established your feelings about Herb Rowland."
   "Don't leave town." Nick added as the door slammed shut behind us.

   I knew Carver was staring at us right through the closed door. I looked around. Brenda wasn’t at her desk. Too bad!
   Outside the building, I lit up and took a long deep drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs.
   "Did you catch Carver's expression when I showed him Warner's photo?" Nick asked.
   "Hard to miss. That lying sack of shit!" I exhaled slowly.
   "I'll tell you something, Manny." Foley took out a cigar and stuck it in his mouth. " "There is something very fishy about John Carver's School For Models!"
*
 


XV
   "I still don't see why I had to come to Kate’s house with you." I said
   "I told you, Manny," Nick said following close behind. "I enjoy your company."
   “Nick, you’re full of it.” I took a key out of my pocket. “And besides, I was just here.”
   "I know." Nick tapped me on the shoulder. "Would you like to open the door and let us in?"
   “Okay. But I’m doing this under protest.” I hesitated a moment before inserting Margo's key in the lock. “When I was here, I looked everywhere. I couldn’t find shit.”
   "I know. You told me." He tapped me on the shoulder again. "Now move."
   I turned the knob and the door opened effortlessly. "And I know your boys were here, dusting for prints, looking for clues and such --- they couldn't find shit either." I closed the door gently behind us. "And knowing how well your boys search, I'm surprised you're not satisfied." I took a final drag of my cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray in the family room.
   "I know. But I always like to see for myself." Nick turned to me and smiled. "An old habit of an old cop."
   He followed me around the house, through the kitchen and into the family room. He picked up the same knickknacks and accessories that I had. He looked behind the same furniture, in the same drawers, and under the same rugs, shrugging everything off just as I had done. I then led him downstairs to the rec-room.
   He pointed to the forty inch TV. "That damn set had to have cost at least two grand."
   Then he stopped and looked around casually. "This whole place is nothing but money."
   I led him upstairs to the bedrooms. We went through the first two quickly. I paused before the third bedroom and took out another key. "I've saved the best for last." I put the key in the lock and it stuck. I jiggled the key for several seconds before I realized that I'd inserted it upside down.
   "If it don't fit don't force it." Nick said looking over my shoulder.
   "It fits. I just --- " I pulled it out. "Ok. Let's try it again."
   "How come you're so jittery?" Nick said, still right behind me.
   "I am not jittery!" I said defensively. "I just don't like invading the privacy of anyone with the word 'late' in front of their name. And this is my second visit, yet!"
   "You're a detective, Manny. It's okay."
   I finally opened the door and the sweet aroma smacked us both in the face like a blowtorch.
   "Jesus Christ!" Nick roared. "What is that awful odor?"
   "Incense." I answered. "And most people wouldn't consider it so awful."
   "I guess I'm not most people." Nick took out a clean handkerchief and blew his nose. "Can we have some light please?"
   I casually walked up to the cylindrical lamp and rubbed it lightly but confidently. The erotic blue light came on.
   Foley walked up to it slowly until his nose was almost touching it. "What the hell is this?"
   I patted Nick on the back. "That, my friend, is a one-of-a-kind."
   "I sure as hell wouldn't doubt that!"
   "This is a true phallic symbol." I said.
   "Really." Nick spoke to the lamp, shaking his head in amazement.
   "In other words," I added, "It's a big dick!"
   Nick looked at me and stared. "I know what it is. I may be old but I'm not that old." Then he walked over to the bed and ran his hand over the red satin bedspread. "Mirrored walls. Mirrored ceilings. Incense. Christ!" He took out a flashlight and shined it around the dimly lit bedroom. Then he began tapping on the walls, one mirrored panel at a time. "This isn't a bedroom. It's a damn --- "
   "Nick, what are you doing?"
   "Something I learned as a rookie cop. Many times these mirrored panels --- " He stopped a moment and began to pound harder in one spot. Then he took out a penknife and pried open one of the panels. "Voila!"
   "Nick, you never cease to amaze me."
   He put the knife away and took out a clean handkerchief from his vest pocket. "Elementary, my dear Watson." He reached inside the wall and pulled out a small box. We looked at each other for a second before he opened it slowly. We looked inside the box, then we looked at each other again.
   "Prophylactics!" Nick almost shouted. Then he shined his flashlight into the opening again and this time brought out a small yellow object.
   "Now what?" I asked.
   Nick studied it for a few seconds. "It looks like a --- cufflink. A gold cufflink."
   "How the hell did your boys miss all this?" I asked.
   "Good question. I'll contact the crime lab. Looks like they got some more work to do."
   "I wonder if the cufflink is engraved." I said.
   Nick held it up to the flashlight. "I can't tell. We need more light."
   We went downstairs and I turned on the bright light in the family room. It was more normal and less erotic. We both squinted at the tiny gold piece of jewelry.
   "I think it’s engraved." Nick said, holding it carefully in his handkerchief. "Except the writing is too small to see." He put the cufflink next to the Trojans in his jacket pocket. Then he put his handkerchief back into his vest pocket. "I'll give these dainty items to ballistics."
   "You think they missed anything else?" I asked.
   "I sure as hell hope not. But I'll have them go over the place again, anyway." Nick paused then added. "I can't believe she had a box of Trojans hidden away like that."
   "Maybe she was a girl scout. Be prepared."
   "Very funny, Manny." he answered. "But why hide them?"
   I shrugged. "I don't know."
   Then Nick took one final look around the room and rubbed his chin. "Well, I guess that about does it for this place."
   “I’m ready.”
   "So, I suppose we should talk to that next door neighbor you told me about." Nick said.
   “Why bother?”
   “Why not?”
   “Because the chances of this woman helping us are about the same as the Browns making the play-offs.”
   Nick thought a moment. “I’d still like to try.”
   I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
   We left the house and I locked the door behind us. "I just hope you have more luck with her than I did."
   "I'll give it a shot. You got the photos with you?"
   I took an envelope out of my windbreaker and handed it to Nick. "You're not working with an amateur, you know."
   Nick smiled and patted my arm. "I know."
   We walked up to the Bowden residence and I knocked twice. "Now don't forget what I told you about this dingbat." We waited. I knocked again. "When Margo and I were here before,
she --- "
   The door slowly opened and Martha Bowden appeared. Her hair was in curlers and she had on no makeup. She wore a ratty pink terry cloth robe and no shoes. Martha Bowden looked like a relic.
   "Ms. Bowden." Nick flashed his badge. "I'm Lieutenant Foley. You remember Detective Gold."
   She smiled and nodded. I wondered if indeed she did remember me.
   "May we come in?" Nick was the epitome of chivalry when it was needed.
   A car sped past. We all stopped to look. I wanted to yell, “It's a twenty-five mile per hour speed limit, you dickhead!” I didn't. We turned our attention back to Martha.
   She smiled politely. "My house is a mess. Why don't we talk out here?" Her smile widened. "And it's such a nice day."
   Foley and I glanced at each other. He took a deep breath. "Fine." he said, returning her smile.
   I lit up a Camel as Nick handed her the photos. "Have you ever seen any of these men before?"
   Martha took the pictures in her hand and studied each one carefully. Then she looked at Foley. "Don't you love azaleas?"
   Nick's smile changed rapidly into a frown. "Excuse me?"
   "I merely wondered if --- "
   "Ms. Bowden." Nick cut her off and repeated the question, speaking softly, slowly and condescendingly. "I want to know if you recognize any of these men."
   She took a long hard look at the photos. I took a long hard drag of my Camel.
   "I've seen --- " She pointed to Rowland's picture. " --- him."
   "This man is Herb Rowland." Nick said. "Does the name mean anything to you?"
   Martha rubbed her forehead, looking at the empty condos across the street. "No. I don't know him by name. But I did see him next door --- once or twice." She looked at his picture again. "I remember he --- he yelled at her. I didn't think it was very nice to --- "
   "When was this?" Nick asked. She didn't respond. He rephrased the question. "When did you last see them together?"
   She thought a few seconds. "I --- I don't remember."
   "Ms. Bowden." I've known Nick long enough to know when he was running out of patience. That made two of us. "Have you ever seen any of the men in theses other photos?" He put Rowland's picture in his pocket and held up the other three.
   She stared at them for several seconds. Finally, she pointed to Warner's. "Maybe --- him."
   "You think you recognize this man?" I would have been in my car by now, but Nick kept plugging away.
   "Maybe." She stared blankly at Foley. "But I'm not home much you see --- and my mind doesn't work like it once did."
   Nick and I exchanged another tired glance. Then I flicked my cigarette onto the lawn.
   "I wouldn't want to make a mistake." she said.
   "It's quite all right." I spoke soothingly. "We wouldn't want you to make a mistake."
   "This man's name is Curt Warner." Nick said. "Can you tell us anything about him, or about his relationship with the young lady next door.?"
   She hesitated, then shook her head slowly. "I --- I don't think so."
   "You're sure." He added.
   She nodded absently, then looked past us, staring into space.
   "Ms. Bowden." Nick forced a smile as he put the photos away. "Is there anything else you can tell us that might be of help? Anything."
   She shook her head slowly.
   "Other visitors, maybe." Nick added.
   Again she shook her head.

   "Did you hear anything suspicious? See anything out of the ordinary --- anything at all?" I couldn't help admiring Nick's perseverance.
   Martha smiled at us. "She seemed like such a nice young lady. I didn't see her all that much. But whenever I did she --- she always smiled at me."
   "Well, Ms. Bowden." Nick cleared his throat and took out a cigar. "Thank you for your time."
   "Would you gentlemen like some azaleas?"
   "No." I answered quickly for both of us. "Goodbye, Ms. Bowden."
   We turned to leave, but her words turned us around. "There is something else."
   "There is?" Nick asked hopefully.
   She bit her lower lip and furrowed her brow, deep in thought. "I --- I can't quite put my finger on it, but --- there is something --- something important, I believe."
   "Something you saw?" Nick's patience returned. "Something you heard?"
   "Both." The glassy stare disappeared. Martha suddenly sounded coherent. We waited patiently.
"I --- I know it'll come to me --- eventually."
   Nick took the cigar out of his mouth and put it back in his vest pocket. "I'm sure it will." Nick and I exchanged another quick glance. "You call me when you think of it." Nick said as he handed Martha his card.
   "And we'll contact you if we need any more help." I added.
   Nick put a hand on my arm and guided me to the patrol car. "Let's hope we don't!"
       *
 

XVI

   "What do you think of my paintings?" I asked proudly.
   Nick squinted at the oils. "Who the fuck is B. Jaseph?"
   "I bought them at a starving artist's sale last week. They're original oils." I continued to defend my cultural taste. "So what if the artist is unknown?"
   Nick shook his head, unimpressed at my bargain.
   "One day this artist may be famous --- who knows?" I shrugged. "It's an investment, okay?"
   Nick looked at me. "I'll take mutual funds." Then he added sympathetically, "But I admit, they do add some color."
   "Nick, I know you didn't come here to discuss art or to help me decorate." I sat down in my chair. "So tell me what brings you to this lavish ambiance."
   "I thought you'd like to hear about Morales' latest findings."
   "I'm listening."
   Nick sat down across from me. "Well, according to Juan and Doctor Ellman, who is a local but prominent ENT man, if you sniff enough of the white stuff, it destroys the lining of the inside of the nose. Teflon is used to reline it."
   "I guess I've never heard of it."
   "Truthfully, neither have I. But this ENT man did confirm Morales' diagnosis."
   "Morales' diagnosis being that the insides of Kate's nose was lined with Teflon." I said.
   "Yes. And according to Ellman, there are quite a few people on this planet with Teflon lined noses." Nick loosened his collar. "Also --- according to Ellman, this exotic procedure is very expensive. Thousands of dollars."
   "Any idea who did the surgery?" I asked.
   "No. But it doesn't matter. Apparently Kate had the money, so she could go anywhere she wanted."
   I shook my head slowly. "I can't believe that Margo's sister was a fucking druggie."
   "It sure looks that way." Nick drew the blind. Except for an occasional passing motorist, honk, or dog barking, the streets were quiet and deserted.
   "Considering Kate was such a private person, isn’t it possible that Margo didn’t know about the cocaine?"
   "Oh --- " Nick thought for several seconds. " --- I suppose it’s possible, but unlikely."
   I wasn't sure I wanted to hear that. "Margo once told me that Kate had spent most of her inheritance. If that's true, I wonder where the money for this operation came from."
   "Well --- " Nick thought some more. " --- we don't know how much money Kate really had." He walked away from the window. "But if Kate didn't pay the bill, I'm sure Margo did."
   "With her money or Kate's money?"
   Nick shrugged. "What's the difference?"
   There followed a long silence. Nick broke the spell. "Manny. Do you think your client had anything to do with any of this?"
   "Margo?" I suddenly became defensive. "No way! She adored her sister."
   "I see." Nick sat back down.
   "I think we should concentrate our efforts on legitimate suspects like Rowland and Carver."
   "Manny, as far as I'm concerned, anyone associated with Kate Blair in any way is a suspect until proven innocent."
   "But her own sister? Come on!"
   "I can't help it, Manny. I think like a cop --- an old one at that. Yes. Even her sister."
   "Nick, what possible motive could she have had?"
   Foley thought a moment. Then he shook his head slowly. "That I don't know."
   "I think you're way off base this time, Nick."
   Nick sat forward in his seat. "Manny, I think it's time we questioned her."
   "I'm not sure she's up to it."
   Nick pointed his finger at me as a parent would do with a child. "Manny, this is a murder investigation. And dammit, Margo had as much opportunity to kill her sister as Rowland or Carver."
   "Nick,. I refuse to believe that Margo had anything to do with Kate's death."
   "You can't bury your head in the sand, Manny."
   "I know, but --- " I began to pull on my beard.
   "Why don't you talk to her." Nick said compassionately. "Or better still, how about we'll question her together --- friendly like." Then he produced a broad smile.
   I had no response.
   Foley leaned in toward me again. "Manny --- "
   I put my hand up. "Nick, don't lecture me, please. I’m sure she wasn't involved." I took a deep breath. “At least --- I hope she wasn’t.”
   "And what if she was?"
   I was getting tired. "Then I'll have to deal with it --- won't I?"
   "Manny, we have to question her." Nick kept up the pressure. "There is nothing to discuss."
   There was another long silence. This time I broke the spell. "Let's change the subject, okay?"
   Nick started to respond but didn't. I continued. "What about the tire tracks?"
   "The only thing we know is that the tracks came from a large vehicle."
   "A recreational vehicle?" I asked. " Like a Blazer?"
   Nick smiled. "I know. Carver drives a Blazer. But those tire tracks could fit a dozen different trucks."
   "Oh." I couldn't hide my disappointment.
   Nick looked up at the clock. "I just remembered. I have to call the chief of police in Saint Paul." He took out his small notebook. "A --- Lieutenant --- Rupert Woodling." Then he pointed to the phone. "May I?"
   "Be my guest."
   "I'll use the city code."
   "Is this about Warner?" I asked.
   "I think so. I'm hoping so anyway." Foley took out a plastic card and began to dial.
   I got out of my chair and walked to the window. Two young children were running with a black Labrador. A small school bus stopped to let them cross the street. Otherwise, there was no one else around.

   "Great!" Foley said disgustedly. "They put me on hold. God I hate that! It really --- oh, that was quick." Nick cleared his throat. "This is Lieutenant Nick Foley from Cleveland."
   "Is Lieutenant Woodling there?" Nick took out a pencil and waited. It took only a few seconds.
"Uh --- yes." He began to write. Nodding and several 'hmms' dominated this end of a conversation that was decidedly one-sided. The call took twenty minutes, and the taxpayers would foot the bill. After he hung up, Foley picked up the paper he'd been writing on and read it over carefully.
   "Are you going to share the call with me or do I have to guess what was said on the other end?"
   Nick looked up at me. "Warner was definitely into drugs. He dealt it and he used it. Mostly crack. Some heroin and some cocaine. Rupert said Warner's clients were primarily in the Twin Cities. And he worked alone. His contacts were small time hoods."
   "So there's no evidence of any mob involvement?"
   "No. And if there was, no one’s talking."
   "Then it's best to assume that his clientele was his own." I put out my cigarette and immediately lit up another one.
   "Including --- " Foley put away his pencil and paper. " --- ready for this? Our friend, John Carver."
   "No shit!" I took a puff and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "Well, I can't be too surprised. It sure explains why Carver recognized Warner's picture."
   "It seems that Carver is from Saint Paul."
   "So they worked together there." I added.
   "And when they came here, the arrangement --- whatever it was --- remained intact."
   "So Warner supplied Carver and Carver supplied --- " I couldn't say it.
   Foley said it for me. "People like Kate Blair."
   "I wonder who their other clients were --- assuming there were others."
   Nick shrugged. "Rupert didn't have any names other than John Carver."
   "What about the young people at the modeling agency?" I asked.
   "We need to question everyone associated with that agency." Nick said.
   "We should have enough evidence to close down Carver's place and swear out a warrant for his arrest."
   Nick nodded. "As soon as I get all this information from Woodling."
   "Then," I speculated, "Carver could have killed both Kate and Warner as drug related homicides."
   Nick pondered my statement. "Could be. Since, according to Morales, both bullets were fired from the same weapon."
   "So, if we nail this prick, maybe Margo is off the hook."
   "Maybe." Nick spoke to the notebook as he turned the page. "Now listen to this. Curt Warner ran an escort service in Saint Paul."
   I could feel myself staring. "An escort service could mean a lot of things, Nick."

   Nick took the cigar out of his mouth and crossed his legs. "It sure sounds crooked to me."
   "Yeah." I said as I put out my cigarette. "Like everything about Carver sounds crooked."
      "Hey. It's six fifteen." Nick stood up.
   "It damn sure is!" I stood to face him. "All of a sudden, I'm hungry. How about dinner?"
   "Any other time I'd say yes, ole buddy. But tonight I promised the wife. Sorry."
   "Okay. Just keep me posted."
   Nick stood in the doorway.
   I knew what he wanted to hear. "Okay. I'll talk to Margo."
   "It would be good to talk to her before we talk to the people at Carver's School."
   "Maybe she doesn't know anything, Nick."
   "And maybe she does." He smiled and gave me a half salute.
   As soon as he was out the door, I picked up the phone and dialed Margo's number. I let it ring ten times. There was no answer.
*
           
 

XVII



   "No date tonight?" Nick asked.

   We were seated across from each other in a dingy booth at the end of the bar.

   "Well, I guess you're my date." I quipped.

   "Lucky me."

   "Personally, I like my dates to have larger jugs. But --- " I lifted my glass. " --- hey."

   “Why in the world did you pick Mitch’s Bar anyway?” Nick asked as he took a sip of

beer. “It’s dark, it’s loud, it’s smoky --- “

   “Well --- “ I lit a cigarette, which added to the density of the atmosphere. “ ---

normally on Wednesday nights it’s almost empty, which makes it private --- sort of.”

   “I don’t call this private, do you?” Nick indicated several men wearing bowling shirts.

Just then two of them brushed past our table, each with a glass of beer in their hand. They

had on gray shirts with a patch on the sleeve that read ABC. The back of the shirt read

MILLER’S in black script. Fortunately our table was farthest from the bar so the noise

level was not quite loud enough to wake the dead --- almost, but not quite.

   “So sue me.” I said it jokingly, but neither of us was laughing. “I picked the only

Wednesday night of the year with a fucking bowling party!”

   The noise level kept rising and lowering like a roller coaster. At times it was impossible

to hear each other. When the roller coaster was at the bottom of the track, I continued.

   "It could always be worse." I took a long drag of my cigarette.

   “Yeah.” Nick said. “I could be grocery shopping with the wife.”

   “Nick, the way I figure it, I don’t bother them and they don’t bother me.”

   “Hmmm --- sounds like a pact I once made with some mice at my office.”

   Foley motioned to the waiter, a young man in a light blue shirt, dark blue slacks and a

crewcut.

He quickly brought us each another beer and replaced the dirty ashtray with a clean one.
  
   "You want to leave?" I was yelling as the din began to subside. I felt people staring at

me.

   Nick just shrugged.

   "I'm going to bed early tonight." It suddenly got quieter and I spoke at a normal level

for the first time. "I'm really zonked."

   "I can relate to that."

   "Cheers." I said. We both took a sip.

   The bowlers were leaving and the smoke was clearing. Nick put his glass down.
    
   "Manny." Nick said suddenly. "Something is wrong with this case."

   I stared at him a second. "Meaning what?"

   Now the room had emptied except for three young men with open shirts and tight jeans,

seated at one end of the bar. Two middle-aged women sat at the other end. They had

short black leather skirts, very low cut tops, high heels and tons of make-up.

   "I don't know, Manny. I can't put my finger on it. But a piece of the puzzle is

missing."

   "I'm sure you'll find it."

   "And I'm not referring to anything directly associated with any of the suspects or things

  like the missing page of the deceased's address book or the tire tracks or --- "

 Nick drained his beer and pushed it to the side. "I can't explain it. But something here

isn't kosher."

   The three young men and the two middle aged women were now seated together.

   "Hey. That's my line." I said

   "Where do you think I got it?"

    We sat quietly for several minutes. The five people at the bar were now leaving. Nick

and I were the only patrons left.

   "Manny, I'm getting tired of this shit! This fucking case is wearing me out." He took

out some bills and slammed them down on the table. Then he turned toward me. "You

know eventually I'm going to have to bring Margo Blair in for questioning."

   "You're going to drag her down to the station and grill her like a common criminal?"

   “You said it. I didn’t.”

   “Nick, you can’t be serious.”

   "Do you realize I haven't even met your client yet --- let alone talked to her? And we

all know whose fault that is, don't we?"

   I raised my hand. "Guilty."

   "Maybe --- just maybe, she’s afraid of implicating herself. Did that ever occur to you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. “It sure as hell makes sense to me.”

   I could see arguing would be a lesson in futility. “Okay, Nick. Just do what you have

to.”
*

 


XVIII

   The ride from Margo’s apartment had been an uncomfortable and silent one. I drove. I could almost feel the heat generated by apprehension and could almost see the air thicken with hostility. Nick was standing outside his office when we arrived. I introduced them to each other as cordially as I could. Nick smiled. Margo didn’t.
   “Margo,” Nick said. “I really do appreciate your coming in. I know --- “
   “Am I under arrest?” She asked.
   Nick shook his head. His face was without expression. “No.”

   “Are you going to put handcuffs on me?” She was fuming. “Are you going to fingerprint me? Are you --- “
   “Relax, Margo.” I said soothingly.
   “Let’s skip the formalities and get it on and over with, okay?”
    Three young policemen walked by and waved.
   “Why don’t we all go into my office?” Nick asked politely.
   “Is that a request or an order?”
   “Well, if you put it that way, I suppose it would be an order.”
   She paused a moment and looked back and forth between the two of us, then reluctantly followed us inside.
   “Please.” Nick pointed to two chairs in front of his desk. We sat down. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. “Coffee?”
   Margo shook her head.” No.”
   I could see the outline of her panties through her tight slacks. I was dying to put my hand on her ass. My second wife had an ass like that. I loved to caress it. But so did every other jerk in the city.
   “Margo, this is serious business.” Nick waited for Margo to respond. When she didn’t, he proceeded. “I know you’re Manny’s client. You hired him to find your sister. But your sister is --- “ He took a deep breath. “--- deceased.”
   I put my hand on her shoulder. It felt like a piece of steel.
   “The probe Manny was conducting --- “ He threw me a quick glance. “ --- is over. Now it’s a murder investigation.” Nick spoke softly but firmly. “Your sister was brutally murdered. A guy named Curt Warner was brutally murdered. We need some answers.”
   Margo looked to me for help. I could only nod my head. Nick was right and we all knew it.
   No one spoke for several minutes.
   Margo suddenly put her face in her hands and began to cry. “I --- I promised Kate --- “
   We both gave her time to regain her composure.
   “Kate is gone, Margo.” I said as I put my chair closer to hers. “Nothing you can say or do will bring her back.”
   “Please. Help us.” Nick pleaded
   She nodded and took a tissue from her purse. Nick took a pencil and pad from the top drawer.
   It seemed like an eternity before she finally spoke. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that Carver’s School For Models is a --- a ---”
   I knew this was painful for her. I finished her sentence. “Whorehouse!”
   “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible. “That’s as good a word as any.”
   “I suspected as much.” Nick said without batting an eye.
   “There haven’t been any classes for close to two years.” She blew her nose gently, then threw the tissue in the wastebasket. “It’s just a big front.”
   “How long have you known?” Nick asked.
   She closed her eyes. Another long painful moment passed. When she finally spoke, it was with great difficulty. “About a year --- or so. Kate used to tell me about these --- these --- strangers.”
   “Did she mention any names?” I asked.
   Margo shook her head. “No.”
   “But you knew about Herb Rowland.” Nick said.
   “Oh yes. She did mention him --- not by name though. I just happen to have seen them together.” She took a deep breath and put her head back. “Kate got one-thousand dollars. She kept half and gave half to Carver. It was all so stupid. She didn’t need his filthy money. She had plenty. And if she hadn’t, I would gladly have given her whatever she needed.”
   “I’m sure you would have.” Nick added.
   “She could have had any man in the world. She had looks. She had money --- a lot of money.” Margo took out a fresh tissue. “It’s all so stupid --- stupid --- stupid!” She blew her nose again.
Then she threw the tissue in after the other one. “She had this --- this sick desire to sleep around with scum like Rowland and Carver. Life was a vast and reckless adventure. She found her excitement in the dregs of society. The lower she sank, the more satisfied she seemed to be.” Now she raised her voice as the tears began to flow more freely. “You were at her apartment.” She looked at me then at Nick. “You saw her bedroom with the phallic lamp and the erotic blue light.”
   And the condoms stashed away in the wall.
   “Can there be any doubt at all that my sister was sick?”
   Nick and I just stared at each other. There followed a long silence.
   “What about the other girls at the agency?” Nick asked.
   “I only know what Kate told me.” She folded her hands on her lap around her purse. “Yes, they were involved. But, no I don’t know all their names.”
   Nick brought his chair closer to the desk. I knew he was going to change course. He wrote and talked at the same time. “Tell me how you knew Curt Warner?”
   “I saw him and Kate together once --- at her home.” Margo licked her lips repeatedly. “Warner didn’t know I was there. I saw him force her into the bedroom with the --- blue light. I --- “
   “Go on.” Nick said compassionately.
   “I heard loud voices --- mostly his.” She began to cry. “Then I heard sobbing. I know it was Kate.”
   “Did you ever confront her with this?” Nick asked.


   Low muffled voices indicated several police officers and clerks scattered throughout the building. A car went by. A dog began to bark from somewhere far away.
   “Yes.” Her eyes were suddenly cold. “But she wouldn’t talk about it. She flat out refused. Told me it was none of my business. So I --- I never pursued it.” There was another lengthy pause. “I wondered if this was the man who was supplying my sister with drugs.”
   Nick and I looked at each other. Then he scooted forward in his chair. “So you did know that Kate was into drugs.”
   She paused then nodded, drying her face with a fresh tissue. I wouldn’t mention the Teflon. Maybe Margo knew. Maybe she didn’t.
   “We’re almost positive that Curt Warner was her supplier.” Nick continued. “That’s why you saw them together.”
   “Christ!” Margo delivered a nervous laugh. “My sister the junkie. My sister the whore. My sister --- “
   “Whoa!” I laid my hand gently on her arm. After she calmed down I added. “So you knew all of this when we first visited Carver.”
   She hesitated, the nodded slowly. “I --- I couldn’t tell you --- or anyone. It’s not something you brag about. And besides, I gave Kate this dumb vow that I would never --- “
   I gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
  “But you’re right. Kate’s gone. It doesn’t matter anymore.” She spoke tearfully. “I --- I kept telling her that she was headed for disaster. I knew it! She told me to ‘fuck off!’ Her exact words. She said it didn’t concern me. She was a big girl and could take care of herself.” Then her voice drifted off. “Yeah --- right.”
   “Margo.” Nick asked. “Do you want to continue this talk another time?”
   She looked up. Her gaze bounced back and forth between me and Nick. “Will it take much longer?”
   “No.” Nick answered quickly.
   “Then let’s get it over with. I don’t want another interrogation!”
   Nick took a picture of Reid Carlson from the top drawer and held it up. “Did you ever see this man?”
   “Hmmm --- his face looks familiar --- but I really can’t place him. Who is it?”
   “Senator Carlson from Pennsylvania.” I replied.
   Margo shrugged. “Why would I know him?”
   Nick cleared his throat. “His name was in your sister’s address book --- along with Rowland and Carver and Warner.”
   “Well, I never met this one.” Then she picked up the photo. “Meet The Press!”
   “Pardon me?” Nick asked.
   “I saw him on Meet The Press.” She threw down the picture. “Isn’t it odd that she would mix a United States Senator with her usual slime? This guy must be just as sick as she was.”
   “We intend to find that out.” Nick said.
   “Tell me, Lieutenant. How many other names were in Kate’s little book?”
   “That’s it.” Then Nick quickly added. “Although it appears that one of the pages has been torn out.”
   Margo did not respond.
   Nick continued. “You don’t happen to know anything about the missing page, do you?’
   She shrugged again. “No. Why should I?”
   “No reason.” He forced a smile. “But you never know.”
   “Well then,” Margo added, “if that’s the case, it’s something that will remain a mystery.”
   “So then,” Nick said. “these are the men your sister --- entertained. The --- regulars.” He clearly didn’t know how else to word it.
   Again there was silence and again Margo broke the spell. “Maybe if I’d been more forceful --- “
   I put my hand on her arm. “No guilt, Margo. Your sister was trapped. There is nothing you could have done.”
   Nick moved his papers to the side, folded his hands on the desk and stared directly at Margo. “Who gains the most by your sister’s death?”
   “Lieutenant. I’ve already discussed this with Detective Gold. Why --- “
   “Humor me, okay?” But there was no humor in his eyes. “I want to hear it from you.”
   Margo didn’t respond.
   “We are investigating a murder.” The testiness returned to Foley’s voice. “One of the victims just happens to be your sister.” Then he pasted on his phony smile. “So let’s go over it again.”
   The smile was effective. “I inherit three million dollars!” She sighed deeply.
   Nick whistled. “So her death makes you very rich.”
   I decided to let Nick talk. This was his show.
   “I don’t like this conversation!” Margo folded her arms and scowled. “I don’t like the tone and I don’t like the innuendoes!”
   “There are no innuendoes.” Nick said defensively. His voice still had an edge to it. “It’s merely an observation. The fact is undeniable. As a result of your sister’s death you do stand to inherit a great deal of money.”
   He was treading on dangerous ground and he knew it. After a short pause, his smile was back.
   “You alluded to the fact that Kate didn’t need Carver’s money: that she had plenty.” He leaned in closer. “So how did your sister get so friggin rich?”
   I expected to see smoke come out of Margo’s ears. Instead she forced a weak sad smile. She waited a long time before she responded.
   “When my father died two years ago, he left his entire fortune to my sister.”
   “All of it?” He asked.
   “Yes.” She answered evenly. “He said I didn’t need it, but Kate did.”
   “I see.” Nick said. I knew he didn’t.
   “I was earning --- still am, in excess of two-hundred- thousand a year.”
   Nick whistled again. “That’s a lot of clients.”
   “Let’s say it’s the right ones.” Margo countered.
   Neither of us spoke for several minutes. Then Margo said wearily, “Maybe he was right.”
   “Well, I think it’s terribly unfair.” I said. I knew it was none of my business. But the thought of a child being cut off from an inheritance, regardless of reason, infuriated me. It had to have done the same thing to Margo.
   “You have to understand.” Margo added, fatigue showing in her eyes. “As I told Manny, Kate was irresponsible. She’s been working for Carver two years now. I guess you could call it working!” The sad smile returned. “It’s the longest she’s ever worked at one stretch --- anywhere.” She raised her voice. The smile vanished. “To have to stoop this low for steady work for that son-of-a-bitch sickens me --- especially when she didn’t need it.”
   “I can see that.” Nick said sympathetically. “She didn’t need to do it. She wanted to do it.”
   “She’s been a waitress, a hostess, a salesperson --- you name it. And now --- “ Margo paused to catch her breath. “ --- she can add --- whore to her resume!”
   “Margo --- “
   “It appears my sister finally found a line of work she enjoyed --- something she was good at.”
   Margo’s compassion suddenly turned to pure bitterness. It was the first time I noticed it. But watching someone you love destroy their life could easily make anyone bitter. And then to be disinherited could only make matters worse.
   “If Dad knew what she had become --- “ Margo’s sentence floated in space.
   “So your father had no reservations about leaving Kate all that money, knowing she was irresponsible.” Nick posed it as a statement, not a question.
   “No. He didn’t!” Margo’s bitterness was coming through like a bulldozer.
   Nick cleared his throat. “Uh --- Margo. I have a --- “
   “Lieutenant Foley.” She glanced at her watch. “You said we were finished.”
   “Just two quick questions.”
   “They had better be quick!”
   “Do you own a gun?”
   “No! Next question.”
    “What kind of car do you drive?”
   “I have a nineteen-ninety-one Nissan. Is that it?”
   Margo stood. Nick and I followed suit.
   “Were you the last person to see Kate alive?”
   “That’s three questions.” She looked at her watch again. “As I told Manny, we ordered Chinese food at her home on September thirtieth. So unless she saw someone else after dinner, I was the last person to see my sister alive.”
   “She could have gone out.” Nick said as he jotted down some notes.
   “She said she was going to stay at home.”
   “You believed her?” I asked.
   “No reason not to, is there?”
   I just shrugged. Nick continued to write.
   “So, I gather I’m still a suspect.”
   “You had opportunity.” Nick looked up. “And now we’ve established motive: jealousy, anger, a major inheritance. And you were apparently the last one to see your sister alive.”
   I could see the color leave Margo’s face. “What about the other guy that was murdered? Did I have opportunity and motive there as well?” She bit her lip. “I think it stinks that you put me in the same category as Herb Rowland!”
   “Well, that’s not exactly --- “ Nick started to talk.
   Margo cut him off. “Goodbye, Lieutenant.”
   I walked Margo out of the office with a nod to my friend. Margo stopped in the doorway and turned back to Foley.
   “I --- I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I shouldn’t blame you for Kate’s death. I know your doing all you can.” Then Margo added, “But in spite of it all, I did love my father and always will. I know that sounds stupid after what he did.”
   “No it doesn’t.” Nick answered quickly. “I fully understand.”
   I wondered if he did. I sure as hell didn’t.
   “Can I go now?” Her eyelids were almost closed. I could barely make out the color of her irises.
   Foley nodded. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
   We got into the car and I drove Margo home. The ride was a silent one. I walked her to the door. The smell of her Giorgio and the outline of her panties were making me crazy.
But I stifled the urge to tear her clothes off and bang her on the spot. Instead I kissed her platonically on the cheek.
   Another cold shower would await me.
   “Maybe, after all this is over, you and I could go out sometime. Like a date --- or something.”
   She put her key in the lock, paused, then turned back to me. “Let me think about it, okay?”
   I nodded. “Sure.”
   As I drove away, I said aloud to myself. “Be careful, Manny. Be very careful.”
 
XIX



   The large black sign on the massive unfriendly steel gate read: SWAYMORE

ESTATES ---PRIVATE PROPERTY. Only if someone pressed the correct code

numbers on the box at the entrance, would the security system succumb, allowing the

locked gate to swing open. It reminded me of an old horror movie I had recently watched

on TV. In the movie the gate squeaked and moaned. Here it was smooth and silent.

   “Open sesame.” I said it quietly under my breath.

   “What?” Nick asked as he drove slowly along the narrow road.

   “Nothing.”

   The drive from the secluded paved road to the front of the stately mansion was about a

quarter mile. A thick forest covered both sides of the road. Everything was green and

quiet.

   “Some residence.” I was in awe of the majesty of the surroundings. Then

I added humorously, “Five hundred rooms. Not much, but it’s home!”

   “His wife has money.” Nick talked with a cigar hanging out of the corner of his

mouth.

   “Or maybe he’s a goniff.” Then I added, “That means ‘thief’ in case --- “

   Nick’s laugh interrupted me. “I know what it means. Being friends with you all these

years taught me a lot of words --- including goniff.”

   We both sat and stared at the estate for several seconds. I couldn’t get over the

enormity of it all. Then Foley turned to me.

   “Manny, when you’ve been in the Senate for as long as he has, you meet the right

people.”

   He bit down on his cigar. “And marrying money doesn’t hurt either. He didn’t have to

be a goniff.”

   Nick stopped the car, our eyes riveted to the mansion. The enormous dwelling was

solid brick with ivy climbing up every inch of every wall. I counted twenty windows

facing me. I couldn’t imagine how many were not. Rose bushes and exotic plants in all

colors adorned the grounds.

They were perfectly symmetrical in every way. The lawn looked as if each blade of grass

was cut and manicured individually. A tall steel fence surrounded the grounds on all sides

--- just like in the horror movie.

   We parked the patrol car in the wide circular driveway and got out slowly. I rang the bell. Even the chimes sounded opulent. After no more than thirty seconds a short thin man with no eyebrows, a bald head, small ears and a large nose opened the door. He wore a tailored black suit and his patent leather shoes looked spit shined.
     “I’m Lieutenant Foley and this is Detective Gold. We’re here to see Senator Carlson.”

   “I believe the Senator is expecting you.” He had a resounding English accent. “If you

will please follow me.”

  The man in the black suit opened a large wooden door and led us into the library.

   “If you wait here, I’ll get the Senator for you.” He bowed and left.

   “Big, isn’t it?” Nick asked casually.

   I only nodded, still in awe. “Gigantic would be an understatement. My sister’s entire

house could fit into this room.”

   Two large tables and several chairs were in the center of the library, equidistant from

each other and from the walls. Several smaller tables and chairs were scattered neatly

around them. One wall had two large windows ( representing the twenty I saw from the

car) with the velour drapes pulled back. The other walls were floor to ceiling books. I

took a casual stroll around the room while Nick studied Michelangelo’s Moses --- horns

and all. There were books by Updike and Ludlum. One wall contained mostly books on

the Civil War and the Orient. But the vast majority were law books.

   “I can understand the Civil War. Lots of people are Civil War buffs. But why the

Orient?” I asked.

   Nick picked up a copy of ‘Shogun’. “If I’m not mistaken, at one time he was in line to

be Ambassador of Japan.”

   “He didn’t get it?”

   Nick replaced ‘Shogun’ back on the shelf. “Nope. His wife didn’t like Asians.” He

turned to me. “So that was the end of that.”

   “Good afternoon.” A tall handsome man in his mid sixties entered the library with his

hand extended. He had thick curly salt and pepper hair with eyebrows to match. His

cheekbones were high and his smooth face was evenly tanned. His suit and tie looked

expensive and his white shirt looked like solid starch. As we shook hands we introduced

ourselves. Then he gestured to one of the smaller tables and we all sat down in black

leather chairs positioned in a small semi-circle.

   “This room is magnificent!” I meant it.

   “Thank you.” He responded politely. “I find it most relaxing.”


   “How long have you lived here?” I was curious.

   “Almost twenty years. I moved in right after I began my first term. Actually the house

was built in nineteen-twenty-five. It was vacant for a while. A judge lived here prior to

my taking residence.” His smile seemed genuine.

   “Everything looks fresh.” Nick joined in.

   “I do my best to keep things that way.”

   I was dying for a cigarette, but there were no ashtrays. I hoped I could wait it out.

   After a brief pause, the Senator asked, “So what can I do for you? You were rather

vague over the phone.”

   Nick cleared his throat. “I know you’re a busy man and have more important things to

do.”

   “I don’t weigh things by importance.”

   I didn’t know what that meant. I was certain Nick didn’t know either, but we acted like

we did.

   “I feel the same way about things.” Nick said. Then he cleared his throat again.

“Senator Carlson, I’ll get right to the point.” He hesitated for a moment. “It’s about Kate

Blair.”

   Carlson began to rub his chin. His color faded. “And just what is it that you gentlemen

wish to know?” Then the smile faded along with the color.

   “You do know she’s been murdered.” Foley made it a statement, not a question.

   “Why would I know that?”

   “You read the papers --- don’t you?” Nick asked.

   He rubbed his chin harder. “Well, of course, but --- “

   “We want to know basically what your relationship was with her.”

   Carlson began to fidget.

   “Take your time, Senator.” Nick continued casually. “We have all day.”

   “I’m sorry.” His tone was much less friendly. “I do not. You see --- “

   His sentence was interrupted when a gray haired woman wandered into the room. She

was stooped over and shuffled her feet as she walked over to him. Her glasses were

constantly slipping to the end of her nose. The senator got up quickly and put his arm

around her shoulders. Then he gently led her out of the library. At the door the

Englishman in the black suit suddenly appeared.

He and Carlson had a brief conversation. Then the Englishman and the elderly woman

disappeared.

   The Senator came back into the room and sat down. He looked drained. “She hasn’t

been well.

He turned briefly to the closed door. “Lorence is --- well --- he does everything.”

   I assumed he meant the Englishman.

   “He oversees the maids and the cooks. He makes certain the head gardener keeps the

grounds in the best condition possible. He helps me with my own personal attire. And ---

he helps me with Jesse. He has for nearly thirteen years. He is, in fact, the proverbial

right hand man. I don’t know what I would do without him.” He adjusted the knot on

his silk tie. “As you can see, my wife suffers from severe rheumatoid arthritis. She has

also had several TIAs --- mini strokes.” He took a deep breath. “ And one major one.

The right side of her body is partially paralyzed. She has been this way for close to five

years.”

   Nick and I nodded sympathetically.

   “Sometimes she has no idea of where she is --- “ He closed his eyes for a second. “ ---

or who she is.”

   “How old is she --- if you don’t mind my asking?” I don’t know what possessed to ask

it.

Maybe Margo was right. Maybe I do have a ‘thing’ about age. I started to retract the

question but the senator answered it evenly, without batting an eye.

   “She’s seventy-eight years old.” Nick and I looked at each other. Then Carlson, as if

reading my mind, quickly added, “Yes. She is somewhat older than me.”

   There were several seconds of silence before he continued candidly. “It’s common

knowledge that I married her for her money and her influence twenty-four years ago. Her

father had the largest law firm in Boston. And needless to say, we both got what we

wanted.” His smile was smug. “I got a lot of money and a seat in the Senate. She, in turn,

got someone to save her from being an old maid. Someone to overlook her caustic

personality, ignore her common looks and cater to her every spoiled whim.” Carlson’s

bitterness filled the air like a thick fog. Foley and I let it pass. He went on quietly. “You

would certainly never guess all that now, would you?”

   I remembered what Nick told me in the car. Neither of us said anything. We just shook

our heads. Then Nick spoke up.

   “Let’s get back to Kate Blair.”

   Carlson began to rub his chin again. He looked extremely uncomfortable. And it wasn’t

the leather chair. His eyes drooped at the corners. “I really don’t know her. I only --- “

   “Senator Carlson.” Nick interrupted. He spoke quickly and firmly. “We found your

name and address in her address book.” He leaned in toward the agitated congressman.

“How do you explain that?”

   There was a long pause before he responded. “Gentlemen, I think I should consult my

attorney before we proceed any further.”
   
   “That’s up to you, Senator.” Nick said smugly. “But if you have nothing to hide

then --- “

   “I most certainly have nothing to hide.” Red blotches suddenly appeared on his cheeks.

“It’s just that --- “

   “Good.” Nick’s phony smile faded. “Then let’s continue.”

   “I --- I really think that consulting my attorney would be --- “

   “Tantamount to taking the Fifth Amendment.” Nick quickly interjected.

   Reid Carlson’s entire face tightened. “I hardly see where --- “ He then turned briefly

toward the closed door. I wondered if he was expecting someone. His wife? Lorence?

He took a deep breath and stared at Nick for what seemed like hours. He spoke slowly.

“I --- I did meet her once. It was a long time ago. I believe it was at a party. I’m sorry.

I’d forgotten.” He folded his hands in front of him as he spoke. “I can’t understand why

she would have my name in her address book.”

   “We can’t either, Senator.” I added my two cents. “That’s why we’re here.”

   “Maybe she saw me on TV or read about me someplace, and she wanted some political

favor -- or some such thing.”

   “Like what?” Interrogation was definitely Nick’s long suit.

   He paused a moment, then shrugged and threw his hands in the air.

   Nick added quickly. “That is a rather an odd situation --- isn’t it?”
         
   “Gentlemen.” Carlson was fidgeting now more than ever. “I have no idea what she

wanted and I see no other reason for my name being in her possession.” He paused

again. When we failed to respond, he continued. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I

repeat, I didn’t know her --- except for a brief time a few years ago.”

   “But you did remember her.” Nick said.

   “Oh yes. I thought she was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.” He rubbed his

chin again as he shifted positions in his seat. “But for me to give up the life I have for the

affair you are suggesting would be nothing less than preposterous!” He stood up.

“Gentlemen, I have a busy schedule. If --- “

   “Two more questions, Senator.” Nick and I stood to face him. “What kind of car do

you drive?”

   “I have a ‘ninety-two’ Porsche and a ‘ninety-four Cadillac DeVille. Why?”

   Nick withdrew his pocket spiral and began to take notes. Then he asked, “Do you own

any firearms?”

   Carlson looked at his watch. He was becoming more agitated. “Yes, I do. Several, as a

matter of fact.” Then he added quickly, “And I have permits for all of them.”

   “I’m sure you do.” Nick said as he put away his notebook and pencil. “May we see

them please?”

   Carlson hesitated, then looked at his watch again. “Gentlemen. I’ve told you I have a

busy --- “

   “We won’t be long.” Nick didn’t budge one millimeter.

   Once again, Carlson paused a long time before he responded. His voice was crisp. “I

do feel at this point I should refrain from answering any more questions until I confer

with legal counsel.”

   “Senator.” Nick narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Are you afraid of

something?”

   “Of course not!” The crispness was gone. His voice cracked. “I just think --- “

   “Then you have nothing to hide --- do you?” I admired Foley’s relentlessness. “Unless,

of course, you are hiding something, in which case --- “

   “I am hiding absolutely nothing! I’ve already told you that!” Carlson glared at Nick

for a long time. He then hurried to the door. As he opened it, he said with exhaustion,

“This way.”

   He led us through a narrow doorway and into a small square room. An empty desk and

a chair were the only furniture. Three walls were bare. The wallpaper was a nondescript

gray. One wall had a glass case with two hand guns, one forty-five, two twenty-twos and

four weapons I had never seen before. One space was empty.

   “Why so many weapons?” I asked.

   “These have been passed down from generation to generation --- “ His tone was hostile “ ---

in my wife’s family. So technically they’re hers.”

   “What goes over there?” Nick pointed to the vacant space.

   Carlson leaned in close to the case and squinted. “I don’t know. I rarely come in here.”

Then he took out a pair of reading glasses from his inside jacket pocket and put them on

the end of his nose. “It might be a thirty-eight caliber pistol.” He straightened up and put

his glasses away. “But I can’t be certain. As I said, I rarely come in here.” He turned

rapidly to Nick and spoke firmly. “Now if that’s all, I must insist --- “

   “Does this case stay locked?” Nick ignored Carlson’s request.

   “Uh --- yes.” The hostility returned. “Look, gentlemen, I --- “

   “Who has a key besides you?” Nick wasn’t going to let Carlson off the hook.

   He took a deep breath, then wrinkled his brow in thought. “Well --- Jesse did. But not

any more --- for obvious reasons. Lorence has the only other key.”

   “I see.” Nick said

   “If a weapon is missing, it’s been missing for a long time.” The hostility left Carlson’s

voice and he became defensive --- almost humble. “This case hasn’t been opened in

years.”

   “Well, Senator,” Nick loosened his collar. “we won’t keep you any longer. There are

some unanswered questions, but they can wait.” Nick took the pack of photos out of his

pocket and stuck them under Carlson’s nose. “Oh, by the way. Do you recognize any of

these men?”

   He put his glasses back on and slowly studied each picture. “Sorry.” His hands were

shaking.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you. I recognize no one.”

   “We’re sorry, too.” I added.

   “Who are they --- if I might ask?” Carlson asked.


   Nick hesitated a moment, then put the pictures away. “Let’s just say these are friends

of the deceased.”

   We shook hands with the Senator and left.

   I immediately lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. “So what do you

think?”

   Nick started up the engine. “I think he’s a fucking liar!”

*

 

  XX

   I had almost dozed off when the phone rang. It was only eleven a.m. and my body felt like it didn’t belong to me any more. I was sooo --- tired.
   The phone rang again. This time I lifted the receiver, which weighed at least ten pounds, with one hand and stuck a Camel in my mouth with the other hand.
   “Hello.”
   I recognized the tiny voice at once. “Hello, Ms. Delvecchio.”
   Now I knew why I was so Goddamned tired. I’d been trailing this schmuck for two weeks and all I was able to get were a bunch of crummy meals, two sore feet and an aching back. I relayed this disturbing news to my client. She didn’t take it too well. Carmen began screaming in Italian with a screeching high-pitched voice that did a number on my eardrum.
   “I know that creep is screwing around. I just know it!” Her breathing was erratic.
   “Ms. Delvecchio --- “ I had to restrain myself from screaming back at this hysterical paranoid bitch. “ --- just listen, okay?” I looked at my notebook. “Three times he went for lunch to --- “ I turned the page. “ --- a dumpy little restaurant called Calgie’s. Not Cardo’s. Calgies! And he went alone. He went twice to Federated Department Store. He purchased nothing.” I turned the page. “He went bowling three times with someone named Charles.” I closed the notebook and threw it on the floor. “And that’s it!” I took a long drag of my cigarette. I could feel the smoke fill my lungs. I took another quick puff and snuffed it out in the ashtray. I exhaled slowly as I waited to hear her reply. I didn’t have to wait long.
   
“I’m telling you he’s screwing around!” She sounded like a broken record. I knew she was pissed. “That creep is --- “
    “Okay.” I had to cut her off. I tried to remain calm. “I’ll keep trailing him. But I will need another three-hundred dollars.”
   There was a long pause and a deep sigh. “Okay. You got it! But if you don’t come up with something, I refuse to give you another cent!” She slammed down the receiver and reactivated the pain in my ear.
   At this point I didn’t give a shit about Carmen Delvecchio or her three- hundred dollars. I only wanted to take the telephone cord and wrap it around her skinny neck! I hung up the phone, then stared at it, wondering if I should go back to selling life insurance. Then I remembered the wasted meetings, the last second client cancellations, the miserable hours --- all the reasons I vowed never to sell another annuity or insurance policy again. I continued to stare vacantly at the telephone. Now it was eleven-thirty. I had been at the office nearly two hours and my
accomplishments added up to exactly zero --- with the dubious exception of Carmen Delvecchio.
I lit up another cigarette. Then I reached for the radio. I forgot it was broken
   “Shit!” I yelled at it as if it were alive. Then I smacked it. It still didn’t respond. I finally gave up on the radio. I lifted myself out of the chair and went to the window. I raised the blind. The weather cold and damp and just plain lousy! The sky was a dull gray, which fit in perfectly with my boredom. And the streets were unusually quiet. The eerie setting made me nervous.
   “Am I interrupting something?” Nick Foley came in without knocking. After the door was opened, he knocked.
   “Do you think you could be a little noisier next time? You scared the shit out of me!”
   “Sorry.”
   “You should be a second story man instead of a cop.”
   “I guarantee you, the pay is better.”
   “Maybe I had a broad in here.” I said jokingly. “You never know.”
   “Not before noon. Not you.”
   We both laughed. I sat down and Nick followed suit. Nick smiled and took a cigar from his vest pocket. Then he opened his vest. He had on a fresh yellow shirt. His dark green suit looked like it had just come from the dry cleaners. My casual dress of faded Dockers and a wrinkled Izod disappeared into the woodwork.
   “Nick, you look a helluva lot better than the last time I saw you.” He looked refreshed. Even his wrinkles looked fainter.
   “Twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep does wonders.” He bit off the end of his cigar and threw it in the wastebasket next to the desk.
   “I wouldn’t know.” I said.
   He turned the cigar around in his hand. “I found out a few morsels about our buddy, Warner.”
   “Who?”
   “You got a short memory, Manny.” Nick spoke emphatically. “Warner. Curt Warner. The stiff from Saint Paul.”
   “Oh, that Warner.” I sat back in my chair. “What about him?”
   “I don’t have all the data yet, so this is somewhat preliminary.” He put the cigar in his mouth and crossed his chubby legs. “Curt Warner is an ex-cop. He was on the force in Saint Paul close to thirty years.”
   “Really!” He had my attention now.
   “Three years ago,” Nick continued, “he was investigated by Internal Affairs. I guess he missed a lot of work for no apparent reason, and in general, he acted strange.” Nick uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again. “It was obvious something was wrong.”
   “Someone must have complained.” I added.
   “Some of his associates were --- let’s say, suspicious. So they began to tail him. And subsequently they caught him at a drop off point.”
    “A cop dealing drugs.” I shook my head. “Incredible.”
    “So of course they busted him.” Nick uncrossed his legs. I lit up a cigarette. “He didn’t spend much time in prison. The whole thing was very hush hush.”
   “To save face and total embarrassment.” I added.
   “Probably. Both his and the department’s.”
   “So he dealt drugs and all he got was a slap on the wrists.”
  “That’s what it looks like.” Nick moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “He spent a short time incarcerated, paid a small fine and was made to do some half-assed community project.”
   The telephone rang. I lit another cigarette with the butt of the previous one. Then I grabbed the receiver.
   “Hello.” There was no response. “Hello!” I said it louder.
   A raspy voice finally answered. “I hear you’re looking for me.”
   “Who is this?” I asked, looking at Nick. After another brief interlude, I was ready to yell again into the mouthpiece. I didn’t have to.
   “It’s Herb Rowland.” The voice said. I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and mouthed the name to Foley.
   “What makes you think we’re looking for you?” I asked.
   Nick motioned for me to hand him the receiver.
   “Word gets around.” The voice responded.
   “This is Lieutenant Nick Foley.” I put my ear next to Nick’s. I needed an extension. “It’s imperative that we talk.”
   “I’m listening.”
   “Not over the phone.” Nick said. “We need to meet somewhere.”
   “No way, man! Say what you got to say --- now!”
   Nick and I exchanged a quick glance. Foley went on. “Where are you?”
   “At a pay phone.” His voice made the receiver vibrate. “You got two minutes. And don’t try tracing this call.”
   “Two minutes isn’t enough time.” Nick took a deep breath. “Look, Rowland. What I want to talk to you about should be said face to face.”
   “We got nothing to talk about --- see. So why don’t you guys back off my case?”
   “We’re not on your case, Rowland. We just want to talk, okay?”
   “You guys don’t listen, do you? I just said we got nothing to talk about!”
   “Come on, Rowland. We --- .”
   “You got one minute!”
   Nick and I looked at each other again. We both knew we were losing the battle.
   “I don’t like doing it this way, Rowland.” Nick took another deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what you can about Kate Blair.”
   “I don’t know no Kate Blair.” He breathed heavily. “Next!”
   “Don’t get cute with me, damn it! We both know that --- “
   “You don’t know shit, man! I’m clean. So don’t be harassing me!”
   Nick put his forehead in the palm of his hand. “We are not harassing you.” Nick spoke condescendingly. “We have to talk to you about Kate Blair --- face to face.”
   “I told you, I don’t know any Kate Blair.”
   “Look, Rowland --- .” I tried to re-enforce Nick’s position. I never got the chance.
   “Your time is up!” The loud click ended the conversation.
   Nick replaced the receiver slowly and ran his fingers through his hair. He stood up, exasperated. He said nothing.
   “Well.” I said, “Now what?”
   “I don’t know. What I do know is that he’s a lying piece of shit!”
   “Of course he’s lying. But I repeat, now what?”
   “I would arrest that bastard this second if I had a little more to go on --- “ Nick put a fresh cigar in his mouth. “ --- other than second hand conversation. There’s no weapon, no fingerprints, no witnesses --- nothing.” Nick turned to me as he opened the door. “Listen, Manny. I’m gonna see Morales again.”
   “Anything in particular?”
   Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s leaving for a few days. If he does have some new data I’d like to know about it before he leaves.”
   “I’ll go with you. Maybe we can get enough info on someone to build a case against them.”
   “Manny.” Nick hit me on the arm. “You’re beginning to sound like a cop.”
   “I had a good role model.”
   “Yeah, well --- I don’t know about that.”
   “Any more news on the tire tracks?”
   “Nope. I have to goose ballistics. Shove a fire under their ass. They really are dragging their feet on that one.”
   “Wouldn’t it be great if those tire tracks matched John Carver’s truck?’
   “Yeah, it would.” Nick grinned. “But this isn’t L.A. Law. This is real life.”
*
   





XXI
      “I’m glad we took your car.” I gave the road map one final look. “I’ll bet you get twenty-seven --- twenty-eight miles to the gallon.”
   “Is that good?” Margo asked innocently.
   “That’s excellent.” I had to laugh as I put the map back in the glove compartment. “My car gets half that.”
   “Oh.”
   I threw my cigarette out the window. “You don’t know much about cars, do you?”
   “Nothing.” She stopped for a light.
   “Well, you should.”
   “Why?” she asked.
   “So people can’t take advantage of you.”
   Three motorcyclists sped across the intersection. The light changed and we took off.
   “I happen to be very trusting. I have faith in people. Deep down --- “ She threw me a quick angry glance. “--- with one or two exceptions --- I think everyone is basically good.”
   “You sound like Anne Frank.”
   We drove the next few miles in silence. I tried to stay awake. It was tough. The light traffic and the nice weather didn’t help matters.
   “I have so many things to do.” Margo shook her head. “I can’t for the life of me figure why I’m doing this.”
   “You’re doing it as a favor to me and I’m doing it as a favor to Nick.”
   “I see.”
      “He’s so damn buried in this case I feel sorry for him.”
   Margo only nodded as she stopped at a stop sign. After an Asian couple scurried by, she turned the corner and continued.
   “Plus,” I added, “I’m sort of curious.”
   “Curious?”
   “Yes, I --- hey, there’s another motel.”
   Margo didn’t respond.
   I went on. “I bet we passed at least twenty motels.”
   “Manny --- “
   “And you wouldn’t stop at one.” I was joking but I was serious.
   “I stopped for gas and I stopped for dinner.” She said lightly. “That’s it.”
   There was another extended silence. “Look, Margo. Days Inn. Rooms are only fourteen-ninety-five a night.”
   She remained silent, her eyes pointed dead ahead.
   “Why don’t we pull over there and --- “
   “Come on, Manny. You promised!” Margo slowed down as the car in front of us turned right.
“We both decided to keep our relationship on a professional level.”
   I nodded resignedly. “Okay. But after this is over --- “
   “Look.” Margo interrupted. “There’s the jewelry store.”
   We crossed the intersection and she parked the car. Margo took a piece of paper out of her purse.
   “That’s it.” She pointed to the paper in her hand. “Mendel’s jewelry store.”
   I looked up. There it was. The directions from the Shell station were perfect.

   The store itself was small. On either side of the front door were two glass windows with display cases that featured various gold chains, rings, bracelets and all makes of watches. Painted in gold
 lettering on one window was, QUALITY SINCE 1933. There was a narrow strip of purple tape all around the glass on both sides --- no doubt part of a security system.
   The only other businesses in this residential district was a Pizza Hut and a Subway shop. The neighborhood looked old and run down. The houses were small and inexpensive with tiny lawns. The sidewalks needed repairs and the streets needed to be cleaned. I couldn’t blame any merchant for being careful.
   We knocked, then opened the door when the buzzer sounded. A short, thick elderly man with white hair and a frizzled white beard was sitting on a stool behind one of the cases. I knew he closed at eight. It was now eight thirty. I thought it was nice of him to stay open and wait for us.
   “Come in.” He said. He had a warm smile and a European accent. He wore a black skullcap and fringes showed through his waistcoat. I knew he was an orthodox Jew.
   “Are you Mister Mendel?” Margo asked.
   He looked at her and produced a broad grin. “My first name is Mendel. My last name is Solomon. My friends call me Solly.”
   Margo looked embarrassed.
   “So,” The jeweler continued slowly. “I thought --- personally that is --- that Mendel’s Jewelers sounded nicer than Solomon’s Jewelers. For me, it had a nice ring to it.” He shrugged. His smile was infectious. “And don’t be embarrassed.” He touched Margo’s arm.
   “Everyone makes the same mistake. It’s normal.” He walked to the door and pulled the shade. “Now show me the cufflink.”
   I took it out of my pants pocket and handed it to him. Then he took out his loop and attached it to the right lens of his wire-rimmed glasses. He sat back down on his stool and turned on a light.
   “This is the third store we’ve called.”
   “Fourth.” Margo corrected.
   “So,” Mendel spoke playfully as he continued to study the piece of gold jewelry. Then he put the loop down and looked at us over his reading glasses. “who’s counting.”
   Margo and I smiled at each other.
   “Was the cufflink purchased here?” I asked.
   “Yes. And I also engraved it. See this?” He held it in the air. “From KB to RC. --- never mind. Take my word for it. It was bought here and engraved here --- by me.”
   “KB.” Margo repeated as we stared at each other. “Kate Blair!”
   “RC.” I added. “Reid Carlson.” Bingo!
   Mendel put the loop on the table and the reading glasses in his shirt pocket. Then he walked over to us. “Now, may I ask why you two are so inquisitive?”
   I finally flashed my ID. The jeweler jumped back.
   “Oh!”
   “You needn’t be afraid.” Margo spoke soothingly. “You’re in no trouble. I promise.”
   He sat back down on his stool. “My father started this business in nineteen-thirty-three. He lived on Squirrel Hill.”
   I nodded even though I had no idea where the hell Squirrel Hill was.
   “And.” He went on defensively. “I run an honest and legitimate business here. You can ask anyone in Pittsburgh.”
   “Solly.” I tried to reassure him. “It’s okay. Really. You’re in no trouble.”
   “The man who owns that.” Margo pointed to the cufflink. “He’s in trouble.”
   “I see.” Mendel said as he began to scratch his beard.
   “Do you by chance remember the person that bought this?” I asked.
   He shrugged. “I sell and engrave a lot of jewelry here.” His eyes lit up. “I do a very nice business --- since nineteen-thirty-three.”
   “I’m sure you do.” I said patronizingly.
   “I could check my receipts.” He offered.
   “Do you mind?” Margo asked.
   “Not at all.” He started to walk away, then turned back to Margo. “You know, you have a nice smile.”
   She flushed and her smile widened. Mendel was right. She did have a nice smile.
  Solly went to another stool farther back and took the cover off an IBM computer. He turned it on and smiled at us. We smiled back.
   “Isn’t it unusual for someone to engrave their own jewelry?” I asked.
   He thought for a moment. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But no. It happens frequently.”
   “But if it’s from person --- A to person --- B.” Margo elaborated. “Wouldn’t person A be the one to have it engraved?”
   “Maybe person A waited in the car.” He responded.
   “That makes sense.” I interjected.
   “You knew what I meant.” Margo said.
   “After so many years --- “ Again he looked at her over his glasses. “ --- you get smart.”
   Then he began to punch in numbers and letters on the keyboard. “Computers.” He spoke under his breath. “Oy! How did we survive all these years without them?”
   I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I didn’t own one. Margo and I walked around the store as Solly’s fingers ran nimbly over the keys.
   “Look, Manny.” She pointed to a large diamond pendent. The price tag read $1400. I whistled.
   “That’s the asking price,” Solly spoke to the computer. “not the selling price.”
   I wondered if he had eyes in the back of his head.
   “Aha!”
   His exclamation brought the two of us behind him. A long list of names showed up on the screen. We all looked intensely as he turned the page.
   “There it is!” Margo pointed.
   I squinted. Then I saw the receipt. Reid Carlson’s name was on it.
   “Nice work.” I patted Mendel on the back. “I would like to have a copy of that please.”

   “You got it --- with pleasure.” He said and punched two keys at the same time. In two seconds the printer produced a read-out. “There you are.” He took it out of the tray and handed it to me. “All the comforts of home --- eh?” He turned off the computer.
   We had what we came for.
   “Thanks for everything.” Margo’s smile was large and genuine. “You’ve been an enormous help.”
   “I’m glad.” He answered modestly as he returned the smile.
   We both shook his hand enthusiastically and headed for the door. Then I realized it was Thursday night and turned back to him.
   “I know I’m a day early, but have a good Sabbath.”
   Solly’s mouth dropped open. Then he burst out laughing. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
   He waved to us as we drove away.
*
   
     

XXII

   “With luck we can get there before it gets dark.” He moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “My wife is starting to get pissed at me for being away so much.”
   “You mean after all these years she’s not used to it?” A motorcycle zipped past us on the berm.
   “There are some things you never get used to.” He shook his head. “But I guess it comes with the territory.”
   We drove in silence for nearly an hour. Then Nick pulled to the side of the hidden dirt road and turned off the ignition. One side of the road was a never-ending cornfield saturated with corn ripe for plucking. On the other side, vast acres of flatland were interrupted occasionally by patches of thick forest.
   Talk about isolation!
   Nick and I sat stoically watching the cottage on Lake Buck. I lit a Camel, then put the road map back in the glove compartment.
   “So this is Carlson’s getaway.” Nick said.
   The small house was all siding with a black slate roof that looked new. A shaky looking screened-in porch in the back was supported on four stilts. The porch also served as a carport. His Porsche was parked under it. The land in the back looked like a jungle and seemed to go on for miles. The front of the cottage faced the lake with only a narrow sidewalk and deck separating it from the water. There was a large bright blue pontoon with a fancy plaid roof and six fixed tables. Behind it was a tan Mark Twain IO motorboat that spanned about twenty feet. Both were tied securely to the dock.
   The huge lethargic setting made me envious. What a place to escape to! What a place to relax in!
   “You got the cufflink?” Foley asked.
   I reached into the pocket of my windbreaker and handed it to him.
   As we got out of the car a plane flew by with a tremendous roar. I felt the ground shake and was certain the plane was going to land on top of the Honda. I looked quickly qt the porch. It was steady like a boulder.
   “Isn’t there a law against that?” I took a long drag of my cigarette.
   “Hell, don’t ask me. I’m on vacation, remember?” Nick took a fresh cigar out of his pocket to replace the soggy one in his mouth. “Come to think of it --- “ he said in deep thought. “ --- I do believe we’re near the airport.”
   We walked slowly up the path to the door. I hoped it would be a short visit.
   “He’ll shit when he sees this.” Nick turned the cufflink over in his hand.
   “Too bad.” I said. “He lied to us.”
   “How the hell did he expect to get away with it?” Nick asked rhetorically.
   “I wonder what else he lied about.”
   “We’ll soon see.”
   “You gonna lock your car?”
   Nick shrugged. “What for? Nothing to steal --- except the car.”
   I had to laugh. “Nick, old buddy, sometimes you set a bad example as a cop.”
   “I told you,” he said with a grin. “I’m on vacation.”
   Another plane flew over. This one was higher up causing a softer earthquake. We both watched it disappear into the clouds.
   “Mansion in town. Second home on a lake.” Nick nodded approvingly as he looked around.
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”
   We could hear the splashing of the water as it pounded up against the dock. It was a sound I could easily become accustomed to.
   “Nick,” I said philosophically. “he puts his pants on just like we do --- one leg at a time.”
   “Except his pants are probably custom made while ours are off the fucking rack. On sale!”
   “Speak for yourself.” I took a final puff and policed my cigarette. Then I knocked with the metal knocker. The wooden door was showing wear and the ‘WELCOME’ floor mat needed to be replaced.
   “Are you sure he’s home?” I asked after a two-minute wait.
   A sudden snapping noise made us both jump. Then a small gray animal shot past us.
   “Possum.” I said. “Otherwise known as an oversized rat with a glandular condition.” I shivered and knocked again.
   “When I called this private number, whomever I spoke to said --- “

   The door finally opened and Reid Carlson materialized. His khaki pants were wrinkled and baggy, and his blue short sleeve shirt was too large. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
   There were huge bags under his droopy eyes and his hollow cheeks looked as if they’d been chiseled. His hair was uncombed and he needed a shave. My Reeboks looked brand new compared to his. He looked more like a vagrant than a United States Senator.
   “Come in.” He seemed overly friendly as he led us through the small kitchen and into the smaller family room.
   In the family room was a TV, a red love seat and two small chairs. The old ratty throw rug showed every color imaginable. The walls were covered with photos of Carlson fishing and holding the fish he had caught. I recognized the Mark Twain in some of the pictures.
   “Good fishing?” Nick asked.
   “Not bad. Some catfish. Some walleye.”
   “It’s certainly peaceful enough out here, Senator.” I added.
   “This is my ---” He pointed to the pictures on the wall. “ --- getaway.” Then he lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “I allow few, if any visitors.”
   “Then I guess we should feel honored.”
   Carlson ignored my sarcasm. “Hardly anyone knows I have a home here. I find this rustic setting very relaxing --- most of the time.”
   I looked out the large picture window in front. The lake was a sheet of glass. There was not a boat in sight. I wondered if it were late in the season for boating.

   “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Earl Cannon. Earl is my attorney.” Carlson said as he indicated the dapper looking middle-aged man standing on my left. “Earl, this is Lieutenant Foley and Detective Gold.”
   We shook hands. His grip hurt, unlike Carlson’s limp one. Carlson sat in one of the chairs and Cannon sat in a chair next to him. Nick and I sat on the love seat.
   Cannon was dressed more for a presidential inaugural than a casual get together. His black suit with a wide suede lapel, matching vest, black bow tie and pleated shirt could easily pass for a tuxedo. With his black hair slicked back and his thin neat mustache, he resembled the old actor, Adolph Menjou. All he needed were spats. He carried an expensive looking leather briefcase, which he set down next to him.
   “May I ask what my client is charged with?”
   Nick squinted. “We haven’t charged him with anything --- yet.”
   Hopefully that situation will change
   “I see.” Earl said.
   Nick then filled Cannon in on everything pertinent to Kate Blair and Curt Warner.
   “I see.” He repeated. “And just where does my client fit in?”
  “Well --- “ Nick considered the comment “--- your client --- “
   “Gentlemen!” Cannon interrupted. “If you think my client had anything to do with those aforementioned homicides, think again. You have no weapons. You have no witnesses. You have no prints.” Then he smirked. “You have no case.”
   There was dead silence. Cannon whispered something to Carlson. Carlson nodded.
   Nick stuck his fingers in his vest pocket and turned to me. “I bought a whole new pack of cigars and damned if I didn’t leave ‘em in the car.”
   “And you said there was nothing to steal.” I quipped.
   “Those your boats?” Nick’s attention was back to the congressman.
   Carlson followed our gaze to the front window. “Yes. I prefer the Mark Twain --- especially on a day like today. The wind is calm, the water is smooth and I would have the lake almost all to myself.”
   Then his tone suddenly changed from blissfulness to anger. “My wife likes the pontoon --- that is, when she is able to go boating --- which is rare these days.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “She can’t take the twenty footer --- for a variety of reasons.”
   “Where is your wife?” Nick asked as he quickly looked about him.
   “She --- she’s asleep.” He turned around nervously as he spoke. Then he turned back to us. “We have two bedrooms. Jesse sleeps in --- “ He gestured to the closed door at the other side of the cottage. “ --- that one.” Then he cleared his throat. “And I sleep in the other one.”
   “Excuse me.” Cannon sat forward in his seat. The smirk was back. “What has this got to do
with --- “ He stopped in mid-sentence as Nick casually laid the cufflink on the small wooden table between the chairs and loveseat.
   Carlson and Cannon both stared at it.
   “Pick it up.” Foley said softly.
   The senator hesitated a moment, then picked it up and studied it briefly.
   “I believe you have the other one.” Nick continued evenly.
   Carlson looked up. I remained silent, deferring to a more collected and a more experienced Nick Foley.
   “I don’t understand.” Carlson’s eyes went back to the cufflink.
   Nick cleared his throat then rubbed the side of his face. “You told us you hadn’t seen Kate Blair in over a year.”
   “So?” Carlson began to perspire. His eyes remained riveted to the piece of gold jewelry.
   Nick loosened his collar. “This was purchased five months ago.”
   Now the attorney looked at Nick. A faint smile crossed his face. “Are you saying this belongs to my client?”
   Nick took out the receipt. “According to this, it was purchased at Mendel’s Jewelers in Pittsburgh on June tenth.” He tossed the receipt on the table.
   Carlson waited several seconds before he picked it up. Then he read it over slowly. He handed the cufflink and the receipt to his attorney and looked up. The smile was gone, replaced by fear.
   “We found that cufflink in Kate Blair’s bedroom just a few weeks ago.” Nick added. “Now, Senator Carlson, either someone is not telling the truth or another person is wearing your cufflink.”
   A lone motorboat sped noisily by. We watched the massive wake it left behind. The pontoon and Mark Twain were on lifts and remained motionless.
   “Well --- “ Nick asked impatiently, “ --- which is it?”
   “So it’s a gold cufflink. A plain gold cufflink. So what?” Cannon said as he put down the cufflink and the receipt. “Lots of people have gold cufflinks.”
   Nick leaned in closer to the attorney. “Not with ‘to RC from KB’ engraved on it.”
   There was another period of silence. The sound of the water splashing and smacking the dock became cacophonous.
   Foley looked up and said as if he had just thought of it. “How does this sound, Senator. To Reid Carlson from Kate Blair?”
   Carlson’s tan suddenly faded. He took out a handkerchief to wipe his sweaty face.
   “Now --- ” Nick picked up the cufflink with one hand and the receipt with the other. “ --- would you care to explain?”
   The Senior Senator from Pennsylvania cleared his throat several times. Then he looked behind him at the closed bedroom door. “I --- I know this looks bad for me.”
   “Reid!” Cannon’s eyes looked like two cue balls.
   “Terrible is a better word.” I corrected.
   Nick put the receipt away, but kept the gold cufflink under the nose of the frightened congressman. “Now! Is this your cufflink or not?”
   Carlson and Cannon exchanged a quiet word.
   Nick’s impatience heightened. “I’m waiting, Senator!”
   The senator and his attorney got up slowly and both walked to the window.
   Another motorboat zipped by. A large wake followed it. The pounding of the water against the dock resumed.
   After several minutes the two weary men returned to their seats.
   They glanced briefly at each other. Cannon nodded slowly. Then Carlson got up and disappeared around the corner. After only a moment he returned and sat back down. He then took a small yellow object cupped in the palm of his hand and laid it on the table.
   Nick studied it a second then placed the other cufflink next to it. They matched perfectly. “May I?” He asked as he picked them both up. Before he pocked them he turned to Cannon. “Care to see them?
   Cannon shook his head vigorously and spoke softly. “No. That won’t be necessary.”
   I was silently praying for Nick to hit this schmuck with a murder one. It was wishful thinking.
   Carlson continued to look back at his wife’s closed bedroom door. Then he got up and walked over to it. He opened the door a crack and peeked in. The senator was gone no more than a minute. When he returned to his seat, he looked as if he’d aged twenty years. His face sagged and his desolate eyes almost disappeared into their sockets. He acted like he was in someone else’s house.
   “Senator. Let’s get back to some basics.” Nick quickly glanced at Cannon. “With your permission, of course.”
   A young boy on a wave runner flew by. The noise seemed to jar Carlson back to reality. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
   Nick turned his attention back to Carlson. “Your name was in her address book.”
   Carlson glanced at his attorney who only shrugged as he glared at Nick “Yes. I know.”
   “So you knew her.”
   Carlson hesitated. “Yes.” His response was barely audible.
   “Intimately?”
   Carlson turned to his attorney who was still glaring at the lieutenant.
   “Intimately?” Nick repeated louder.
   Carlson turned back to a worn out Nick Foley. “Yes. I --- I did see her on several occasions.”

   “Why did you lie?”
   “Don’t answer that, Reid!”
   “For obvious reasons.” He answered anyway. “My position, my marriage --- need I say more?”
   What a creep. He deserved all he got --- including a life with Jesse!
   “I see.” Nick said turning a page in his notebook. “When did you last see her?”
   “August twenty-forth.” His response was rapid.
   Cannon put a hand on his client’s arm. “You don’t have to --- “
   “It’s okay, Earl. I have nothing to hide.”
   Cannon was livid. When he spoke his voice was one octave lower. “As you wish, Reid.” Then he crossed his skinny legs and folded his arms.
   “I want to add at this point that I know nothing about any Curt Warner.”
   “Reid!” Cannon’s face looked like an overripe beet. “You don’t even have to allude to things like that yet.”
   “Like hell he doesn’t’!” Nick’s face matched Cannon’s. “And he can talk to us here, or we can go downtown!”
   “How dare you!” Cannon was on his feet. “This is outrageous. This is --- “

   “Sit down, counselor!” Nick’s roar was almost as loud as the jet that greeted us earlier.
   There were several seconds of silence as a furious Earl Cannon meekly resumed his seat.
   “I am conducting a homicide investigation, here. Okay? And there are enough holes in this case to sink a fucking ocean liner. So I will take whatever help I can get.” There was more silence as Foley turned several pages in his notebook. “Okay, Senator.” Nick could stay focused in the middle of an avalanche. “Let’s forget about Warner for the moment. Is there anything else you can tell us about your relationship with Kate Blair?”
   Cannon’s attention was back to his client. “Reid, you don’t have to --- “
   “It’s okay, Earl.” Carlson put away his handkerchief and continued, much to his attorney’s dismay. “I figure the more honest I am with them, the better it will go for me.”
   “It’s not okay. You’re not being realistic.” Cannon shook his head and buried his face in his hands as Carlson cleared his throat and continued.
   He spoke softly and shakily. “Gentlemen, can we be discreet and keep this conversation between the four of us?” He cleared his throat again. Then he took a long look at the closed bedroom door. “I say all of this with the greatest of candor. My sex life with Jesse --- as Earl will attest to --- has been --- well --- far less than satisfying. And over the past few years it has been --- nonexistent. And I don’t feel that I’m that old --- if you know what I mean.”
   I knew what he meant.
   Cannon spun toward his client. “Reid, these remarks are totally inappropriate. It’s not necessary that you --- “
   Carlson put his hand on his frustrated lawyer’s arm, halting him in mid-sentence. “On one or two occasions Kate Blair asked me to do drugs with her. I --- “
   “Damn it, Reid! As your attorney I’m telling you, you don’t have to volunteer that sort of
information.”
   “Earl, I said I have nothing to hide.” He ran his fingers through his thick white hair again. Then he smiled. “She said she wanted to do drugs with me because --- well, because you do that sort of thing with someone you love.”
   “Oh, brother!” Cannon rolled his eyes and had to look away.
   “I knew she was lying, of course.” Carlson continued in spite of his attorney’s protests. “But it was wonderful to hear.”
   “Gentlemen! This is --- “ Cannon started to speak.
   Nick cut him off. “Your client is cooperating. Why don’t you?”
   Cannon’s face was an odd mixture of frustration and wrath. And frankly, as much as I disliked the man, I couldn’t blame him. If I were an attorney and had a client like Carlson, my hands would be around his throat by now.
   “Senator,” Nick said, “If she were alive today, would you resume your relationship?”
   There was a long silence before the senator replied.
   “No. The price I had to pay wasn’t worth it.” Carlson seemed to be having a tough time now. “She got her claws into me and wouldn’t let go. She would call me at the office --- all the time. She made my life a living hell!” Then he softened his tone. “ She would stop at nothing to try and ‘own me.’ But, thank God, she couldn’t.”
   Nick scribbled noisily. I watched my reflection in Cannon’s shiny black patent leather wing tips.
   Carlson licked his lips and leaned in closer. “I’ll tell you truthfully --- and this is strictly off the record --- “ He glanced at the closed door, then whispered, “I’m glad she’s dead. I know that’s an awful thing to say --- being glad someone was dead. But in this case --- “
   “Are you through with your Goddamn monologue?” Cannon fumed.
   Carlson was squirming in his seat. “I only thought that --- “
   “You’re paying me a lot of money to do your thinking for you. Please! Before you speak, consult with me first.” He turned to Nick. “Now, Lieutenant, is there anything else?”
   Nick looked at his watch. “Senator, we need to know your whereabouts on the following dates.” He then gave Carlson the dates that corresponded to the murders of Kate Blair and Curt Warner.
   Carlson and Cannon stared at each other for what seemed like hours. Then Carlson went to a small desk near the window. He rifled through some papers in the bottom left drawer. When he found what he was looking for, he removed it and laid it on the table between us.
   “I always keep travel receipts.” A large smile suddenly appeared. “You never know when it might come in handy.”
   Nick picked it up and removed the contents. Then the two of us went through the receipts slowly while the two of them looked on.
   “As you can see,” The senator said, “the airline tickets and hotel bills show I was in Washington, D.C. during the dates in question.”
   Nick handed the papers to Cannon. Cannon in turn handed them back to Carlson.
   “Please check it out.” Carlson said smugly.
   “I intend to.” Nick’s voice was soft, but his tone was firm.
   Carlson stood up abruptly and began to rub his hands together nervously. “I --- I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anyone.”
   “Shut up, Reid!” Cannon stood to face his client.
   The senator from Pennsylvania took out a handkerchief and wiped his face again. Then he turned and stared at the bedroom door.
   “We will do all we can to not involve your wife.” Nick was a hell of a lot more compassionate than I would ever be.
   He nodded, then said almost in a whisper. “Thank you.”
   Nick and I stood up and looked at each other. It was time to call it quits for the day.
   “Calm, isn’t it?” Nick asked as he peered out the window. “The water, the trees, --- all so --- calm.”
   An airplane zoomed by. The cottage vibrated. I thought about the porch.
   “We’re very close to the airport.” Carlson said, reading my mind.
   “Nice place. Quiet, relaxing --- “ Nick said reaching for a cigar that wasn’t there. “I envy this life of yours.”
   “Don’t.” Carlson said as he opened the door. “I’m a bad model.” He paused a moment then said to no one in particular, “Next year I’ll be sixty-three. Twenty-four years in Congress is an eternity.”
   We nodded and left. There were no handshakes and no goodbyes.
*
  
XXIII

   I let the phone ring twelve times. Margo didn’t answer. I figured she was working. Actually, I hoped she was working. I didn’t want her to get involved with anyone except me, even though I knew it was a mistake. Nothing good could ever come of it. My brother-in-law calls me a fuzzy thinker. Maybe he’s right.
   It was eight p.m. I tried her work number. I knew that even if she were there, she wouldn’t pick up the receiver, but I called anyway. Twelve rings. No answer. I put the receiver back on the cradle, then sat staring at the telephone. Finally I stood up and began to pace slowly. I had to get out of the house. If Nick Foley wasn’t so preoccupied I would call him to play racquetball. I decided to take a long brisk walk instead. Burn off some calories and work off some stress and frustration. My goal would be two miles in thirty minutes.
   The temperature was in the upper fifties. Perfect. I put on an old Nike warm-up. The faded brown color was ugly, but the price had been right. The Reeboks were new.
   “Bea.” I yelled up to the bedroom. “I’m going for a walk.”
   There was no answer. I went to the top of the stairs and listened. I could hear soft snoring emanating from the bedroom. She was asleep. I didn’t know where Arthur was and I didn’t care.
Besides Nick and Margo, there was no one I wanted to be with. So I would spend the night alone. No big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time.
   I closed the door behind me and began my private walk around the block. The houses were all well cared for, mostly stone and stucco or brick. None frame. The lights were on in about half of them. The lawns were a healthy green, and the sidewalks were clean and uncluttered.
   No one was outside, and only two cars were parked on the street. The others were resting in garages. I could hear an occasional dog barking and cars honking from the next street over. For the most part the neighborhood was quiet.
   It was pitch black outside, and now it was starting to drizzle. I couldn’t believe the change in the weather. I picked up my pace. There was just enough lamp light to catch a Yugo going by. I shook my head in amazement realizing that some people actually drove them.
   As I turned the corner, I could see a shadow emerge from a large bush on the corner lot. At first I paid it no mind. Then as I moved, it moved --- stride for stride. I stopped and it stopped. I walked faster and it walked faster.
   I went from a fast walk to a slow run. The figure continued to keep pace. I ran faster.
   Now I was half way around the block. The figure was getting closer.
   How did it know I was going for a walk? Who the hell is it?
   I considered confronting it, but I’d forgotten my piece. Great! This was no time for blind bravery. I ran faster. It was gaining on me --- step for step. Christ, I was out of shape! Apparently the figure wasn’t.
   My brave side asked, “What would Sam Spade do?”
   My cowardly side responded, “Fuck Sam Spade! I’m getting the hell out of here! I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
   I could see my house now. Only four houses to go.
   I’ve got to work out more!
   The drizzle had stopped. The street lamp was out and I couldn’t see two feet in front of me. Two houses to go. Another car sped by.
   I could almost feel the figure’s breath on my neck. Then I felt something hit me across the back of the head and I went down. The face was next to mine. I was flat on my stomach and couldn’t move. I was groggy but alert enough to hear the fuzzy voice.
   “Back off the investigation.” The voice was familiar. “The girl that’s dead deserved to die. Now back off!”
   I could feel the muzzle of a gun against my throat. Then I got whacked again and everything stopped.
*
   I sat up carefully. Everything was spinning and my head hurt like hell. I looked at my watch. At first I saw two faces, then it slowly came into focus. Thank God for luminous dials.
   “2 a.m.!” I screamed. I’d been lying there for damn near five hours, and not one son-of-a-bitch saw me or came to my rescue. Some fucking neighborhood!
   I stood up too quickly. The street and sky immediately switched positions. I closed my eyes and put my face in my hands until the dizziness was gone and everything was back where it belonged. My legs were like rubber. The clincher was that I lived only two houses away!
   Back off!
   I knew that damn voice. But from where? Shit! I couldn’t think. I could barely move.
   I half walked, half crawled to my front door. Holding on tight to the doorknob, I slipped the key in the lock and went inside. The only place quieter than outside was inside.
   I turned off the light downstairs and went up to my bedroom. Bea was still snoring and the TV was on. Arthur was probably home. What would he say to all this? Like he would really give a shit. Some joke!
   I took off my shoes and lay on the bed. The pain had gone from sharp and excruciating to a tolerable dull throbbing. I knew I should ice my head --- or what was left of it. Going to the closest ER would also be a good idea. But I chose none of the above. I had to get some sleep. Two Advil would have to suffice.
   Nick will flip when I tell him about this tomorrow --- If I wake up, that is! Jesus! What a morbid thought. I closed my eyes, willing to take that chance. The room began to spin. The throbbing continued. Bea’s snoring and the TV were barely audible.
   The girl that’s dead deserved to die.
   “That voice.” I spoke aloud. “Where do I know it from? Where?”
*
   “You were --- what?” Nick asked me half sitting and half standing behind his desk.
   “You heard me. I was fucking attacked!”
   His mouth remained open as he slowly sat down. Then he loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons on his shirt, revealing his Saint Christopher medal. “And you say he threatened you?”
   “Yes! That cocksucker told me to back off the investigation. Those were his exact words.”
   Nick didn’t respond. He shoved a cigar into his mouth and began to rotate it methodically.
   “Then --- wham! The fucking lights went out!”
   Nick shook his head slowly. “I’ll be damned!”
   “Oh! Then he said something like --- ‘the girl that’s dead deserved to die’ --- or words to that effect.”
   Nick just stared.
   “Maybe I got brain damage.” I said as I lit up a Camel, then gawked at the one I’d lit up two minutes ago.
   Nick smiled. “It would be an improvement.”
   “Tain’t funny, McGee!” I wasn’t in the mood for his taunting.
   The pain in my head had finally subsided. It was amazing what four Advil could do. Only now my stomach hurt from the pain medication!
   “Did you recognize the voice?” Nick asked.
   I closed my eyes and sat back. “Yes. The problem is I can’t place it.”
   Nick took the cigar out of his mouth. “Maybe if you --- “
   “Wait a minute!” I bolted up and slammed my hands on Nick’s desk, knocking papers everywhere. “The voice had an accent.”
   I closed my eyes again. I find it easier to think when I’m not in deep pain and the world around me isn’t moving. I rubbed my forehead. Then I gently tugged at my beard. Then I rubbed my forehead again.
   Nick hadn’t moved an inch. He waited patiently, almost holding his breath the entire time.
   I took one final drag, policed both butts then tossed them in the waste paper basket.
   “English.” I said resolutely. I could feel my brain moving. “The accent was English!”
*













XXIV

   “Well, well, well.” I said, standing with Nick Foley and Reid Carlson in front of the gun case in an alcove at the mansion. My hands were fists and my blood was boiling. My jaw tightened as I spoke. “I do believe the thirty-eight is back. Now, Senator, how do you suppose that happened?”
   Carlson scratched his head. “I have no idea. As I told you last time --- “
   Nick broke in. “Would you be good enough to get your valet?”
   “Lorence?” The senator looked bewildered. “What on earth do you want with Lorence?”
   Nick took a deep breath and stuck his chin out. “I want him to take his key and open that case.”
   “I --- I don’t understand.” stammered Reid as he took out his key ring. “I have a key.”
   I put my hand on the key ring and spoke through clenched teeth. “I believe Lieutenant Foley was clear enough. We want Lorence to take his key and open this case.”
   “Senator.” I could feel Nick’s anger rise with mine. When he wanted to be menacing, he could do it with the best of them. “I won’t ask you again!”
   “Of course.” Carlson pushed a button on the wall just above the light switch. I wondered why there wasn’t a fancy rope like in all the old horror movies. I didn’t ask.
   We waited in silence for several minutes. Carlson was ready to push the button again.
   “You rang, sir?” Lorence seemed to have slithered out of the wall.
   “Yes.” Carlson put away his keys. “These two men would like to speak with you.”
   “I am sorry I was late. I was turning Mrs. Carlson’s bed.”
   His accent was making my stomach quiver. I had always liked English accents, but now I hated them!
   “Lorence, do you have your keys on you?” Nick asked it as if he were asking a first grader if they had gone to the bathroom yet.
   The Englishman in the black suit looked warily at his boss. Carlson nodded and Lorence took out a set of keys from his side pocket.
   “Now.” Nick spoke softly but firmly. “I want you to open that case.”
   Again Lorence looked at Carlson and again Carlson nodded.
   The valet responded quietly. “I don’t quite understand --- “
   “Just fucking do it!” I roared.
   Lorence jumped back, startled.
   “Manny.” Nick put his hand on my arm. Then he pointed to the gun case.
   Lorence licked his lips and did what he was told. Nick took a pencil from his inside jacket pocket and put it through the trigger mechanism of the thirty-eight caliber pistol. We all looked closely at it from all sides.
   “Gentlemen.” Reid’s voice broke. “What is going on here?”
   Nick and I looked at Lorence. Nick spoke. “Do you want to tell the Senator now, or would you prefer to come to police headquarters and tell him?”
   Carlson’s color disappeared. There was a long silence.
 Nick wrapped the weapon in a clean white handkerchief. His eyes never left the Englishmen. “There is undoubtedly some hair and tissue on this where it struck Detective Gold last night.”
   “Gentlemen!” Carlson repeated louder. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
   Nick pasted on his phony smile. “You’ll know in about two seconds, Senator.”
   The valet began to breathe hard. Was he going to cry? His gaze darted in every direction, finally resting on the Senator. “I --- I’m sorry sir. I read about a thirty-eight revolver being the murder weapon and --- “
   “So,” Nick interjected. “you thought this was it?”
   “Well --- sir.” Again he looked at his boss. “I --- I just thought it best to remove it, and --- “
   “And hit me over the fucking head with it!” I released the fists. My knuckles hurt like hell.
   “I kept it in my possession for several days, sir.” Now he looked at me. “I didn’t mean to --- “
   “Manny, you want to press assault and battery charges?” Nick interrupted. “You have that right.”
   “No.” I only wanted to kill the son-of-a-bitch! “This prick isn’t worth it.”
   “I’m sorry. I --- “ Lorence started to speak. He was shaking all over.
   “Shut up!” My entire insides were raging. “Shut the fuck up!”
   “Manny, please.” Nick put his hand gently on my arm again.

   “Well, I see the whole picture now.” Carlson said softly. “I think my attorney should be here.” “Fuck you too, Senator!” I never gave Carlson a chance to respond as I spun toward the petrified Englishman and grabbed him by the collar of his starched shirt. “No. I won’t press charges, you fucking limey bastard! But if you ever pull that shit again, I’ll cut off your fucking gonads and shove ‘em down your fucking throat!”
   Nick pulled me away as tears began to run down Lorence’s cheeks. I finally let go. Now Nick moved to my right. Both of his hands were on my arms.
   Reid stood motionless, his eyes bulging and his mouth open. He remained in that position for what seemed like years. Then after several deep breaths, he regained his composure and walked up to his valet, putting his arm around him. “I find this a strong test of a very loyal servant.” Then he turned to Lorence and smiled. “Lorence, I have committed no crimes. But to think that --- “
   “This is all very commendable.” I despised Carlson with a royal passion. “I’ll try not to get too maudlin over such fucking sentimental tripe!”
   He turned to me, fire seeping out of every pore. “How dare you speak to me in that tone, Detective! How dare you --- “
   “Okay, fellas.” Nick spoke lightly. “Let’s all be calm.”
   There was a long uncomfortable silence. Then Carlson turned to his valet and adjusted his tie. “Lorence, are you okay?”

   The Englishman hesitated a moment, then nodded. This is a switch, I thought.
   “Gentlemen,” Carlson rubbed his hands together. “is it okay for him to leave?”
   Nick and I looked at each other. Nick spoke. “Yes --- for the time being, that is.”
   Carlson walked Lorence to the door. The boss and servant exchanged a few words before parting company.
   “You were a bit hard on him.” Carlson said, coming back into the room as pissed as I’ve ever seen him.
   “Really!” I was livid. “He’s lucky I didn’t --- “
   “Senator Carlson.” Nick interrupted in a calmer tone. “Detective Gold could have sued your man for assault and battery --- among other things.”
   I was glad he stuck up for me.
   “I think he showed great restraint.” Nick added.
   “Lorence is generally a meek and mild person.” Carlson spoke bitterly. “He was only --- “
   “Being loyal?” Nick finished his sentence abruptly. Then he added quietly, “Senator, meek and mild men do not go around attacking people.”
   Carlson started to speak but didn’t. It was just as well because I was tired of listening to him defend my attacker. One asshole defending another asshole!
   There were several more uncomfortable minutes of silence.
   “Senator.” Nick finally spoke. “What would make Lorence think you had anything to do with these murders?”
   “I --- I’m sure I don’t know.” Carlson shivered, then rubbed his hands together again. “I imagine he read about it in the papers and --- “
   “And thought you did it?” Nick interrupted. “Well, Senator, maybe you did!”
   “I did not!” Carlson roared. “I --- I don’t believe Lorence actually thought I was guilty.” He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice. “Let’s just say he was protecting me until the real criminal was apprehended.”
   “At my expense!” I was livid.
   “You will see that the weapon you have removed from this case will not match the bullets in question.” Carlson spoke to Nick.
   “I sure as hell hope so --- for your sake.” Nick replied.
   It was time to leave.
   Nick read my mind. “Well, Senator. I think that’s all for now. We’ll be contacting you.”
   Carlson followed us as we walked to the door.
   Nick turned to him. “We’ll find our way out, Senator.”
*

 
 
XXV

   I parked on the street directly behind the patrol car. Nick was at Martha Bowden’s front door waiting for me.
   “Good timing.” he said. “I just got here myself.”
   “I hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.” I said, rushing up the steps. I was glad I had on a comfortable warm-up and good running sneakers.
   “So do I.” Nick loosened his tie and put a cigar into his mouth. “All I know is what I told you over the phone earlier. Martha called me and said it was urgent. She said she ‘remembered.’”
   “But she didn’t say what it was, right?” I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
   “She said she wouldn’t discuss it over the phone.” Nick knocked.
   “Sounds like a line from a ‘B’ movie.”
   A small van drove noisily by. We waited for it to pass.
   “Did she sound coherent at least?” I took two quick puffs and flicked the cigarette onto the lawn.
   Nick thought for a moment as he knocked again. “Yes. To a point.”
   We waited for what seemed like eons.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
   “The door seems to be hitting something.”
Nick pushed harder. The door opened wider. We both saw it at the same time. First we saw the dirty feet, then we saw the skinny ankles. Nick drew his weapon and cautiously squeezed through the opening into the small entryway. I drew my gun also and followed Nick, closing the door quietly behind me.
   We stopped abruptly. There was just enough light to see Martha Bowden’s crumpled body lying in a heap between the front door and the stairs. Her wrinkled white flowered dress was hiked above her knobby knees. Her face was twisted as if she were in extreme agony. Her chest was one large mass of blood. We looked around. When it was clear that no one was in the immediate vicinity, we put our weapons away.
   Everything smelled of mold and dust. The only sound I heard was my own rapid heartbeat, which came in short spurts. I knelt at her feet and Nick knelt at her head. Then he placed two fingers against her neck. It wasn’t necessary.
   “Dead.” He spoke softly. “Her body is still warm.”
   “So it just happened.”
   “I’d say within the hour.” Nick stood up and put the cigar back in his mouth.
   “Christ!” I looked at the floor, the walls and the banister. “Blood is splattered everywhere.”
   “Manny, I’m gonna take a quick look around.” Nick carelessly tucked his shirt in over his large belly, then put the cigar back in his vest pocket. “Call Morales and tell him to get his ass over here. Then call the precinct and report this.” Nick left quickly.
   The phone was on an old coffee table next to where Martha lay. The table and telephone were both covered with dust. I took a clean handkerchief out of my pocket and held the receiver while I made the calls. Nick returned in less than ten minutes.
   “Did you call Morales?”
   “Yes.” I spoke to Nick, but I looked at Martha. Her colorless face and scraggly hair made her seem hundreds of years old. “Morales bitched and moaned about working on his day off. He finally agreed to come over, but only as a favor to you.”
   “I’m honored.” Nick said as he put his hands behind his back and joined me in staring at Martha.
   “He said he’d be here within the hour.”
   “What about the station?” Nick asked.
   “Sergeant Cahill said he would take care of everything.”
   Nick nodded. “Cahill is a good man. If he said he’d take care of everything, he will.”
   “Some people from the crime lab will also be here within the hour.”
   “Good.”
   “So.” I said turning to Foley. “Did you find anything?”
   “Yes.” He turned to meet my gaze. “The filthiest house I’ve ever seen. Every room is a fucking disaster. I bet this place hasn’t been cleaned in --- God knows how long.”
   “I guess she just didn’t care.”
   “She probably felt she had no one to clean for any more, so why bother.”
   “That’s pretty sad, Nick.”
   “Damn sure is. Martha just --- gave up.”
   “And being short on gray matter sure didn’t help.”
   “So, when Martha said her house wasn’t presentable --- she wasn’t kidding.”
   We turned our attention back to Martha --- or what was left of her.
   “Nick, why on earth would anybody want to kill her?”
   “Good question.”
   “I can’t see her as a major threat to anyone.” I said.
   Nick looked up. “Unless she knew something.”
   “What could she possibly know?”
   “Well --- “ Nick moved the soggy cigar to the other side of his mouth. “ --- she did live next door to where a homicide took place. Maybe she saw the murderer.”
   “And she just today remembered who it was?”
   “Manny, considering who we’re dealing with here, I don’t find that so unreasonable.”
   “I don’t know, Nick. I --- “
   “Let’s suppose that Martha saw the person who killed Kate Blair.”
   “At the time the killing took place.” I added.
   “Yes. At the time the killing took place. And let’s further suppose that this same person just happened to be next door --- or somewhere in the vicinity this morning.”
   “Why?”
   “I don’t know.”
   “It could be important.”
   “It could be. But that isn’t the point. Let me finish.”
   “I’m listening.”
   “What if Martha saw this person --- again?” Nick went on. “And seeing him --- or her, or whoever the hell it is, maybe rattled her tiny little brain and helped her to remember. And what if this person noticed that Martha was watching them?”
   I started to respond, but Nick put up his hand to silence me. “And he --- or she suddenly realized that Martha might know more than they gave her credit for. She might know something incriminating.”
   “Like she knew they killed Kate.”
   “Exactly! Then this person panics and confronts Martha. And Martha, in her usual erratic manner, blows them away with what she knows.”
   “And,” I added, “they in turn blow Martha away --- literally.”
   “Uh --- something like that. Sure. Why not?”
   “And this is what she was going to tell you?”
   “In person, of course.”
   “And all this happened this morning?”
   Nick thought for a second, then he nodded slowly. “Yes.”
   “I’m sorry, Nick, but --- “
   “I guess it’s possible that Martha saw this person yesterday --- or last week --- and either she or the perp waited before they took any action.”
   “Nick. That all sounds a little strange to me.”
   “No stranger than the victim.”
   I scratched the back of my head. “But that would mean this person --- the one who Martha allegedly saw --- had to have had a weapon on them this morning.”
   Nick shrugged. “So? Why not?”
   I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know, Nick. It’s just so farfetched that --- “
   “Manny, let’s not try to figure everything out yet. When all the facts are in we’ll get together with Morales and we’ll all think things through --- logically.”
   “I hope they’ll be here when they said they would.” I looked at my watch. “Baby sitting a corpse isn’t my idea of how to spend the day!”
*
   Nick and I followed Juan Morales out of the house. Then we all stood quietly on the small front porch and watched as Martha Bowden’s body was placed in a police ambulance.
   “So, Juan.” Nick loosened his collar. “What do you think?”
   Morales rubbed his chin for several seconds. “My preliminary and unofficial judgment tells me that this was a violent vicious murder.”
   “Aren’t they all?” I asked rhetorically.
   As we spoke, the ambulance turned out of the driveway and headed for the morgue.
   “My preliminary and unofficial judgment also tells me that it occurred only a couple of hours before I arrived --- give or take a few minutes.”
   “I figured as much.” Nick agreed.
   “I’m sure you noticed that there was a cavity in her chest large enough for you to drive your fist through.”
   “Hard to miss.” Nick said.
   “It looks like someone blasted a cannon shell through her upper torso.”
   “Does your preliminary and unofficial judgment indicate where the crime took place?”
   Juan rubbed his chin again. “Since I saw no signs to the contrary, I would say she was probably shot exactly where you found her.”
   Three well-dressed young men from the crime lab waved to us as they got into a cruiser. Each carried a large plastic bag.
   “I would assume that all the splattered blood belonged to the victim.” I made it a statement, not a question.
   Juan thought a moment. “Probably.”
   “Juan.” Nick emitted a nervous and frustrated laugh. “You can be an evasive bugger when you want to.”
   “Hey! I don’t like to guess. I rely solely on facts.”
   Nick and I looked at each other. We both knew we weren’t going to get any more out of the coroner.
   “When I know --- “ Morales pointed his finger playfully at Foley. “ --- you’ll know.”
   “So now what?” I asked as I lit up a cigarette.
   “It’ll take a few days to get all the tests back and get everything organized. I ‘ll call you.”
   We both shook hands with Juan and he left, got into his Towncar and drove off.
   As I stood there smelling the fresh air and taking in the scenery, I suddenly wondered what Margo was doing.
*
   Nick and I occupied the same seats as we did the last time we were in Morales’ office. The room looked neat and clean, except for an empty Wendy’s bag, a crumpled paper cup and some mutilated napkins, all stuffed into the trashcan next to the desk.
   Two white lab coats hung loosely on the metal coat rack in the corner. Assorted vials, bottles and surgical instruments occupied a glass table on the opposite wall. The familiar smell of a bacon cheeseburger was an improvement over the usual dense obnoxious odors.
   The door opened and Morales burst into the room. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
   “That’s okay.” Nick cleared his throat and asked eagerly, “So what have you got?”
   Morales put the overstuffed trash can under his desk and sat down. Then he took a large manila folder from the top drawer and opened it up. He studied the first page for a few seconds.
   “Martha Bowden, age fifty-eight.”
   “Really.” I was surprised. “I thought she was younger.”
   “Nope.” Morales read to himself for several moments. Then he looked up. “This just tells her age, height, weight, distinguishing marks like scars or moles --- et cetera.” He turned the page. “Okay, gentlemen.” He ran his fingers down the same page. “She was definitely shot. And judging by how her chest was ripped apart and the size of the hole, the perp emptied the pistol into her.” He looked up again. “According to ballistics, the bullets were fired from the same weapon that killed Warner and Blair. A thirty-eight caliber.”
   “You could tell that by --- “
   “The matching powder burns.” Morales finished my sentence. “And one of the bullets was lodged in her left shoulder blade.” He turned another page. “You asked about the blood.” He moved his finger up and down the page. “It all belonged to the deceased.” Then he looked up briefly. “Type o positive, if you’re keeping score.”
   “What time was she shot?” Nick asked.
   “Around eleven o’clock.”
   “That’s an hour before we got there.” Nick said.
   “So you should have gotten there an hour earlier.” Juan grinned at the folder. “You guys could have captured the perpetrator and been big heroes.”
   Nick and I ignored the comment.
   Morales continued. “There was a huge subcutaneous hematoma --- “ He glanced up briefly again. The grin was gone. “Bruise to you --- on the front part of her left hip.”
   “Is that relevant?” Nick asked.
   The coroner shrugged. “It appears that someone forced the door open and the doorknob struck her --- very hard.”
   “And you can tell that by the bruise?” I asked.
   “The encounter between the doorknob and the hip caused the hematoma.” Morales thought a moment before he continued. “Since the floor height of the doorknob matches the floor height of the hematoma, and since the size and shape of the hematoma conforms to the contour of the doorknob --- “
   “Okay, Juan.” Nick put his hands up. “We get the picture.” Then he put a cigar into his mouth. “What else?”
   “Well --- “ He turned another page. “ --- as I surmised, she was shot exactly where you found her. What you saw is what you got.”
  “Did you find any fragments of clothing, hair, fingerprints --- anything?” Nick asked.
   Juan shook his head. “Only Martha’s. The perp was very careful. He obviously wore gloves and watched every step he took --- “ Morales smiled proudly. “ --- except one. We did find a small tip of a shoe print.”
   “Really?” I asked.
   “And I might add,” Morales continued strongly. “you can thank a dirty dusty house for that discovery.” Then he leaned in and whispered as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Wasn’t that the messiest, God awful house you ever saw?”
   Nick and I sighed almost in unison.
   “Yes, Juan.” I could tell Nick was getting tired. “But is this footprint gonna be of any value?”
   “Well --- “ Juan thought about it for a second. “ --- we’re going to try and make a mold out of it.”
   “Sounds like a plan to me.” Nick added.
   “The only problem is, it’s so damn small that --- oh well,” The coroner grinned. “the impossible always takes longer.”
   “Where did you find this print?” Nick asked with renewed vigor.
   “It was just inside the front doorway. It’s a good bet it belonged to whoever zapped her.”
   “Juan,” I reached for a cigarette, then changed my mind. “we were all walking around in there
and --- “
   “No!” Morales shook his head. A serious face replaced the smiling one. “This print was made earlier. About the same time Martha was shot.”
   “You guys never cease to amaze me.” Nick said politely.
   “Well,” Juan stood. “that’s about it for now”.
   Nick and I stood to face him.
   “As soon as something else turns up,” the coroner continued, “I’ll contact you.”
   “Okay.” Nick responded wearily.
   We shook hands with Morales and quickly left.
*
 

XXVI

   “This building gives me the creeps.” I said, knocking on the door to 1B.
   “This whole damn neighborhood gives me the creeps.” Nick responded.
   I started to knock again. The door opened. A thin, almost emaciated old man with a short ratty white beard and invisible eyebrows stood in the doorway. He had very little hair that covered a large bald spot atop his odd shaped head. He had a long skinny nose, and his face and neck were covered with liver spots. His wire-rimmed glasses were covered with black tape at both hinges. He had on a faded purple bathrobe and no slippers. The veins in his feet were black. I noticed a slight tremor in his hands.
   “Mr. Parsons?” Nick asked.
   “Who wants to know?” He opened a toothless mouth, emitting breath that smelled like vomit.

   We flashed our badges and he stood up as straight as he could as if he were ready to salute.
   “What can you tell us about Herb Rowland in 3C?” Nick took out his notebook and pen.
   We talked in the dim hallway since neither of us had any desire to visit the old man’s apartment.
   He thought for a second as he scratched his head. “The black fella?”
   “Yes.” I echoed. “The black fella.”
   He took out a wrinkled red handkerchief and blew his nose. Then he studied the contents before he put it back into his pocket. “Don’t see him too often. He pretty much stays to himself. Keeps odd hours.” Then he cracked his knuckles, and it sounded like the Fourth of July. “He’s in some kinda trouble --- ain’t he?”
   “What makes you think he’s in trouble?” I asked.
   “First of all,” Parsons sniffed. “you two guys come in here all squinty-eyed and flashing your badges. Second of all --- “ He sniffed again. “ --- he’s black ain’t he?”
   Nick ignored the comment. “Is there some way you could verify his whereabouts on --- “ Nick turned a page. “ --- October first or second?”
   “Hell, I don’t know.” He wrinkled his forehead and scratched his head again. ”Wait a minute. I was in Zanesville visiting my sister from Labor Day to October eleventh. I know it was the eleventh ‘cause that’s my niece’s birthday.”
   “Mr.Parsons,” Nick quickly changed direction. “who owns this building?”
   He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose again. “I do.”
   “You do?” I asked. Nick and I were both surprised.
   He put his handkerchief away. “Wanna buy it?”
   “I don’t think so.” Nick answered quickly.
   “Make you one helluva deal!”
   I’ll bet! “No, Mr. Parsons.” I added. “I don’t believe we’re interested.”
   “I know it’s been empty for awhile.” Parsons rambled on. “But you fix it up right smart and --- hell, you’d have no problems renting it. In fact --- “
    “Mr. Parsons.” Nick interrupted. “We are not here looking at property.”
   “You want to know about the black fella.” He crackled his knuckles.
   “Right!” Nick snapped. “Herb Rowland is his name.”
   “Yeah.” Parsons’ eyes lit up and he nodded slowly. “That’s it. Rowland.”
   “What can you tell us about him?” Nick undid his tie.
   “Oh --- ain’t much to tell.” He sniffed. “Like I say, I hardly see him. He comes and goes at all hours.” He knotted his face up and leaned toward us, intensifying his foul breath. “What’s he done?”
   “Is he usually alone?” I ignored his question.
   “Yep.” Parsons took a step back, much to my relief. “Although there was a white guy used to come around once in a while.”
   Nick and I exchanged a quick glance.
   “Come to think of it,” Parsons continued, “I ain’t seen him around here lately.” He leaned in toward us. This time we backed away. “This black guy done something?”
   Foley took a picture of Curt Warner out of his pocket. “Is this the man?”
   He squinted through the bottom part of his glasses for a moment. “By golly --- I believe that’s him. Looks like him anyway.”
   “When did this guy come by?” Nick put Warner’s photo away. “Can you give us any dates or specific times?”
   “Nope.” He sniffed deeply, then cleared his throat. “Just what in the hell is going on here anyway?”
   “This man --- Warner is his name, was murdered.”
   Parsons’ head snapped back. “You think that black fella did it?”
   “We don’t know.” I said. “That’s why --- “
   “Looka here!” Parsons interrupted. “I don’t want no trouble.”
   “Mr. Parsons.” I tried again. “The reason we’re --- “
   “I ain’t never been in no trouble.” The old man plowed on. “And I sure as hell don’t plan on starting now!”
   “It’s okay, Mr. Parsons.” Nick spoke reassuringly. “You’re not in any trouble.”
   “But you think the black fella is.”
   “We aren’t sure.” Nick said finally. “That’s why we’re asking all these questions.”
   “Well, I sure wish I could help you guys out.” He took off his glasses and put them in his side pocket. “But like I say, that fella --- Rowland --- comes and goes at all hours.”
   “Mr. Parsons.” Nick, clearly frustrated, went on. “I believe we have established that fact.” Then he motioned to me. I took out a picture of Kate Blair and shoved it under his pointed nose.
   “Ever see her?” I asked.
   “I don’t know.” He put on his glasses and squinted. “Uh --- maybe.”
   “How could you forget someone who looks like that?” I asked.
    He looked me directly in the eye. “Cause I’m seventy-four years old. That’s why!”
   Nick and I looked at each other and shook our heads.
   “Are there any other tenants in this building?” Nick asked.
   Parsons thought a moment. “Only Oscar --- I forget his last name. He’s in 2B.”
   “When can we talk to him?” I asked innocently.
   “Never. He died six months ago. Damn if I don’t keep forgetting to take his name down.”
    We both knew the interview was over.
   As we were walking toward the car, Parsons yelled from the open doorway.
   “You fellas sure you don’t wanna buy this place? Give it to you at a real good price.”
*

                      
XXVII

   We parked the unmarked patrol car fifty feet back and across the street from the Perkins Apartments complex, located on the corner of Oak and Main Street. A dirty red GEO was parked in front of the building and a blue Ford was parked about thirty feet behind us. Otherwise the streets were bare.
   Nick was behind the wheel. His tan checkered vest was open and his stomach, as usual, hung over his belt. He was definitely putting on weight. He took the cigar out of his mouth and squinted at the brownstone we were surveilling. Then he put the cigar back in his mouth. I took a final drag of my Camel and tossed the butt out the open window.
   We sat and waited.
   “Nick, look at that blonde across the street. Man, what a body!”
   “Manny. Did you forget why we’re here?”
   “Oh sure. I’d rather call on an ex-con any day than think about getting laid. Yeah. Right!”
   There was a long silence. Nick changed the subject. I knew he would.
   “Someone should come through here with a bulldozer and a blowtorch and raze this entire decrepit neighborhood.”
   “I agree”. I would pursue the other matter another time.
   The houses were a shambles. Windows were either missing or boarded. Roofs looked like they had been victimized by a tornado. The small lawns were either weed infested or dead.
   Tin cans, papers and all sorts of debris covered most of the cracked sidewalks. Garbage lined the gutters. Dogs were loose and crapping wherever they felt like. FOR SALE signs were on every other lawn.
   Fat chance! I thought.
   “Oh by the way.” Nick said absently, concentrating on the apartment building. “I checked with Ming Po. Margo and Kate did in fact order Chinese food when Margo said they
did. The delivery boy remembered.”
   I nodded.
   Nick continued. “So apparently Margo was the last person to see her sister alive.“ Nick moved the cigar to the other side of her mouth. “It’s one of the few things she didn’t hold back or lie about. I’ll give her that much.”
   “You know, Nick, I just can’t believe Margo would --- “
   He grabbed my arm as a black Trans Am pulled up. “Is that the car?”
   I consulted the small piece of paper on the seat next to me. “907YFT. That’s the plate.”
   Nick sat up abruptly and pointed his finger at a large black man getting out of the car. The man stopped and looked around him cautiously. His head was covered with a dark brown and orange wool hat bearing the Cincinnati Bengal’s logo. Already I didn’t like him!
   His torn blue jeans matched his ripped denim jacket. He had on sandals but no socks. Even from where I sat, I could see his beady eyes jump from one object to another.
   He stood in front of the doorway for several seconds before entering. Nick and I got out of the green Dodge and waited for a Greyhound bus to pass before we crossed the street
   “I can’t get over what a crummy looking building this is.” I said.
   “Fits in perfectly with this crummy looking neighborhood.” Nick replied blandly.
   We stopped and inspected the Trans Am.
   “Not in bad shape.” I said, trying the door. It was locked. “Looks clean --- inside and out.”
   “Okay,” said Nick, throwing away his cigar. “let’s go in.”
   “You sure we won’t need a backup?” I asked.
   “Nah!” Nick glanced down at his gun. “He probably lives alone. Which means he’s outnumbered two to one.”
   “Your confidence is overwhelming.” I quipped. “Even dickhead Arthur would be proud.”
   “If there’s any hint of a doubt --- “ Nick shrugged. “ --- then I will definitely call for a backup.”
   “By then it’ll be too late.”
   We finally opened the creaky door and went inside.
   “Sounds like Inner Sanctum.”
   “You’re dating yourself, Nick.”
   I remembered the blistered, mustard colored walls from our last visit. Rowland’s apartment was on the third floor. We put our ears to the door. It was quiet. He was probably alone.
   Nick and I waited a minute, then I knocked. No answer. I knocked again --- louder. Finally we heard rattling at the other end, and a raspy voice answered.
   “Who is it?”
   Nick and I both drew our weapons.
   “Open up!” Nick yelled. “Police!”
   “What the hell you want? I ain’t done nothing!”
   Now I was sure he was alone. Still, another backup would have been a good idea.
   “Open the fucking door, Rowland!” Nick bellowed.
   There was another silence and more rattling. Then the door opened slowly. Herb Rowland was in a torn undershirt and baggy jockey shorts. At close range I could see one or two day’s beard growth. It looked like dirty snow --- the same as his scraggly hair. He had a large flat nose, thin mustache and small goatee. He was very muscular, standing a little over six feet. I hoped I would never have to engage him in hand-to-hand combat. I was glad I was carrying a piece.
   “Know what this is?” Nick asked, holding an eight by ten paper in his left hand.
   Herbie got his nose up to it and squinted. “It’s a search warrant.”
   “Bingo!” I said.
   “Hey, man! I’m clean. I paid those fucking parking tickets!”
   I nodded mechanically as I looked around the slovenly apartment. Dirty wrinkled clothes were everywhere: on the floor, on the chairs, on the bed. Next to this dump, my sister’s bedroom looked like a palace. The kitchen was equally filthy. Pots and pans were piled up on the counter and in the sink. The walls and ceiling were crying for a paint job, and it was impossible to tell what was embedded in the worn out rug.
   “This is a fucking pigsty, Herbie.” I kept my piece aimed at his chest.
   “Fuck you!” he roared.
    I wanted to take my forty-five and smash his face in. I knew it would have been a serious mistake.
   Nick put his piece away only after he had inspected every room. But I kept mine pointed. Nick stuck his hands in his pockets and walked nonchalantly up to Rowland. They looked like Mutt and Jeff from the old comic strip.
   “Herbie.” Nick crossed to the overstuffed wastebasket. He put a fresh cigar into his mouth and turned to Rowland. “We’re here because we got this tip.”
   “What the hell you talking about?” Herbie took a step toward Nick. “What tip?”
   I moved back against the door.
   “Herbie.” Nick said softly. “Why don’t you sit in that chair --- over there.” He gently shoved Rowland into one of the folding chairs with the least amount of clothes on it.
   “And don’t do anything stupid!” Nick said. I admired his guts.
   “Hey, man! I’m a taxpayer. I got rights!”
   “You’re garbage, Rowland.” I sneered. “You got no rights!” I raised my piece and aimed it at his head. “Just sit still and shut up! This is official police business so I suggest you cooperate.”
   He whirled to Foley, the whites of his eyes red and blazing. “I don’t have to take his shit, man!”
   Nick glared at me. “Manny, cool it!”
   I decided to look beyond my distaste for Rowland and act like a professional.
   Nick walked to the far cupboard in the kitchen. “You live here alone?” He was nonchalant.
   Herbie didn’t answer.
   “I asked you a question, Herbie.” Nick said as he opened the cupboard door.
   I stepped on a two-inch roach, grimacing.
  After a few seconds Herbie responded. “Yeah man. I live here alone. Look, are you --- “
   I smashed another giant roach. The loud squish stopped Rowland in mid-sentence. But Nick ignored it.
   “Just what the fuck you guys looking for?”
   Neither Nick nor I responded. Now the place was beginning to get to me. Strange rancid odors were becoming more noticeable. The stench was ten times worse than that of the morgue.
   Nick, seemingly impervious to it all, reached into the back of the cupboard and took out a round green plastic bowl, then glanced at me. I stayed against the door, my weapon still pointed at Rowland’s face.
   Rowland’s eyes remained fixed on the green bowl.
   “Open it.” Nick said as he handed it to Herbie.
   Herbie took the bowl in his large hairy hands, then stared at it as if he was seeing it for the first time.
   “Come on, Rowland.” Foley spoke condescendingly. “Open it.”
   He removed the lid and peered inside along with Foley. His bulging eyes looked like they were a yard wide. “Hey, man. What the fuck is --- “
   “Herbie, you have the right to remain silent --- “ As Nick read Rowland his rights, he took out his handcuffs and cuffed him as quickly as I’ve ever seen it done. I could only marvel at my friend’s dexterity.
   “Shit!” Rowland’s gaze jumped from the bowl to Nick and then back to the bowl.
“This ain’t mine!”
   “Really.” Nick snickered. “It was in your bowl in your cupboard --- in your apartment.”
   “This is a motherfucking frame-up!”
   “And,” Nick added, “you did say you live here --- alone. I thought that’s what I heard.”
   I could see Rowland trying to find a way out. There wasn’t any. The window was closed and we were on the third floor.
   “It’s a thirty-eight, Herbie.” Nick said. “Your thirty-eight.”
   Rowland moved his mouth but nothing came out.
   Nick continued. “Three people have been murdered with a thirty-eight --- three that we know about.”
   “I --- I swear to God, man. It ain’t mine.” Sweat dripped from every pore on his face. “I never seen that gun before.”
   “How do you account for it being in your possession?” Nick asked.
   Rowland’s eyes kept bouncing back and forth between us. But he remained silent.
   “If by some miracle this turns out not to be the murder weapon. Or if it turns out not to be yours,” Nick bit down hard on his cigar. “I will personally hand deliver you a letter of apology. But for now, we leave that to ballistics.”
   I loved watching Herbie squirm. Finally, he stood up and clenched his entire body. Muscles suddenly developed in places I didn’t know existed. I took a step back. Now I was flush against the door.
   “You motherfuckers have made a big mistake!” He spewed the words.
   Nick casually took a bag from his inside jacket pocket. Then using a clean handkerchief, he put the thirty-eight into it, careful not to touch the handle or the trigger mechanism.
   “Let’s go, Herbie.” I felt omnipotent with a weapon in my hand. I squeezed it harder.
   At first I thought he was going to put up a fight, even cuffed. But he didn’t.
   “Put your pants on, Herbie.” Nick said. “We’re going for a ride.”
*
   
   

   
 
   
   

 
XXVIII

   “Book him.” Nick said disinterestedly as he roughly led a handcuffed Herb Rowland to the front desk sergeant. I followed close behind, my hand against the handle of my forty-five. Then two policemen took over, and Nick and I went into his private office.
   As usual, the office was dimly lit and messy. Papers were scattered all over his desk and on the shelves behind him. Drawers were half opened and jammed full. The window shade was torn and the floor was as bad as the one in Rowland’s apartment. The office got smaller each time I came here.
   The precinct was unusually quiet. I lit up a Camel and Nick put a fresh cigar into his mouth. Then he sat back in his swivel chair, removed his jacket, opened his vest, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. His underarms were soaked. He looked more like a newspaper editor than a cop. He filled two coffee mugs, putting one on the table next to him and pushing the other one towards me. Then he handed me a manila folder.
   I took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “How can you drink this shit?”
   Nick was about to respond when the phone rang.
   “Hello.” There was a long pause. Nick nodded several times. “Just tell me when it’s done.” There was another long pause and more nodding. “Right. And send someone up to my office. I got a thirty-eight I want you to look at. Could be the murder weapon.” He hung up.
   “Tell you when what’s done?” I asked.
   “The molds of the tire tracks and the shoe print in Martha Bowden’s home. They’re finally close. Real close.” Nick emptied the ashtray in the wastebasket. “And the trajectory of the bullet. We’re real close on that too.”
   I took a long drag of my cigarette and exhaled slowly.
   Nick pointed to the folder in my hand. “Read that.”
   I opened it up. There were several newspaper clippings, arrest forms, and assorted legal documents from January fifteenth of nineteen-seventy-five. The news photos showed Herb Rowland handcuffed and being pushed into a paddy wagon by a younger thinner Nick Foley.
   “I believe we have a deja vu here.” I said.
   “To tell you the truth, Manny, I had clean forgotten about that incident until I got Rowland in the patrol car. Then I remembered exactly where his old file was.”
   “What was he charged with?”

   Nick didn’t have to think about it. He looked up at the ceiling and began to count on his fingers. “Stolen car, B and E, armed robbery, carrying a concealed weapon --- a thirty-eight no doubt.”
   “No doubt.” I put out my cigarette. “Did he do time?”
   “Judge gave him twenty years.” Nick bit the end off a fresh cigar and spit it into the wastebasket. “He was out in five.”
   “Out in five?” I was appalled.
   “Since then he’s worked odd jobs. Dishwasher, house painter, service station attendant --- “
   “What’s he do now?” I tossed the folder on the desk and lit another cigarette.
   “As far as I know,” Foley said bitterly, “nothing! He’s on welfare. Can you beat that?”
   “What a lousy legal system!” I echoed Nick’s bitterness, but I wasn’t the least bit surprised.
   “Why the hell should he work?” Nick went on. “He probably makes more on welfare than if he worked. And I’m sure he keeps young rich women around, like Kate Blair, to help support him even more.”
   My body temperature soared as I pictured Kate Blair and Herbie together. I was about to comment when there was a tap on the window. A tall good looking cop with a ruddy complexion opened the door.
   “He’s ready.” He said in a deep voice.
   We followed the policeman to a dingy eight by ten interrogation room. The room was musty and dimly lighted by a low watt bulb hanging from the fixture in the center of the ceiling above the table. Herb Rowland was seated directly under it. The handcuffs were off. The shadow cast from the eerie light made Herbie look more sinister. His nose looked even larger and flatter and he was staring vacantly at the floor as the three of us entered. Nick and I sat down across from the him. The cop with us moved to stand guard against the wall next to the door, his arms folded. We were all silent for several minutes.
   “Herbie.” I said, taking in his aroma. “You stink! When’s the last time you had a bath?” Then I lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke in his face.
   “Manny,” Nick said smoothly as he stepped between us, “let me do this, okay?” Then he motioned for a cigarette. I hesitated a moment, then reluctantly offered my pack.
                                                              

   Rowland paused for a second before accepting a Camel.
   Nick then motioned for my Bic lighter, which I relinquished --- also reluctantly.
   “Why don’t you tell us the truth?” Nick said patronizingly. “Save us all a lot of time and trouble.”
   Rowland lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke at the ceiling. “I want a lawyer!”
   We both stared at the prisoner for a few seconds. Nick just shook his head as he took out a small notebook and asked him again about the three dates that corresponded to the three killings.
   He stared back at Nick for a long time. Then he batted his eyes and shrugged. ”I don’t know. I was probably at home.”
   “Probably?” Nick asked, his pencil poised. “Were you with someone or alone?”
   Rowland sat up straight and thought for a while. “I was home. I just remembered. And I was alone.”
   “On all three dates --- you were home --- alone.” Nick said.
   “That’s right.” He leaned forward and sneered. “On all three dates I was home and alone.”
   Nick forced a grin. “And there are no witnesses --- right?”
   “Right!” Herbie slammed his hand down on the hard oak table. It had to have hurt like hell, but he didn’t utter a sound or change his expression. “I said I was alone.”
   Nick and I exchanged a quick glance.
   “Look, I ain’t answering no more questions without a lawyer!”
   “It’s no good, Herbie.” Nick said scratching the back of his neck. “Somehow your alibi just doesn’t seem to fit. It sounds too --- perfect.”
   There was a long silence. Herbie and Nick stared at each other. I remained quiet.
   Rowland broke the spell. “How much longer I got to sit here?”
   “Until we say you can leave!” Nick roared.
   I threw my cigarette on the floor, quickly stamping it out.
   “And don’t forget, Herbie.” Nick added. “You have a record.”
   I shook my head back and forth mockingly. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Not looking too good, Herbie.”
I lit up another cigarette. “Not looking too good at all.”
   “Look, Herbie.” Nick leaned in close to the prisoner again. “You’re not helping your case any by being coy.”
   Rowland folded his arms and sat back in his chair. “I want a lawyer.”
   “We’ll tell you when you need a lawyer.” I said.
   “Herbie.” Nick continued. “We’re trying to help you. But we can’t do it if you keep fighting us.”
   There was a long silence. The policeman by the door shifted his weight to the other foot.
   When Rowland responded his voice was barely audible. “I need my lawyer. He’s gonna really be pissed if I shoot my mouth off and he ain’t here.”
   “Herbie.” Nick said. “No lawyer in the world is going to help you until you tell us the truth.”
 Nick scribbled something in his notebook, then stared at the prisoner for a long time before he continued. “Did you and Kate do drugs?”
   “Herbie.” Nick paused for a moment. “Did you and Kate Blair do drugs?”
   “No comment!”
   “We’re going to find out anyway, so you might as well make it easy on all concerned.”
   Rowland took a deep breath. “Once. At her house.”
   Something inside me began to squeeze my intestines into a knot.
   “Once?” Nick asked. “Or once that you can remember?”
   “One time!” Herbie yelled. “We rolled a joint. That was it, man!” After another long pause, he asked. “Can I have another cigarette?”
    Nick and I looked at each other. Nick nodded and I grudgingly gave him one, then lit him up.
   Rowland inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “I ain’t saying one more word with my lawyer.” “Rowland.” Nick stood. “Roll up your sleeves.”
   Herbie sat up straight and stared. “Say what?” His eyes became slits.
   “I said roll up your sleeves! You’re out numbered three to one. Now roll up your Goddamn sleeves!”
   “I definitely need my lawyer. I --- “
   “You don’t roll up your fucking sleeves, you’ll need more than a fucking lawyer!” Nick and Rowland were nose to nose. “You’ll need a fucking hospital!”
   “Hey, man.” Herbie pointed his finger at Nick. “That is a direct threat!”

   “You are very observant, Herbie.” Nick said with a smile. “Now why don’t you just do as we ask?”
   I put my hand on my piece.
   Rowland’s eyes darted all over the room. Large beads of perspiration dotted his face. Then the policeman came over. Rowland looked at me, then he looked at Nick. Then he took a deep breath and rolled up his left sleeve. Nick grabbed the arm, and I went over to look. Needle marks trailed along his wrist and disappeared under his sleeve.
   “Well, well. What have we here?” Nick said, glaring at the prisoner. “I thought you said you didn’t do drugs, Herbie.”
   “I would say you are in a shitpot full of trouble, Rowland.” I added. “Wouldn’t you say so?”
   He jerked his arm away and rapidly rolled down the sleeve. “I don’t do drugs no more. These is from a long time ago.”
   The policeman went back to his post. Nick and I kept our eyes welded to Herbie
   “I fucking paid my dues for it too!”
   “Is that a fact?” Nick asked smugly.
   “I’m through talking.” He answered with equal smugness. Then he sat back and folded his arms defiantly. “I demand a lawyer!”
   I knew we had reached a dead end, and it infuriated me. I started to respond, but didn’t.
   “There’s a phone in the hall.” Nick said evenly. “The policeman will take you to it. You get one call.”
Rowland started for the door. Then he stopped and turned back slowly. He looked at Nick, then at the floor, then at Nick. “I --- I don’t know no lawyers.”
   “Tough shit!” I said triumphantly, then took a final puff of my Camel and crushed it under my heel.
   “You --- you got to supply me with one.” Herbie was frantic.
   “Rowland, you know you did it. So save us all a lot of time and aggravation and confess!”
Nick exploded. “Otherwise, you can go back to prison and fucking rot there!”
   Herb Rowland sat down slowly and quietly and closed his eyes. His head dropped forward and his shoulders sagged. The sudden change in attitude was definitely temporary, because under the tranquil facade lay a raging inferno.
   Nick steered me out of the interrogation room into the long hallway, closing the door behind us. Then he opened the door and turned back to the prisoner. “I’ll contact the Public Defender’s office in the morning.”
   Rowland didn’t respond. Nick shrugged and closed the door again.
   “Nick, I hate those fucking social leeches!”
   “Well, I don’t especially care to bed down with them either. But we can’t lose our cool.”
   We walked a few minutes. “How did you know he shot up heroin?” I asked.
   “I remembered that was one of the charges in nineteen-seventy-five. Illegal possession and use of narcotics.”
   I nodded.
   “But he was right.” Nick said as he opened the front door. “They were old scars.”
   “So if they were old scars, why did you even bring it up?”
   “Oh --- I thought maybe we could use it somehow. You never know.”
   “If he’s guilty,” I said lighting up a Camel, “I guarantee we’ll use it.”
*
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
   
   

 
XXIX

   It was the middle of November and the weather was an incredible seventy-one. This was thirty degrees warmer than the norm for the day --- according to the TV weatherman on channel eight.
 My Browns beat Dallas last Sunday and I felt great.
   I decided to call Margo and see if she could leave work early to share this uncharacteristic jubilance with me. It was a perfect day for a stroll in the park. I turned off Vivaldi and reached for the phone just as it rang.
   “Hello.”
   “Mr. Gold?” The greeting was mixed with sobs.
   “Mrs. Delvecchio?” There was no response. She was the last person I wanted to talk to. “I thought we were finished with your case. According to your file --- “
   “I think you should know --- “ Carmen cut me off. The sobbing continued. “ --- Alex and I are filing for divorce.”
   I wondered how I was supposed to respond to this pivotal decision. There were no indications that her husband had done anything wrong. I suddenly felt sorry for both of them.
   “I appreciate all you’ve done, Mr. Gold, and your final payment is in the mail. Goodby.”
    I sat staring at the receiver for one long minute. Then I slowly shook my head as I put it back on its cradle. I waited another long minute, then dialed Margo’s work number. I needed to be recharged. The phone was answered after the third ring by a female voice that definitely belonged to a heavy smoker.
   “Ms. Blair is with a client. Who shall I say is calling?”
   “I’ll call her later.” I hate leaving messages. I hung up, then quickly reached for a pack of Camels. As I lit up, I raised my eyes to see Nick Foley standing in the doorway. After he was inside he knocked.
   “Come in.” I said jokingly. I had completely forgotten about our meeting with Herb Rowland’s attorney.
   Nick sat down heavily across from me, looking unusually tired and suddenly old.
   “I really wanted to take the wife for a drive through the Amish Country today.” He said.
   I nodded in approval. “Good idea. Great scenery.”
   “Tell that to the commissioner.” Nick went to the window and peeked through the shades.
   “Had lunch yet?” I took a deep drag of my cigarette, then blew the smoke lazily at the ceiling.
   “It’s two o’clock, Manny.” Nick continued to look out the window. “Some of us are early risers.”
   “Some of us aren’t.” I smiled. Nick didn’t. “When is this shyster coming?”
   Nick looked at his watch. “Two-thirty.”
   A semi-truck went past, flooding the room with a humongous roar.
   “Nice day.” He said casually, still staring into space.
   “Uh --- very nice.” I put out my cigarette and sat back in my chair. “Come on. Talk to me, old buddy. Making small conversation about the weather is just not you.”
   He sat down in the chair opposite me and stared at the floor.
   I pushed forward. “Any news about the shoe --- the tire --- the thirty-eight?”
  “No, no and no!” He continued to stare at the floor. “As usual ballistics are dragging their feet. Men on vacation, Morales away --- one damn thing after another.” After a long pause, he looked up. Our eyes locked. “Manny, this case has got me totally baffled.”
   “You’ll figure it out.” I lit up and took a quick puff. “You always do.”
   “I don’t know. Something is out of synch. I just can’t zero in on it. First I got it, then I don’t. It’s making me crazy!”
   “Nick, you need a good blow job and a vacation.” I put out my cigarette.
   Nick laughed. “I think for now I’ll just settle for a vacation. Because if I --- “
   Three hard knocks on the door made us both jump.
   “Come in.” I said shakily.
   The door opened slowly, and a middle-aged man of medium build came into the room, carrying a small black leather briefcase. He was clean-shaven and his thick greasy black hair was combed straight back. He wore a light tan suit, heavily starched white shirt and a quiet tan striped tie.
   He looked at us through close-set, narrow gray eyes that straddled a sharp hook nose. His chin came to a point. He spoke through unusually thin lips.

   “May I?” he asked as he took the remaining chair from against the wall and set it down next to Nick. He sat down almost daintily, then removed his thin leather gloves as he introduced himself. “My name is Tyler Jenkins. I represent Herb Rowland.”
   “I’m Lieutenant Nick Foley of the Cleveland Police Department. This is Manny Gold, private investigator.”
   Jenkins’ face was like granite. He did not accept our handshakes.
   Well, screw you!
   The attorney opened his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper.
   “You know that you cannot hold my client forever.” he said haughtily. “I simply will not allow
 it.”
   I wanted to lift him out of his chair and throw him against the wall.
   “I believe --- “ He cleared his throat and put his gloves methodically in the briefcase. “ --- that unless you can show just cause, twenty-four hours is the legal limit.”
   Nick and I looked at each other. Neither of us responded.
   Tyler went on mechanically, like a toy soldier or a robot. “I would appreciate your signing this release, Lieutenant Foley, so my client can leave his jail cell.”
   “Mister Jenkins.” Nick started to take out a cigar then changed his mind. “I know the legal limit, as you so aptly put it. But your client was found to have in his possession a weapon that is possibly responsible for the murder of three people.”
   Tyler raised his eyebrows. “Possibly?”
   “Yes.” Nick said humbly. “We’re waiting on a call from ballistics.”
“I see. Well --- in that case, I feel it is in the best interests of justice to release Mr.
Rowland.” He put the paper on the desk directly in front of Nick. Then he took a gold Cross pen from his jacket pocket and laid it on top of the paper. “Sign at the bottom if you will.”
   “Now look here, Mr. Jenkins. We --- “
   He ignored my words and continued to speak to Nick as if I weren’t in the room. “Because, until you can prove the weapon found in my client’s apartment is indeed the murder weapon --- “ He smiled like a Cheshire cat. “ --- your case against him is a big fat zero.” The smile quickly vanished. “This is entrapment, pure and simple.”
   “Mr. Jenkins. What you seem to --- “
   “Lieutenant, Foley.” Jenkins cut me off again. “According to my client, someone called the police and said that the murder weapon was in his apartment.”
   After a slight hesitation, Nick nodded. “That is correct.”
   “And, pray tell, just who is making these preposterous allegations?”
   “The caller was anonymous.” I finally said.
   The Cheshire cat returned. “How convenient.”
   “Until we hear from ballistics,” Nick responded with restrained fury, “it is not preposterous!”
   “But you haven’t heard from ballistics.” Jenkins leaned in closer to Foley. “Now I believe it
is --- and correct me if I’m wrong --- innocent until proven guilty.”
   I knew we were beaten. Neither of us had a response.
   Tyler adjusted his tie and continued. “Since there are no prints or witnesses, it is obvious the murder weapon is an alleged one.” He emphasized the word ‘alleged'. “Have my client’s alibis been checked out?”
   “They have neither been confirmed nor denied.” Nick said resignedly.
   “I repeat. Entrapment! Now, if you will please sign --- “ He pushed the pen and paper closer to Nick. “ --- here.”
   “Mr. Jenkins,” Nick asked innocently. “why would anyone want to set up your client?”
   “Why wouldn’t they?” He looked up slowly. “He has a record. He is a vagrant. In essence he is a perfect scapegoat. It’s easy pickings, gentlemen.”
   Nick took a deep breath before he signed the release form.
   Jenkins snatched the paper from Foley’s hand before the ink dried and quickly stuck it in his briefcase, which he slammed shut. As he opened the door to leave, he turned back. His tone was smug. He reeked of overconfidence.
   “My client advised me that you threatened him. That unless he confessed to a crime he didn’t commit, you would see to it that he would --- rot in jail. I believe those were your exact words.”
   “Nick’s exact words were ‘he would fucking rot in jail!” I wanted to stuff his briefcase up his ass.
   He took a step forward, pointing a shaky finger at me. “Don’t be glib with me, mister! And don’t you ever harass my client again!” His bright red face was two inches away. I was dying to smash it in. “If you have proof, fine. Otherwise, fuck off!” Nick and I were speechless.
Now he backed away and softened his tone. A shit-eating smile appeared. “Because if you don’t, I will take legal action. And then perhaps the two of you will find yourselves rotting in a jail cell rather than my client.” He slammed the door behind him.
   We stared at the closed door for several seconds.
  “Nick, I thought you were getting Rowland a public defender.”

  “That was a public defender!”
*


   
   
   
   
    
   
     
   
 
XXX

   “May I?” Nick asked Tyler Jenkins as he picked up the tape recorder. “I want today’s interrogation retained for posterity so future generations can savor this pivotal moment.”
   Jenkins stared long and hard at Nick before he answered. “I have no objections.”
   Nick nodded politely, cleared his throat, then flicked the recorder switch and spoke slowly and clearly into the mike. “Today is November nineteen at precisely --- “ He looked at his watch. “ --- five minutes after ten a.m. I am Lieutenant Nick Foley. Also present with me are Detective Manny Gold --- “
   I stood up and bowed. I thought it was humorous. No one else did. So I quickly sat back down.
   Nick continued in total control. “ --- attorney Tyler Jenkins, Sargent Carlos Sanchez and
Herb Rowland --- the subject of the interrogation.”
   Rowland, seated at the small table in the center of the room, folded his arms and sat back.
   Nick went on. “The questioning of Mr. Rowland will take place here and now in room sixty-six of the Cleveland Municipal Building in Cleveland Ohio.” Then he placed the recorder back on the table.
   Jenkins and I sat at opposite sides of the table and Sanchez was at the door. Nick stood facing the prisoner. He turned to the attorney.
   “Mr. Jenkins. Have you explained to your client why he is still in custody?”
   Jenkins stuck his chin out then nodded resignedly. “Yes.”
   Nick continued anyway. “The ballistics report came back stating the weapon found in your client’s home was the same one used to kill Kate Blair, Curt Warner and Martha Bowden.”
  “Lies! Lies!” Herb Rowland roared. “You motherfuckers can’t do this to me! I told you I never killed no one.”
   “Never killed --- anyone.” I corrected tauntingly.
   “Manny!” Nick spun toward me, his finger pointed. “Please!”
   While I didn’t much like the idea of being only an observer, I understood the rules. This was strictly a homicide investigation, and I was just a lowly PI.
“Herbie.” Jenkins spoke softly then put his fingers to his lips. “Shhh --- .”
   “Mr. Jenkins.” Nick opened his collar. “Have you also told your client that the release I signed is now null and void --- at least for the time being?”
   “That still doesn’t mean a damn thing!” Jenkins’ fury showed with each word.
   “Just answer the question!” Nick tossed more fuel to the blaze.
   The attorney glared at Nick before he responded. “Yes. My client is aware of all the above.”
   “Good. Then we can proceed.”
    “How long I got to stay here and listen to this shit?” Herbie lept to his feet, clutching his huge hands into enormous fists.
   Sanchez took a step towards the prisoner. His gun was drawn. I recoiled, almost falling off my chair, my heart nearly bursting through my chest.
 Nick calmly pushed Rowland back into his seat, then gestured for Sanchez to put his weapon away and retreat back to the door.
   “Take it easy, Herbie.” Nick said condescendingly.
   Rowland sat down slowly. His dark eyes were blazing. We waited several minutes for things to return to normal. Then we waited some more --- just to be sure there were no further eruptions.
   “Mr. Jenkins.” Foley began to pace. “Do you admit your client knew Kate Blair?”
   Jenkins shrugged. “Is that a crime?”
   “Herbie, tell me.” Nick ignored the sarcasm. “Just what sort of relationship did you and Ms
Blair share?”
   Jenkins started to speak, but his client cut him off. “We --- we went out a couple times.”
   Why does the scum of the earth get to walk it? I wanted to yell it, but didn’t.
   “Here’s the way I see it, Herbie.” Nick stopped pacing and positioned himself in front of Rowland. “First you shot Kate Blair. Then you bashed her head in. Then --- “
   “NO! I never --- “
   “Rowland.” Nick’s voice rose an octave. “You’re gonna have to level with us. Margo Blair and Martha Bowden --- the late Martha Bowden --- both saw you abuse Kate Blair verbally and physically.”
   Rowland and Jenkins exchanged a brief glance. Jenkins nodded. Rowland pursed his lips and sniffed.

   “So maybe I yelled at her --- once.” He sniffed again. “But I didn’t kill her.”
   “Herbie!” Jenkins’ roar equaled his client’s.
   There was a long silence. Herbie broke the spell. “So maybe I hit her --- once.”
   The knot around my intestines was back for an encore.
   “There is no maybe about it. Bruises were all over her body.” Nick put both hands on the table. His face was inches away from the prisoner’s. “Not to mention a few broken bones!”
   “Maybe other guys hit her. What the fuck you picking on me for?”
   I put my hand on my gun. I was dying to use it.
   “Lieutenant, --- “ Jenkins started to speak.
   Nick cut him off. “Don’t look for sympathy, Rowland. People saw you push her and people saw you threaten her.”
   “Lieutenant!” Jenkins was livid. “If we were in court, you would be held in contempt for badgering my client!”
   Nick stood up straight and faced the attorney. “But we’re not in court --- are we?”
   Foley and Jenkins glared at each other for several seconds.
   Then Nick turned back to Rowland and shoved a picture of Curt Warner at him. Rowland took the picture, studied it a moment, then gave it to Jenkins. “Know that man?”
   Herbie shrugged.
   “Let me refresh your memory. His name is Curt Warner.” Nick leaned on the table again. “Ring a bell?”
   Rowland looked at his attorney for a second, then looked at Nick. He remained silent.
   “Listen, Herbie!” Nick was back in the prisoner’s face. “Don’t give me that shit about never having met him. Even your landlord saw you two together.” He waited for a response. He got none. Now he walked around the prisoner and once again positioned himself in front of Herbie.
   “Warner was whacked because he knew something he shouldn’t have --- same as poor Martha Bowden. Or Warner’s death could have been drug related. Or maybe it was both.”
   Rowland turned his head, trying to avoid the glare of the bulb above him. He had to be boiling.
   Too fucking bad, Herbie!
   “I didn’t kill him.”
   “That wasn’t the question, Rowland!” Nick took out a handkerchief and wiped his face again. “I asked if you knew him.”
   Again Rowland looked at his dapper attorney, who stood and motioned for his client to come to him. The two men walked to the farthest corner and conferred quietly.
   As they spoke, I watched Sanchez. He had stood motionless the whole time we were here. (except for when Rowland got out of his chair). Since then he hadn’t moved an inch.
   After a long two minutes, Rowland and Jenkins resumed their respective seats. Nick inserted a fresh tape in the recorder, slipping the other one into his pocket.
   “Now let’s see, Herbie. Where were we?” The phony smile was back. “Oh yes. You were just about to tell me how it was that you knew Curt Warner.”
   Rowland looked at Jenkins, who nodded.
   The prisoner stared at Nick for several seconds before he spoke. “Warner tried to sell me hard drugs --- crack, heroin --- shit like that.”
   The phony smile was gone. “And of course you refused!”
   “That’s right! I don’t do hard drugs anymore. I ain’t done them in a long time.” He leaned in toward Nick and raised his voice. “I already told you that, man!”
   Nick looked at Jenkins, who stuck out his chin. It made a great target.
   “I know all about the needle marks, Lieutenant.” He shifted in his seat. “Anyway, I don’t see how they are pertinent to this interrogation.”
   Nick turned back to Rowland and continued. “Okay, Herbie. Let’s talk about the thirty-eight.”
Rowland didn’t respond so Foley went on. “It had markings, powder burns and blood samples to match all three slayings.”
   I knew Nick wanted to beat the shit out of Rowland. That made two of us.
   Nick added. “And there were also samples of Kate Blair’s brain tissue.”
   “Excuse me. And correct me if I’m wrong.” Jenkins said confidently. “But I don’t believe the gun in question is registered to my client.”
   “The gun isn’t registered to anyone!” Nick snapped. “All the numbers were filed off.”
   “Lieutenant Foley --- “ Jenkins started to speak and again Nick cut him off.
   “The weapon was found in your client’s possession and that’s close enough for me!”
   “I repeat.” Tyler said angrily. “My client was framed. What will it take for you to acknowledge it?”
   Nick and I exchanged a quick glance. I wanted to help, but I knew I couldn’t.
   Foley took a large yellow notebook and a pen from the top drawer of the table and laid them in front of Rowland.
   Rowland just stared at it. “What’s this for, man?”
   “What the hell do you think it’s for, Herbie?” Nick just wanted this case to be over, and he was ready and willing to do whatever it took to end it. I couldn’t blame him. “If you write a confession I’ll try and spare you the death sentence. If you fight us, I promise you nothing.”
   “Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Jenkins was on his feet. “Are you offering my client a deal?”
   Nick thought a moment before he spoke. “Not exactly.”
   “What then --- exactly?” He didn’t wait for Nick to respond. “You know as well as I do that you have no case. You’re grasping, Lieutenant.”
   Where do these schmucks come from?
   Herbie continued to stare at the blank paper. Then he shook his head slowly. “I can’t do it, man. I can’t say I killed someone when I didn’t.”
   Nick pushed the pen and pad closer to Rowland. “You take this back to your cell and think about it. Time is running out. We want an answer in writing and we want it now!”
   And with that, Nick and I were out the door.
*
 

XXXI

   The streets were unusually crowded for a Sunday. But then again it’s not every day that a water main breaks, causing traffic to be tied up in all directions. We had to park the police car two blocks away to avoid the confusion. Nick could have actually parked in any of the ‘NO PARKING’ areas in the vicinity since we were on official police business. But Nick, defender of equal rights and a staunch idealist, chose not to. He maintained, as always, that there is only one set of rules. And unless it was a true emergency, like a life and death situation, one set would have to serve everyone.
   I looked at my watch for the tenth time as we walked into the modeling school. My Browns played San Diego at four. I had two hours. I hoped it would be enough.
   Nick and I went into the room marked BALLET. All five girls were huddled together against the far wall, waiting for us. The idle chatter stopped when they saw us. The room looked exactly like it had the last time I was here. The floor, the parallel bars, and the mirrored walls all gleamed brightly. I was amazed that a jerk like John Carver could keep anything looking this immaculate.
   We quietly observed our surroundings before Nick spoke. When he did, it was in a tone that commanded respect.
   “Ladies. We have to ask you some --- shall we say --- delicate questions.”
   They just stared at us, petrified. All five girls were thin and flat-chested. I recognized Kayla and Marti, and wondered what had happened to their boobs. With no push-up bras they looked like elementary school girls. What a let down! All five had pantsuits on to match their hair. Different colors for different tastes? Otherwise they could all have been clones.
  They had heavy eyeliner, long false lashes, multicolored fingernails and thick red lips. Marti, the blond, wore a canary yellow pantsuit. Kayla’s was black. The other three I didn’t know.
   “You needn’t be afraid to answer.” Nick began to pace slowly, his hands behind him. “None of you is under arrest. I told Marti that last night over the phone.”
   This didn’t seem to mollify or relax them. They remained frozen to their respective spots. Even though their eyes sparkled and their cheeks glistened, they resembled statues more than people.
   “First of all, I want to introduce ourselves to the rest of you. Then you can all do the same.” Nick opened his jacket. “I am Lieutenant Nick Foley and this is Detective Manny Gold.” Then we waited.
   The one with red hair and a red pantsuit stood up slowly. “My name is Tanya.”
   The others quickly followed suit.
   “My name is Angel.” She had auburn hair and a light brown pant suit.
   “I’m Lannie.” She was a brunette with a dark brown outfit.
   They all wore matching ballet slippers and their pants were so tight that every line of their tiny butts showed.
   “I’m Kayla. We’ve met.”
   “Likewise.” Marti stood next to her.
   Now all five were standing in a small semicircle across from us. At close inspection their young faces indicated a harsh realization of a cruel and difficult world.
   “Will Mr. Carver be here?” Tanya’s voice was barely audible.
   “No” Nick rubbed his chin. “We --- uh --- persuaded him to stay home today.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I called Carver yesterday and threatened him. If he showed up today I would tell his wife about some of his --- extracurricular activities and then all hell would break loose.”
   Generally Nick was discreet about things, but he could be nasty when he had to. In this case it worked. It got everyone’s attention. No one moved. They just stared.
   “Okay.” Nick continued. “You can all help us as well as yourselves by telling us exactly what goes on here.”
   We waited for a response but got none. Nick elaborated. “We need you to confirm what we already know.”
   “We dance and we model.” Kayla said.
   “And that’s all?” I asked as I leaned against the parallel bar, trying unsuccessfully to pick up eye contact.
   “What else could go on here?” Marti asked.
   Her innocence was fake. It was soon to end.
   “That,” Nick said emphatically, “is what we want you to tell us.”
   “It’s just a school for dancing and modeling. That’s all.” Lannie said almost in a whisper.

   The others nodded in agreement. I couldn’t get over how young these clones looked.
   “Maybe it used to be a school for dancing and modeling.” Nick took a short step closer to the girls. This made them more uncomfortable than they were. “But we were told by a solid source that now --- other things go on here.”
   After a few seconds of silence, Angel walked bravely toward Nick. “I don’t know why anyone would say anything like that.”
   Lannie stood next to her. “I --- I really think you owe us some sort of explanation. All Marti said was you wanted to meet us. She didn’t say what it was about.”
   Nick thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough.” Now he thought some more, obviously intent on thinking through each word. I was certain he didn’t want to repeat what Margo said or accuse anyone of anything. He would want it to come from the girls. When he finally spoke, it was slow and careful. “Some girls --- such as you --- in other parts of the country serve only as a glorified escort service. A place which is a haven for drugs and where sex is for hire.”
   The five clones looked at each other as if someone just told them all their orifices would have to be sewn up. They were either shocked because of what we’d suggested, or shocked because we’d hit on the truth.
   Nick continued to walk the tightrope. “We have reason to believe that this establishment fits that particular mold.”
   No one moved for several minutes. They couldn’t have been more stunned.
   Nick then reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced Curt Warner’s photo. “I want you ladies to study this picture and tell me if any of you recognize this man.”
   Kayla hesitantly took the photo. The other girls grouped around her. They all looked at each other, then at Nick. Even with their full lips and long lashes, the longer I stared at them the younger they got. Babies! And if I thought they were babies, I could imagine what Nick thought.
   Kayla finally handed me the photo. She looked as if she were about to cry.
   “It’s okay.” I tried to be encouraging. I suddenly felt sorry for these kids and wanted to turn Carver’s blubbery body into Jell-O.
   “Would you please excuse us for a second?” Marti asked.
   We nodded and all five walked back to the far end of the room, where they began to talk in whispers. In less than five minutes they broke apart and slowly walked back toward us. Kayla moved forward as spokesperson.
   Before she spoke, Nick asked her. “Would you rather talk someplace else?”
   “Uh --- no.” She looked at the others. “Do you think we need an attorney?”
   Nick didn’t have to think. “When you need one we’ll tell you. We have a pretty good idea of what’s been going on here for the past year or so. But we want to hear it from you.”
   I needed a cigarette badly. But it would have to wait --- along with my Browns.
   Nick motioned for them to speak. We waited.
   “We don’t want to get into any trouble.” Lannie said.
   Nick looked her in the eye. “You are already in trouble. Mr. Gold and I are trying to keep you from getting into worse trouble. But we can’t do that until you tell us what this business does behind closed doors.”
   I thought Nick phrased it nicely.
   “We don’t want to go to jail.” Marti said as she dabbed at her face with a tissue.
   “Ladies,” Nick said, “we don’t want you to go to jail either.”
   “So,” I added, “why don’t we start say --- at the beginning.” I couldn’t take my eyes off their adolescent faces.
   “First of all, what can you tell me about this man?” Nick took the photo from Kayla and held it up for all to see. “His name is --- was Curt Warner. Did any of you see Mr. Warner and Mr. Carver together?”
   “I saw them together --- once.” Lannie said.
   Nick gave me the photo to hold as he took out a pad and pencil. “Can you give us times? Dates?”
   She shook her head.
   “When I worked out front I saw them a couple of times.” Tanya volunteered. “They met in Mr. Carver’s office. The meeting lasted about an hour.”
   “The one time I saw him leave the office,” Angel added, “this --- this Warner was carrying a briefcase.”
   “Probably to haul out his cut.” I mumbled to myself.
   “So,” asked Nick as tactfully as he could. “this is not a ballet school or a modeling school --- is it?”
   There was another long silence before Kayla responded. “No. Not for a long time.”
   Marti and Kayla grabbed each other’s hand. The others huddled closer and motioned for Kayla to continue. She did. The words were interspersed with sobs, so it took almost an hour to get the grisly tale told.
 She told us about Carver’s so called escort service. She admitted that they were no more than high priced prostitutes. Neither Nick nor I could respond at first. We knew it was all true and it made us sick to hear it emanating from the mouths of these children.
   “So,” I put away Warner’s picture. “that explains why there were never any students around here.”
   “There haven’t been students here in --- “ Marti shrugged. “ --- I don’t know how long.”
   Nick made some notes, then he turned the page. “I thank you for your candor. Now I would
like to know how you were paid.”
   Angel spoke up quickly. “The clients gave us one-hundred dollars or two-hundred. We kept half and the rest went to Mr. Carver.”
   “He told us that if any of us ever talked about it to anyone he would --- “ Lannie began to cry and couldn’t finish her sentence.
   “He threatened you with bodily harm?” I could feel my body heat up.

   “He said he would hurt us really bad if --- if we ever got in his way.” Marti said. “Those were his exact words.”
   “What a slimy son-of-a-bitch!” I thought.
   “I promise you,” Foley said vehemently. “He will never lay a hand on any of you.”
   Everyone was quiet for a few minutes while Nick wrote in his notebook.
   “What about your parents?” Nick asked.
   They gasped almost in unison.
   “They would die if they knew.” Kayla said
   “Please!” Marti pleaded. “Do you have to tell them?”
    Nick and I exchanged a quick glance. We both knew that we would.
   “We’ll do all we can.” Nick turned the page. “Okay. Tell us about your --- clientele.”
   “We each had our own men.” Tanya spoke with obvious agony.
   “We did it --- either here or --- at the gentleman’s apartment.” Angel added. “Or it was at a private place set up by the client.”
   “Did any of you --- share clients?” Nick asked.
   “No.” They all spoke at once.
   “We never shared.” said Lannie. “And we always did whatever the customer wanted.”
   “The men were first names only and fictitious.” said Tonya. “So none of us knew who they were.”
   “Were they married or single?” Nick spoke as he wrote.
   They all thought for a moment. Kayla volunteered. “Some were probably married. We never asked.”
   “The men were all strangers to us.” Said Marti. “Some were only one-nighters.”
   “Mr. Carver tried to discourage one-nighters.” added Angel. “He wanted repeat trade.”
   Marti and Kayla let go of each other’s hand and both began rubbing their palms together.
   “We’re not at all proud of what we did. We --- “ Kayla’s voice trailed off as she put her head down.
   “How often did you see your clients?” Nick asked
  “Sometimes weekly. Sometimes monthly.” Kayla raised her head slowly. “It depended on schedules.”
  “I can’t believe how naive we were.” said Marti. “We really thought it would help us in our careers.”
   “And the money was terrific.” Added Lannie.
   I looked at my watch. It was three-forty-three.
   “Then we got so involved --- “ Angel started to cry.
   “You couldn’t get out of it.” Nick finished her sentence.
   Again they all nodded.
   “Did any of you keep a log of your --- dates?”
   I knew Foley was going to say ‘tricks’, but he checked himself in time.
   “No.” Kayla said. “Only Mr. Carver had access to that.”
   There was a long silence before Nick asked, “What can you tell us about Kate Blair?”
   Angel shrugged. “I didn’t know her all that well.”
   “I don’t think any of us did.” Marti added.
   “I spoke to her a couple of times.” said Kayla. “She was quiet --- kept to herself most of the time.”
   “I think she was wild.” said Tonya.
   “Why do you say that?” I asked.
   “Well --- the few times I talked to her, she spoke about sex as if that’s all there was in the entire world.” Tonya went on. “Personally, I think there was something wrong with her.”
   “We all did it because we were forced into it.” added Lannie. “I think Kate did it because she loved the excitement it generated for her.”
    “I felt sorry for her.” said Tonya.
   “I once saw her address book by accident.” said Marti. “She grabbed it away like it was life or death. I did manage to flip through the pages.” She blushed. “I --- I know I shouldn’t have. But there were three --- maybe four names. That’s all. And they didn’t look fictitious. They had first and last names and addresses.”
   “Do you remember any names?” I asked.
   Marti thought a moment then shook her head. “No. It was a while back.”
   Nick showed the girls Rowland’s photo. They stared at it for several seconds.
   “I remember him.” offered Angel. “He was one of Kate’s clients.”
   “Tell us about him.” I tried to hold my temper.
   “I saw them together once.” Lannie said. “I remember he yelled at her.”
   “I saw him smack her.” said Kayla.
   “Me too.” added Angel.
   Nick put away Rowland’s photo and took out one of the senator. “Anybody ever see this man?”
   They all shook their heads.
   “I don’t recognize him at all.” said Tonya. “Who is he?”
   I looked at my watch. It was four-fifteen. Maybe I could catch the second half.
   “His name is Reid Carlson.” Foley said. “He’s a senator from Pennsylvania. And another of Kate’s clients.”
   “Wow!” Lannie’s eyes lit up. “That’s big time. I don’t think I ever did it with anyone that important.”
   They all smiled at Lannie’s remark and some of the tenseness eased. I knew Nick would change all that with another bomb. “Did you know she sniffed cocaine?”
   They all gasped again.
   “Oh my God!” Kayla spoke up. “I don’t think any of us knew that.”
   “None of us did drugs.” said Angel.
   “Well --- “ Lannie interjected. “ --- except for an occasional joint.”
   “Shh --- “ Marti put her fingers over Lannie’s lips.
   “An occasional joint,” said a grinning Nick Foley, “is the least of our problems.” He turned the page. When he looked up the grin was gone. “Cocaine is serious stuff, ladies. We feel that Warner was supplying Carver and Carver was supplying Kate.”
   “Or,” I added, “maybe Warner was supplying Kate direct. But it doesn’t matter. Either way, Carver is in some deep shit!”
   After another long silence, Kayla asked, “What’s going to happen to us?”
   Nick ran his fingers through his hair and considered the question for a long time before he responded.
   “You were wrong and now you know you were wrong. So you’ll put this horrible experience behind you and go on with your lives.”
   Nick spoke like a father not a cop. I knew his kids were this age.
   “Easier said than done.” Marti said discouragingly.
   “We know there are rules in this world and sometimes we break them through no fault of our own.” Nick continued in his fatherly tone. “We become a victim of circumstances.”
   “We will do all we can for you.” I wanted to hug each one individually.
   “But you all may have to go to court and testify.” Nick added. “Trade your testimonies for a suspended sentence.”
   Their concerned faces became more concerned.
   Once again Tonya served as spokesperson. “This means we’ll have to confront our parents.”
   “That’s right.” I said.
   Then Nick added soothingly, “And we can promise you that John Carver will never harm you ever again.”
   At first their faces were blank. After Nick finished his spiel, a faint sign of hope appeared as some of the color returned to their cheeks.
   Five o’clock! I would get in most of the second half if we left right now.
   “Tell me, ladies.” Nick put away his pencil and pad. “Do you think anyone else knew about this --- operation?”
   “Unless Mr. Carver talked about it.” Lannie said innocently.
   “Highly unlikely.” I said.
   “We know our clients wouldn’t say anything.” Marti added. “They all seemed to be satisfied.”
   I’ll bet!
   “I’ve been dying to ask you this.” I stammered. “Do you always dress --- I mean the colors ---”
   Tanya jumped in to save me from further embarrassment. “You mean dressing to match our hair color.”
   “We all think it’s stupid.” said Angel. “But Mr. Carver wanted it that way.”
   “And,” said Nick softly but furiously, “Mr. Carver always gets his way!”
   “Yes.” Marti answered meekly for everyone.
   “I, for one, intend to change my hair color or get a whole new wardrobe.” added Lannie.
   They all laughed for the first time.
   “Well, ladies.” Nick said confidentially, “We appreciate your candor and confirming what we already knew. Now I want you to take these papers --- “ He took an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. “--- and write down everything you’ve told us today. Then bring it to me at the police station.”
   Kayla took the papers. Then they all looked at each other, then slowly left.
   Five-twenty. Maybe I could catch the fourth quarter.
*
 

   XXXII

   “Bea, that lasagna was delicious.” Nick’s patted his large stomach through his open vest. “If I keep eating like this, I won’t fit into my Honda let alone my clothes. I’d have to go out and buy a bus.”
   “Nick,” I laughed, “I would say that is a slight exaggeration.”
   “Well, thank you, Nick.” Bea blushed as she smoothed out her apron. “But you don’t have to worry. Everything was low fat.”
   “Even a no fat meal couldn’t have helped me tonight.” Nick continued patting his stomach. “Talk about overeating.”
   “Everything was okay.” Arthur said in his usual non-committal way. Then without a smile or even a polite nod, he walked away from the table. It would never dawn on him to take his dirty dishes to the sink.
   What a putz!
   Nick and I looked at each other. I shook my head. Bea acted as if nothing happened. But I knew she was embarrassed and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Within the hour, Arthur would be out of the house and on his way to a gay bar.
   “The next time my wife is out of town visiting her sister, you can invite me over and make lasagna again.” Nick gallantly shifted the attention back to the cuisine. Then he helped Bea remove the dirty dishes. “See how domesticated I am?” Nick sported a wide grin as he put the dishes in the sink
   “How long have you been married, Nick?” Bea asked.
   He stopped and thought about it for a second. “Thirty years next month.” He wiped his hands on Bea’s apron. “But her lasagna never comes out like this.”
   “Oh, nonsense!” My sister was glowing. “I’m sure she’s a fine cook.”
   “Her specialty is brisket.” Nick bragged.
   “See.” Bea pointed her finger at Nick playfully. “I knew it.”
   I put the salad dressings and the grated cheese back in the refrigerator. Then Bea gently turned Nick and me around and aimed us away from the kitchen.
   “You two go into the family room. You can watch TV, or talk or --- “
   “We don’t mind helping with the dishes.” Nick volunteered.
   “Speak for yourself.” KP was not my thing.
   “Go on.” Bea said with a flair. “I’ll finish up in here.”
   “Okay.” Nick continued. “I don’t have to be told twice. But don’t say I didn’t offer.”
   I picked up an ashtray in the kitchen. We went into the spacious family room, separated from the kitchen by a wide archway. The walls and ceilings had all been painted last year with a soft white. The carpet was a tight napped black wool. The maroon pillow on the gray sofa was the same color as the drapes. The chairs matched the sofa. I thought the color scheme was ugly, but no one ever asked my opinion. One wall had an open entertainment center with a twenty-eight inch TV in the middle. The large glass coffee table in front of the sofa was covered with several framed snapshots. I lit a cigarette and Nick shoved a cigar into his mouth.
   I sat down on the sofa. Nick removed one of the pillows and sat on a chair. The fireplace was still smoldering from earlier in the evening and only embers remained. Bea liked the ambiance and the smell, even though the temperature outside was in the mid sixties. I got up and stirred the white coals. I had to admit it smelled terrific.
   “So what’s with Arthur?” Nick asked innocently. “Is he always this unfriendly?”
   I shrugged and glanced up the stairs. “He is truly a class-A schmuck! Did you notice how he brightens a room when he leaves?” I took a puff and flicked the ash into the ashtray. We continued to speak softly. “Later he’ll probably go out to a gay bar and pick up some slimeball.”
   “I’m Catholic, okay?” He took the cigar out of his mouth and studied it for a second. “Catholics feel the same as Jews about retaining moral values.”
   “Hah!” I quipped. “Arthur has no moral values.”
   “We think alike, Manny. We understand each other.”
   “That’s why we’ve stayed friends all these years.” I turned to him. “I get a warm feeling talking about it.”
   “Me too, Manny.” Then he shook his finger at me. “But Arthur is still your brother-in-law.”
   “Don’t remind me!”
   “Did you ever talk to Bea about Arthur?”
   “Are you kidding? She --- “ I put my fingers to my lips and motioned towards the archway.
   “Here.” Bea came into the room carrying a large tray which held two cups, a creamer, sugar, a carafe of coffee and some small assorted cakes. “Have some dessert.”
   “Bea,” Nick took the cigar out of his mouth and laid it on the ashtray. “you’re gonna spoil me but good.”
   “I hope you like the pastry.” She said. “It came from this new bakery on the corner.”
   “It looks fantastic.” I added.
   “They don’t use any lard or butter.” Bea said seriously.
   Nick and I glanced at each other. Then Bea put the tray down on the table away from all the pictures. I looked at my sister as she was leaving. I suddenly wondered how she would look with a little make-up and a decent dress. She was not unattractive: short black hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, a nice figure --- .
   “Aren’t these your parents?” Nick interrupted my daydreaming as he picked up on of the snapshots on the table.
   “Yes.” I poured coffee into both cups, added cream and took a sip.
   “I sure do remember them. They’ve been gone --- “
   “Ten years.” I finished Nick’s sentence.
   “They both died the same year, didn’t they?” He took a bite of pastry, his eyes on the photo.
   “Dad died in April. Mom was --- September.”
   Foley looked at me wistfully. “With that beard of yours, you resemble your father.”
   I nodded reflectively. Whenever I looked in the mirror, I felt the same way. “My sister says that all the time.”
   “Who’s this?” Nick asked.
   I walked behind him and peered over his shoulder. “That’s Bea. Age --- one or two.”
   “I’ll be damned.” Nick finished his pastry and washed it down with another sip of coffee. “Photos can sure accumulate. Charlotte parks them all over the house. Every time she sees an opening on a shelf, she sticks a picture on it. Every fucking room is loaded with nostalgia.”
   “To tell you the truth, Nick, I don’t pay attention to these pictures any more.” I got up and mixed around the coals again. The glow was fading. ”Bea just finds ‘em and frames ‘em. I have no idea where she gets them and I have no idea what’s on that table.”
   I put my cup down and adjusted the lampshade on the lamp next to the sofa so Nick could have more light. He finished his coffee and picked up a photo he’d been staring at.
   “Manny, this picture --- “
   Arthur suddenly came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen. I heard a brief conversation, then he walked by us, giving a slight nod and raced out the door.
   “How are you fellas doing in there?” Bea yelled from the kitchen.
   “Fine, Sis.” I yelled back. “The pastry was excellent.”
   “I’m glad you liked it.”
   I lit up a Camel with the butt of the previous one, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “What did you think, Nick?”
   Nick just stared at the photo in his hand.
   “Nick,” I repeated, “what did you think --- about the pastry, I mean?”
   He stood up slowly, looking piqued and agitated. His mouth was partly open as if he were about to blow out an imaginary flame and his entire face sagged. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger --- or both.
   “Nick?” I put my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
   “What?” He turned towards me. “Oh --- yeah. I --- I’m fine. A little tired maybe. Plus I over ate.”
   “You’re sure?” I was concerned.
   “Yeah. I’m sure.” He looked at his watch. “Well --- I think I’ll be running along.”
   He went into the kitchen, where he thanked my sister and gave her a hug. We then both walked him to the door and I shook his hand, which was uncharacteristically sweaty. We watched as he got into his Honda and drove away.
   “I think he’s working too hard.” I put out my cigarette. “This case seems to be getting to him.”
   “What?” Bea leaned closer to me.
   I realized I was mumbling under my breath. “Nothing, Bea.”
   “Well, goodnight, Manny.” She took off her apron and gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’m going up stairs and watch a little TV, then get ready for bed.”
   She didn’t mention Arthur, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to.
   “Goodnight, Bea.” I walked back to the small dinette.
   The kitchen was spotless and in certain places it actually sparkled. I couldn’t help but wonder why Bea kept the kitchen so clean and her bedroom so messy. I decided it wasn’t important. I hoped Nick was okay. That was important.
   I sat back down and picked up my favorite literature: the Cleveland Plain Dealer sport section, wondering which Brownie football team would show up Sunday for the game with Chicago.
   It was going to be another long season!
*


 

 
XXXIII

   No one was at the reception desk, or anywhere else for that matter. Even Swan Lake had been silenced.
   Nick knocked on Carver’s door. We waited silently for two or three minutes. No response. I opened my windbreaker. I didn’t think I would need my piece, but if I did I wanted it handy.
   Nick knocked again.

   “Who is it?” Carver spoke in a weak monotone.
   “Open up, John.” Nick said. “It’s the police.”
   There was a brief pause. I wanted to break down the door and shove my forty-five up his nose. But it wasn’t necessary. He opened the door slowly. The vacant stare from his glassy eyes jumped from Nick to me then back to Nick. Carver’s hair was a mess and his short sleeve shirt was badly wrinkled. He looked like I feel first thing in the morning.
   “Sit down, John.” Nick said firmly as he pushed Carver back inside his office to his desk.
   Carver’s tiny eyes got even tinier behind his concave lenses, and his gaze jumped all over the room before landing on Nick.
   “I said sit down!”
   “What the hell is this all about?” Carver asked as he slowly sat down.
   “John,” Nick said as he closed the door, “we have a warrant for your arrest.”
   “As --- as God is my witness, I --- I didn’t murder --- “ He was close to tears.
   “This warrant is not for murder, John.” Nick said as he produced five notarized sheets of paper.
   “These are affidavits signed by --- “ Carver looked at the papers. I thought he was going to faint. “ --- Kayla, Marti, Tonya, Angel and Lannie.”
   Carver continued to stare silently, his lips quivering and his entire body sagging.
   “I’m sure you know the contents of these letters.” Nick added smugly.
    I loved watching his fat ass squirm. He looked like a giant worm trying to find a hiding place.
   “I --- I have to contact my lawyer.” He suddenly looked twice his age.
   “John, you have a chance to help yourself here.” Nick sat down and crossed his legs. “I can read you your rights and then you can get a mouthpiece. But that won’t prevent us from charging you with three counts of murder.”
   Carver blinked his eyes several times then squinted. “I don’t understand.”
   “I’ll make it clear.” I sat down next to Nick as he continued. ”These signed documents combined with correspondence transcripts and monitored phone calls link you undisputedly to Curt Warner.”
   He started to speak but nothing came out except short grunts.
   “We know what this place is.” Foley continued. “We know you were dealing in both drugs and prostitution.”
   Carver was aging by the minute.
   “Even going back to Minnesota --- are you with me so far?” Nick didn’t wait for a response. “The problem I got here, John, is that you had good motives for all three killings. So unless you tell us the truth --- “ Nick shrugged, then threw his hands in the air.
   Carver grunted again.
   “Dealing in drugs and prostitution is some real serious shit, John.” Nick leaned in to him. “But three counts of murder is a whole lot worse!”
   “Gentlemen, shouldn’t I call my attorney? I mean --- “
   “Look, John.” Nick loosened his collar. “I’m trying to keep things simple. If you call your attorney, that tells me you have something to hide.”
   “I have absolutely nothing to hide!”
   “Then why don’t you tell us the truth? We ask for nothing more.”
Carver got up shakily and walked to the window. He stared out at nothing for several minutes. Then he turned back and licked his lips. “Can you help me to keep my family from finding out?”
   “That’s a tall order, John.” Nick said. “But we’ll do what we can.”
   Carver looked out the window again. Then he put his hands in his pockets and turned back to us. “I loved Kate Blair. I didn’t love any of the --- others.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.
   How could Kate Blair get involved with this fat fuck?
   “They just worked for you --- right?” I asked sardonically.
   John ignored my question. “She was the most sexually exciting woman I have ever known.” Now he raised his voice. “I --- I could never kill anyone like her.”
   “Fear is a powerful motive, John.” He was struggling, but Nick had no intention of making it easy for him. “You’re married. You have a family --- how the hell could you risk everything for a piece of ass?”
   I marveled at Nick’s blunt choice of words.
   “Maybe you tried to end it and she wouldn’t let you.” Nick suggested. “She wanted more and you wanted out. So --- you killed her.”
   “No. That’s not --- “
   “Then Curt Warner finds out about it.” Nick continued over his protest. “And you have to kill him too.”
   “No. No!” Carver pleaded.
   “Then poor innocent Martha Bowden sees you at Kate’s.” Foley added. “So you get rid of her as well.”
   “No. NO!” Carver had his head in his hands and he was screaming.
 After a long pause, Foley said thoughtfully, “Or maybe you thought Warner was fucking with you financially and you wouldn’t pay him his cut. That would mean Curt was the first to go.”
   “This is outrageous!” Carver continued to yell. “My lawyer --- “
   “You’re right, John.” Nick’s answer was glib. “It is outrageous using people like Kate and Marti and --- “
   “Bullshit! I never used anyone. I never forced anyone to do anything!” Saliva began to run down his chins. “Those girls --- Kate included --- all knew what they were getting themselves into. Fuck this sanctimonious shit!”
   Nick and I just stared as Carver’s manner abruptly changed from rage to fear.
   “I --- I was trapped. Warner had me sucked in. I couldn’t get out.” He licked his lips again. “You --- you have to help me.”
   “Why?” I asked evenly. “Why the hell should we help you?”
   “Lieutenant. Please.” Tears were running down his cheek. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
   “John.” Nick spoke condescendingly. “You lied about your school. You lied about Kate Blair. Maybe you lied about your whereabouts on the night of the murders.”
   “I --- I told you the truth.” Carver’s hands were shaking. “I was home with my wife when those people were killed.”
   “On all three occasions, right?” Nick asked.
   “Yes. I was with my wife on all three occasions.”
   “Since you’re such a devoted family man.” I added.
   Carver ignored me. “Why don’t you ask my wife?”
   “As far as I’m concerned,” Nick said, “a wife’s testimony is the same as no testimony at all.”
   “Uh --- look.” He was grasping. I loved it. “If --- if I sign a confession about the drugs and the
prostitution, can you let me off the hook on the murder charges?”
   “No can do.” Nick answered quickly.
   “I’ll even say I forced the girls into doing what they did. I’ll say I threatened them --- they had no choice. I didn’t, but I’ll say it anyway.”
   “John,” Nick asked whimsically, “are you trying to make a deal?”
   “No. That is --- uh --- “ Carver looked like someone had dropped a gallon of water over him.
“I --- I really shouldn’t be talking to you without a lawyer.”
  “No deal, John. At least not yet.” Nick again ignored his plea. “Sorry.”
   There was a long silence. Carver ended it. “I --- I heard you got Rowland behind bars.”
   I nodded. “That’s correct.”
   “You know that nigger hit her. Can you imagine hitting that gorgeous creature?’
   “We know all about that, John.” I said wearily.
   “And you’re not charging him with the murders?”
   “That’s right.” Nick said. “Because we haven’t proved the murder weapon belongs to him.”
   “So --- maybe you think it belongs to me.”
   “We didn’t say that.” Nick corrected. “But until we can prove beyond a doubt that the weapon was Rowland’s, you are still a suspect.”
   “All right. All right!” Carver put his head in his hands again.
   “Let’s go, John.” Nick said. “When you get to the station you can phone your lawyer.”
   After a long pause Carver stood up. His face was red and his eyes had all but vanished within their sockets. He took a deep breath, then asked me unexpectedly, “Why don’t you question Margo Blair? She and Kate hated each other.”
   Neither Nick nor I responded. Foley took Carver by the elbow and led him away from his desk.
   “Margo was jealous of her sister’s looks.” Between the saliva, the tears, and the sweat, Carver’s face was a mess.
   “Margo is very attractive.” I said defensively. You fat fuck!
   “Kate was more than attractive. I’ve worked with beautiful people all my life. I’ve never met anyone like Kate.” Carver wouldn’t quit. “Did you know Margo was disinherited from her father’s will?”
   “Yes.” My entire body was raging. “We know that.”
   Nick and I had Carver between us in the hall. I was dying to kick him in the balls.
   “Margo always had the responsible jobs --- the steady employment.” Carver went on mockingly. “Margo was so --- so fucking stable with her feet solid on the ground. Kate hated her for that!”
  “How do you know all this, John?” Nick asked calmly.
   He raised his chins back. “Kate confided in me. She told me --- things.”
   “Did all the other girls around here confide in you too?” I asked.
   “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
   “Where’d you bang ‘em, Carver? Between the parallel bars?” I knew I was out of line, but I said it anyway.
   “Okay, Manny. Enough!” Nick turned back to Carver. “I understand your deep concern in trying to see that justice is served. But for now, deal with your own problems.”
   Nick opened the car door and pushed Carver into the back seat. I sat next to him.
   As Nick sped away from the curb, Carver leaned forward and said softly, “Actually, I --- I only dabbled in drugs. I never --- “
   “Bullshit!” Nick roared. “No one dabbles in drugs!”
   “Why don’t you cuff me?”
   “Don’t get cute, Carver.” I’d had it with this fat-assed prick. “But I must admit the thought makes my mouth water!”
   “We’ll cuff you only if you resist arrest.” Nick explained from the front seat.
   “But I’m not --- see. I’m being very cooperative. I --- “
   “Carver.” Nick added. “When we get downtown, you better call your lawyer!”
*


  
 
XXXIV

   It was a gloomy Thursday in mid December. The sun hadn’t been out in a week and the temperature dropped drastically to the low forties. It had drizzled for two days, so the cold damp air made my joints ache. Winter weather was around the corner and I dreaded it. And to add to the overall distress of my meager existence, the Browns, after winning the opener against Dallas, dropped four straight close ones in a row!
   On this particular chilly day Nick and I were the only ones brave enough to confront Mother Nature and sit outside at one of the outdoor tables at Junior’s Deli. All the other tables were vacant and wet.
   “It’s cold and damp out here, Manny.” He took a big bite of his corned beef sandwich. “How the hell did I ever let you talk me into eating lunch outside?”
   “Put some adventure in your dull life, Nick.” I smiled.
   “My life is far from dull.” He failed to return the smile. “Next week I go back to work --- officially, that is. Some joke, huh?” Only he didn’t laugh. “I got enough adventure in my life without --- this. Thank you very much!” He washed his sandwich down with cream soda.
   “This pastrami is fantastic.” I boasted as I watched it drip onto the table.
   The waiter came over to see how we were doing, rubbing his hands together feverishly. I assured him that we were fine --- cold and wet, but fine. He filled our water glasses, smiled and left.
  The uneasy tranquility was punctured as a lone couple trudged along the deserted sidewalk. The man was maybe in his mid sixties, tall and distinguished looking, with white hair and a white mustache. The woman was much younger with high heels, a very tight skirt a foot above her
knees and loaded with makeup. The relationship was obvious. We both put down our sandwiches and just stared.
   “Manny, I told you over the phone that I didn’t feel like discussing the case right now.”
   “That was over the phone. I thought maybe face to face you’d feel different.”
   A sudden breeze attacked us. It was as if a sheet of ice penetrated my body.
   “Well, I don’t.” Nick hunched his shoulders. “Jesus! I am freezing.”
   “Why don’t you want to talk about the case?” I wasn’t letting go.
   “I have my reasons, okay?” Nick glanced at his watch.
   “Come on, old buddy.” I pasted a Nick Foley smile on my kisser. “Just tell me what’s going on with Herb Rowland.”
   “Manny --- “ Nick took a deep breath. When he saw I wasn’t giving in, he said resignedly, “I
 got a call from Rowland’s attorney early this morning.”
   “What did the shyster say?” I took a final bite of the pastrami and washed it down with water.
   Nick sighed. “He said we had no case.” Foley pushed his half-eaten sandwich to the side. “Hell, I knew that. No sense kidding ourselves.” He took a sip of water. “The murder weapon isn’t registered to Rowland. We don’t know who the hell it belongs to!”
   “But it was in his possession.” I offered.
   “It could have been planted. We have no proof. There are no witnesses to place Rowland at or even near the scenes of any of these crimes. And there are no fingerprints --- anywhere!”
   I waited for Foley to continue. But instead he began to move the saltshaker back and forth.
   When he finally did respond, I realized he wasn’t making eye contact.
   “Manny, the legal system requires proof. I know the piece was in his apartment --- not good enough. I know he’s an ex-con --- not good enough. I know people heard him threaten Kate and even hit her --- hearsay. Not good enough!”
   “So you’re telling me Rowland is innocent?” I was getting pissed.
   “Manny, I am freezing my gonads off. Can we --- “
   I cut him off. I couldn’t let go. “If the thirty-eight was a plant, who planted it?”
   Nick shrugged. His attention remained focused on the saltshaker.
   “Who planted the thirty-eight?” I repeated more emphatically.
   “Manny --- “ He began to slowly massage his forehead. “I don’t know. Look, it was too easy. An anonymous tip, a murder weapon conveniently showing up exactly where indicated, the intended victim a three time loser --- a perfect choice, no less.”
   “Bullshit!” I spoke louder than I meant to, and a young woman with a baby in her arms threw me an angry glance as she crossed the street.
   “And besides all that,” Foley went on, “on October second Herbie says he was sleeping it off. He claims he never left the apartment that night.”
   “We only have his word for that. Is there any one to confirm that alibi?”
   “No.” Nick answered coldly. “And there’s no one to deny it either.”
   “What about his whereabouts on the night Warner was murdered?”
   “Good question. He was in jail on a drunk and disorderly charge.”
   “But according to Morales, Warner could have been killed the night before the date on his autopsy or the night after. He said the report was accurate to within twenty-four hours.”
   “Forget it, Manny. We have no case against Rowland other than circumstantial.”
   I took a deep breath. “I won’t even bother to ask where he was when Martha was murdered.”
   “It doesn’t matter. I told you, we have no case.”
   I lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag, then let it out slowly. “So we can’t hold him. Is that what you’re saying?”
   “Not according to his attorney.” Nick looked at his watch again.
   Two diesel Greyhound buses sped by noisily. We had to wait five minutes before we could resume our conversation.
   “Have you heard anything from ballistics?” I finished my water.
   “You’re not giving up, are you?”
   I answered quickly. “No.”
   He hesitated a moment. “They called me early this morning.”
   “Boy. Busy morning.” I took another drag.
   Another sheet of ice tore through my body. I knew Nick had to have felt it too.
   “The tire tracks at the cemetery appear to be from a large vehicle.”
   “Like Carver’s Blazer. I know, Nick. We’ve discussed it.”
   “The tracks were old and distorted. Randy Miller, the young hotshot from Detroit, thinks it was from a tire sized --- “ Nick took out his notebook and turned several pages. “ --- 265-75-16. But that’s only an educated guess. Randy won’t swear it will hold up in a court of law.”
   I put out my cigarette on the wet pavement. “Nick, I got a feeling you’re going to tell me that John Carver is no longer a murder suspect.”
   “Manny, I told you I’m freezing. I told you I don’t want to discuss this case right now.”
   “Look, Nick.” I went on anyway. “Is Carver a suspect, or isn’t he?”
   I waited for what seemed like light years before Nick responded.
   “Personally, I think Carver is far too weak to commit murder. Vice, yes. Corruption, yes. Murder --- no.” Nick put the saltshaker next to the sugar bowl. “He doesn’t own a gun, and once again there are no fingerprints or witnesses. And on top of that his wife will corroborate his alibis.”
   “Carver is an asshole!”
   “I agree.” Nick still had not made eye contact with me. “But being an asshole isn’t a crime.”
   I began to feel more uncomfortable because Nick was definitely not acting like himself . He was cold and aloof. I needed a quick confrontation. But it would have to wait for the right moment.
   “John Carver will go to jail for trafficking drugs and running a whorehouse. But he’s not a killer.” Nick finished his water. “True, he had a motive. But it’s a very weak case. We have less on Carver than we have on Rowland. Even a half-assed second rate lawyer could get Carver off.”
   I took out a fresh cigarette and fondled it for several moments before lighting up.
   “What about Reid Carlson? He had a damn good motive. He said he was glad she was dead. She made his life a living hell. Those were his exact words. He had to avoid any chance of a scandal.” I pushed my empty water glass to the side. “And he also lied about the cufflinks.”
   “Manny, I gotta go.” Nick was panting like he had just run the Boston Marathon.
   “Tell me about Carlson first.” I was wearing us both out, but it didn’t stop me.
   There was another long pause before he responded. “When ballistics called this morning --- “ Nick continued to talk to the saltshaker. “ --- they ruled out Carlson’s thirty-eight.”
   “They what?” I took a light puff, then out of frustration hurled my cigarette into the street. “When were you going to tell me?”
   “I was going to call you, but I know how much you love your fucking beauty sleep.”
   “I appreciate that.” I took a final bite of the pastrami.
   “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s all a mute point. He was out of town during all three homicides.”
   “Maybe he hired someone --- a hit man.”
   “Nah! I just have this gut feeling about Carlson, that he’s totally innocent.”
   “Gut feelings are bullshit, Nick. No one knows that better than you. Let’s deal with the facts.”
   “That’s the problem, Manny.” Now he looked at me for the first time since we sat down. “There aren’t any.”
   The waiter suddenly emerged and looked at Foley’s half-eaten sandwich.” Was everything satisfactory?”
   “Oh --- “ Nick stammered. “ --- I --- I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”
   The waiter filled the water glasses and removed the dirty dishes.
   “You left out a suspect.”

   “I did?”
   “Margo.”
   “Margo.” He nodded. “I guess I did.”
   “Was it intentional?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond. “She did have a strong motive. I mean --- I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be disinherited. And two mil buys a lot of shit.”
   Nick squinted and looked around him. “This damn weather is tearing me apart. I think --- “
   “But I can’t see her as the type that would kill her own sister.”
   “Manny, you know as well as I do that there are no types.”
   “And besides, she was in Dallas when --- “ I caught myself. She’d gotten back in town on Sunday at around five o’clock. If the dates were correct, Margo had no alibi.
   There was an unusually long and awkward silence. It was time. “Nick, tell me what’s bugging you for Christ’s sake? I mean other than your suspects all seem to be vanishing.” I tried to make light of it. It didn’t help. “Since when don’t you finish a sandwich?” I waited for a response. I got none. I continued to speak to the top of his head. “I sense something here. I have ever since you had dinner at Bea’s two weeks ago. Now what gives?”
   The waiter put the check on the table scaring the hell out of me. That’s how intense I was.
   “Manny, everyone I’ve met since I became involved in this fucking case is innocent except --- “
   There was a pause that seemed to go on for eons.
   “Except --- who?”
   Nick just stared at me. New lines appeared on his weatherbeaten face. The bags under his eyes were sprouting their own bags.
   “Ask me tomorrow.” He said wearily.
   “Tomorrow?”
   “I’ll have all the reports by then and I’ll know for sure.”
   “Know what?”
   Nick took a deep breath. “I just hope to hell I’m wrong!”
   “Wrong about what? What the hell are you talking about?”
   There was another lengthy pause before Nick responded. “Don’t ask me any more questions, okay?”
   “No. It’s not okay!”
   An elderly couple rode by on a bicycle built for two. They wore wool hats, wool scarves and heavy looking leather jackets. I hadn’t seen a bicycle built for two in years. It distracted me momentarily.
   “Do you have a suspect you’re not telling me about?” I was frightened.
   Nick fumbled for a cigar. His hand was shaking.
   “I don’t get it, Nick. We’ve been friends for all these years. Since when haven’t we been able to talk?” I waited. There was no response. My fear mounted. “I thought we were working on this case together.”
   Nick turned to me, then stared for a long moment. His voice was barely audible. “This is different, Manny.”
   Once again Nick began to move the saltshaker back and forth.
   “What about Curt Warner? What about Martha Bowden?” I grabbed the saltshaker and threw it as far as I could. It landed across the street and rolled into the gutter. “Talk to me, God damnit! Did you learn something I don’t know about?” I had to find out. “Why are you holding out on me?”
   “Manny --- please!”
   A dirty looking man dressed in rags picked up the saltshaker, studied it then threw it back in the gutter.
    “Manny.” Nick stood up. His gaze was vacant. His bright eyes suddenly dull. “It’s much more involved.”
   I stood to face him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
   Nick clumsily picked up the check. “My treat.” He turned and left with no goodbye.

   I could feel my eyes drill into the back of his head until he turned the corner and was out of sight. Nick disappeared but his words remained.
   “I’ll have all the reports tomorrow. Then I’ll know for sure. I just hope to hell I’m wrong!”
*
   
   
  
     
 
XXXV

    “This tea needs sugar.” I took a sip.
   “Sugar is fattening.”
   “You sound like my sister.”
   “Manny.” Margo put down the tray with the iced tea on top of the coffee table. “What exactly did your friend, Nick, say?”
   I put my cup down and we locked eyes. “He said he would know for sure tomorrow, and --- “
   “And --- what?”
   “He said he hoped he was wrong.” Our eyes remained locked.
   “Wrong?” Her stare was probing.
   “But actually, it was more what he didn’t say.” Our eyes unlocked as I took the pitcher and filled both our glasses. “He was evasive and aloof --- and argumentative. Those are traits you just don’t associate with Nick Foley.”
   Margo took a sip. “So maybe he’s changed.”
   “Nah! I’ve known him too long. Nick is direct. You always know where you stand with him.” I started to take a sip and stopped with the glass in mid air. “He said I shouldn’t ask him about certain things.”
   “ --- then I’ll know for sure. I just hope to hell I’m wrong!”
   “Sounds familiar.” Margo took a slow sip. Her big brown eyes were boring a hole in my forehead. She didn’t need any makeup or Giorgio to turn me on. She came over to the couch and sat next to me.
  “Does he think I did it?” She looked angry, frightened and confused all at the same time.
   “I don’t know.” Her skin reminded me of Lake Buck at its very calmest. “I told you he was evasive.”
   But I did know!
   “Manny.” She looked at me. I met her gaze instantly. Her brown eyes got browner as she softened her tone. “What do you think?”
   I just hope to hell I’m wrong!
   “It doesn’t matter what I think.” I sat closer to her. Our faces were inches apart. “Foley will have the last bet, not me.”
   “Manny,” I could feel her warm breath on my lips. “I want to know what you think.”
   I ran my hand softly across her eyebrows, moving a small strand of hair. “Come on, Margo. You know how I feel about you.” Then I kissed her gently on the lips. They were warm and moist.
   After a long pause, she smiled bashfully. “And just how do you feel about me?”
   I wasn’t prepared for that. I kissed her again --- harder. She didn’t resist.
   “Manny.” It was almost a whisper. “You didn’t answer my question.”
   “I want to take you in my arms and devour you.” I spoke with no hesitation. “I felt it the first time I saw you.” It seemed like a hundred years ago.
   She just looked at me as I reached for her breast. Again there was no resistance. I undid her blouse and we kissed long and hard. I hoped she wasn’t playing games with me. This was no time to ask We undid each other’s clothes quickly and made love slowly. It was terrific! The two of us lying naked on the floor of her apartment was the last thing I expected when I came over this evening. But it happened and I wasn’t one bit sorry.
   “Manny.” Margo sat up. Our mouths were almost touching. “Did we just make a mistake?”
   I shook my head. “No.” I kissed her nipple. “Is that what you think?”
   “No. I --- I don’t know.” She got dressed. “I am totally confused.”
   “Don’t be.” I put on my pants. “We both have to know it’s all going to work out for the best.”
   “ --- Then I’ll know for sure. I just hope to hell I’m wrong!”
   We lay down on our backs and stared at the mottled ceiling. Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
   “What if I am a cold blooded killer?” She whispered. Would you still want me?”
   “Margo. Don’t joke about it, okay?”
   “Sorry.” She thought a moment. “What if Nick thinks I am?”
   We both sat up and were suddenly eye to eye. “Let’s hope he doesn’t.”
   Margo suddenly started to cry. I held her tightly. She was trembling all over. The feel of her body next to mine sent shivers through me. I held her moist face in my hands and kissed it all over.
   “Margo, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
   She returned my kisses, gently at first, then slowly increasing with passion. We undressed and made love again. It was even better than the first time.
                                                 
   “When this ordeal is over,” I stroked her face as I spoke. “let’s go away someplace --- any place. Just the two of us.”
   She smiled and nodded. We both lay down on our backs again, her head nestled in my arm. I tried to savor the moment, but Foley’s words bellowed through my head.
   “ --- I just hope to hell I’m wrong!”
*
   
   
   
   
 
XXXVI

   The library at the forty year old fifth precinct was a recent addition, built only ten years ago. The eight-hundred square foot room was floor to ceiling books covering three walls. The fourth wall was reserved for vending machines for sandwiches, candy bars, soft drinks and coffee. Next to the machine was a microwave and small refrigerator. Several small tables and chairs were scattered all around haphazardly.
   The books were on law, jurisprudence, forensics, firearms and any other topic concerning law enforcement. The only window was behind the vending machine, and its shade was drawn. The carpeting was a dull indoor-outdoor charcoal gray.
   Near the front of the library was a large oval table at which Nick Foley was seated and reading a copy of ‘Body Trauma.’ He was the only one in the room and his back was to me.
   It was eight o’clock and very quiet.
   “Hello, Nick.” My heart pounded. “I got your message. It sounded urgent.”
   He didn’t answer at first. Then he slowly closed the book and turned toward me.
   “Hello, Manny.” He gestured to an empty chair across from him. “Sit down. Please.”
   He was wearing his usual three-piece suit. His jacket was open and his tie was undone. The vest pocket, as usual, was stuffed with cigars. He took one out and moved it toward his mouth, then changed his mind and put it back in his vest pocket.
   His manner conveyed a strange sort of politeness which was totally out of character for him. Something was terribly wrong.
   “Are you going to level with me or am I supposed to guess what the fuck is happening here?”
   The room was deathly still. The only sound I heard was my own heartbeat. I tried to force a smile, but couldn’t.
   Our eyes finally met. His were cold and distant. I felt he was staring through me, not at me.
   “Why so formal?” I asked lightly.
   He took off his tie and hung it over the chair. His eyes never left mine.
   “Nick, if this is about Margo, I think --- “
   “It’s not about Margo.” Foley reached under the table and came up with a red box. Then he put the box in front of me and folded his arms. “Manny, what I have to say isn’t pleasant.”
   We both stared at the box like we were in a trance.
   “You know who did it, right?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “That’s great. You said yesterday at Juniors that you --- “
   “Open the box and remove the contents.” Nick said grimly.
   I hesitated a moment, then opened it up and took out a thirty-eight caliber pistol. “This is Herb Rowland’s --- right?”
   Nick looked at me, then slowly shook his head.
   “I don’t get it.” But I did.
   “Manny.” Nick took a deep breath and leaned into me. His voice was almost a whisper. “What the hell were you thinking?”
   A glass inside me suddenly exploded and shot slivers through my entire body. Then I went numb. I knew exactly where he was heading
   “That piece doesn’t belong to Rowland, or Carlson or --- “ There was a long pause. We never lost eye contact. “That murder weapon belongs to you!”
   It was like my body was in the chair but I was floating somewhere out in space --- watching.
   “I know your fingerprints aren’t on it and it’s not registered to you. But you planted it in Rowland’s apartment. Herb Rowland was going to be your scapegoat.”
   I tried to speak, but couldn’t. It felt like there was a dish rag stuck in my throat. Sweat began to drip from every inch of my body.
   Foley continued anxiously. “I’m not a gambling man, but I would be willing to bet my next months salary that you have no valid alibis for the nights of the three murders in question.”
   I was getting dizzy. I gripped the sides of the chair steady myself.
   Nick took out another cigar. His hands were shaking. He threw the fresh cigar and watched it bust open as it hit the bookcase. “Goddamnit, Manny! Our families have been close forever!”
   He was close to tears. I had to turn away.
   “You sold me my first annuity. I lived through two of your screwed up marriages and messy divorces.” Then he leaned in close to me again. Now I was the one avoiding eye contact. He spoke softly. “We’ve been like brothers for twenty years. You’re Godfather to my second oldest son.” He paused to catch his breath and lick his lips. I continued to look away. “I feel like shit, Manny!”
   Nick sat back, turned his head, took out a clean handkerchief and blew his nose.
   There was another long pause. Two young cops came in and went directly to the vending machines. Nick and I watched absently as they each got a coke.
   “Hello.” One of them said.
   The other one just waved. They both had large smiles. I recognized the first one as the one in the interrogation room with Rowland. We both nodded and they quickly left.
   Foley put away his handkerchief, then took out another cigar from his vest pocket and began twisting it with his chubby fingers.
   “Early this morning, two ballistic reports came in.” He licked his lips again. “One was a large blowup of a snapshot I took from your family room the night I had dinner at your house.”
   “Some guest.” I said it hoping the humor could serve as rope for a drowning PI. It didn’t.
   Nick ignored the comment. “It took a long time to decipher the photo, but when we did --- “ He took the eight by ten glossy from a small round table behind him and laid it on the edge of the oval table for me to see. “--- you can see, in the background, a light fixture. The same fixture that was in Kate Blair’s bedroom.” Foley put his finger in the center of the photo. It wasn’t necessary. “That’s you, of course, standing in front of it.”
   I was soaked with sweat and my insides were going in all directions.
   “The tire marks taken at the old cemetery were another challenge.” Nick took out his handkerchief and wiped his neck and face. “The boys at the crime lab admit it’s only an educated guess, but they think the tracks were made about --- “ He put away his handkerchief and took out a small pink piece of paper. “ --- three weeks ago and --- “ He folded the paper. “ --- they were from a --- 265.75.16 size tire.” He put the paper away and again we were eye to eye. “We both know those are oversized tires.”
   “John Carver drives a Blazer.” I was shocked at my sudden composure. “A Blazer uses oversized tires.”
   Nick shook his head. “Carver didn’t kill anyone!” He took another breath. “On the other hand --- you drive a Silverado with --- “ He took out a large white paper from his inside jacket pocket. Nick was prepared. “ --- Dunlop 265.75.16 tires.”
   Foley tossed the receipt to me. I recognized my signature at once.
   “Lots of people drive Silverados --- with Dunlop tires.” I said defensively.
   “Not that many.” Nick pointed his finger at me. “Those tire marks were made by you!”
   Two more policemen came into the library. The were talking softly as they walked to the bookcase. One of them took a book off the shelf. The other went to the vending machine and got a Milky Way candy bar. Then they stood together in front of the bookcase and resumed their quiet conversation for several minutes.
   I was dying!
   They nodded to us and finally left.
   “I will admit that for a long time I thought it was Margo. She had motive and opportunity.”
   I didn’t argue this time. It was too late.
   “I was wrong.” He sighed deeply and sat back uncomfortably . “Okay, Manny. This is the scenario as I see it.”
   I needed a cigarette and a change of clothes. My heart continued to race.
   “You were in love with Kate Blair.” Foley got up, put both hands in his pockets and began to pace slowly around the table. “You met her several years ago at a writer’s conference.” He stopped and we faced each other. “Margo told me that in passing.” He paused another moment, then resumed his pacing. “Anyway, that was the start. You saw each other regularly for quite some time.” Nick stopped and we faced each other again. He had tears in his eyes. “Then you found out what she was.” He resumed his pacing. “So you confronted her. You wanted a monogamous relationship, which of course was impossible. You couldn’t stand to see her make it with pricks like Carver and Rowland.”
   The dizziness had gone. But the pounding in my chest remained.
   “Maybe she scoffed --- or even laughed at you.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face again. “She obviously defied you with a ‘take it or leave it’ attitude. But it really doesn’t matter what provoked you.”
   I couldn’t sit still much longer. I also couldn’t listen much longer.
   “So you took your thirty-eight --- “ Foley was behind me now. “ --- the one in the red box, and bashed her head in! I know you’re capable. I saw your true colors when we interrogated Rowland and Carver.” He sat back down. I had to turn away again. “You have a terrible temper and a real fucking mean streak. It’s a dark side of you I’ve never seen before.”
   I took the pack of cigarettes out of my shirt pocket. I could have used a drink right now.
   “Then you shot her! Don’t ask me why. I doubt if even you know. It was either your temper got the best of you or you wanted to make certain she was dead.” He softened his tone. “Manny, there was no way you were going to share her --- with anyone!”
   There was a long silence. I spoke up. “You’re grasping, ole buddy.” I lit up a cigarette, totally ignoring the large NO SMOKING sign in front of me. Nick was much too lost in thought to object.
   “Remember Kate’s address book?” He answered for me. “Of course you do. Do you also remember that there was a page missing?” He walked up to his desk. We were facing each other again. “The page was from the GHI section. I can’t prove it, but I bet your name is on it.”
   “Then Curt Warner finds out about you and Kate --- or maybe he saw you kill her. Or maybe Warner’s association made it a drug related homicide. It doesn’t matter what the reason was. The bottom line is you unloaded your thirty-eight into him.” Nick threw his arms in the air. “Here again --- unfortunately --- it is purely conjectural.”
   Two young cops entered. I quickly extinguished my cigarette without having taken that first puff. The two went to the vending machine. One got a Coke and the other got a coffee. They nodded to us and left.
   “And poor Martha Bowden.” Nick sat down on the edge of his desk. “Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She saw you at Kate Blair’s. She practically told you she saw you.” Nick shrugged. “So what’s another murder, huh? You got to her house just before we met there. You blew her away and then pretended to be shocked when we found the body.” He emitted a nervous laugh. “I got to admit, you covered your tracks pretty well. And speaking of tracks, the shoe print in her house was a size nine wing tip. You wear a size nine wing tip."
   "So do a lot of men."
   Nick nodded slowly. "And now I'll tell you the clincher." He leaned in toward me. "It took a lefty to shoot Kate, then smash her head in." He took out another cigar, looked at it and again put it back in his vest pocket. "The blood stains on the murder weapon, although tiny and fragmented, looked like Mount Rushmore under the microscope. And they were on the right side of the pistol."
   "Really." I was trapped.
   "It was the right side of Kate's head that was bashed in. A right handed person would have had to hold the piece upside down to produce the same result --- which is highly unlikely." Foley paused and scratched his the back of his neck. "And if a right handed person were to have shot Kate Blair, he would have had to stand almost at her side to do so. An awkward position at
best."
   "Maybe I'm ambidextrous." Now I was the one grasping.
   "Nope! You even reminded of how you blew me off the racquetball court with that powerful left hand of yours."
   "There are a lot of lefties out there." I had to get the hell out of here.
   "True. But I haven't met one in months --- let alone since I started working on this case."
   A siren suddenly pierced the intensity of the surroundings. We both jumped.
   "That’s why Morales and I have had such a problem trying to figure the trajectory of the bullets. All along we're thinking --- right handed. But the bullets went through her chest at such an angle that only a lefty could have shot her. Face to face by a lefty fits perfectly."
   "So this was your big secret at Junior's?" I asked.
   Nick nodded. "Yes. I was fairly certain but I wanted to be proof positive."
   "You got it all figured out, don't you?" I was furious at myself for being so stupid!
   "And then you dumped her body at this Godforsaken cemetery that no one ever goes to. I assumed you put Kate's body in the large plastic bag from your new waterbed --- since the bag did come from Waterbeds Inc. Then you hauled it there in your Silverado."
   "Let's face it, Nick. The story is good --- fiction. Everything is pure conjecture. There are no prints and no witnesses. Your evidence is shaky and your case is weak." I knew this was tough on him. I had hoped it wouldn't have to end like this. It was the very last thing I wanted. But I couldn't help him. Too much was at stake.

   "And finally," Nick said in desperation. "Your hair and skin were under her fingernails. She probably grabbed at you and got some of your skin when you killed her. And there's no doubt it's yours. Ballistics proved it."
   "So I knew her. So I dated her. So I fucked her! So what?" I stood up and went behind my chair, gripping it so tightly my knuckles turned white with pain. I couldn't believe any of this was happening. I was so fucking careful. "The hair and skin under Kate's nails could have come from any one of the many times I banged her!"
   Nick nodded resignedly. "I know. It was just more circumstantial evidence."

   I was thinking how glad I was that there was only the two of us when two cops came in and stood motionless on either side of the door.
   "She was truly the greatest piece of ass I ever had!" I had no control over the words leaving my mouth. It was a bizarre feeling. "I will tell you one thing, Nick. I had no idea she was so fucking heavy into drugs. I knew she did a little coke now and then, but not to the extent of having to get her nose lined with Teflon."
   The two cops continued to stand motionless --- almost at attention.
   "And I don't care what you say, Nick. There are a ton of people out there who are left handed and drive mini vans." I’d called his bluff and I’d won. I knew I had him, but I sure as hell didn't feel good about it. I had no intentions of celebrating. "You know damn well you have not one shred of concrete evidence. Your story is conjectural, your evidence is circumstantial and your case is nonexistent. No prints. No witnesses. No motive. No case!" Now I was shaking as much as Nick. "My van is clean and there is no way you can place me at any murder scene." I threw the butt of my cigarette into the waste basket. "You can't prove a fucking thing!"
   Nick's head hung forward.
   My eyes filled with tears. I wanted to hug my long time friend and tell him I loved him. But I didn’t. Instead I headed for the door.
   "I deny nothing and I admit nothing!" I glanced at the clock above the door. It was nine-thirty-five. I had just spent the longest hour of my life. "I would like to leave."
   The two cops looked at Nick. He nodded and they moved aside.
   I opened the door and turned back again. "I am impressed. You really did your homework." I then removed the smirk and said softly and sincerely, "Nick, you are one helluva cop!"
*












 
XXXVII

   Margo was waiting in the hall across from the library when I left Foley. Even with make-up she looked pallid. She was modestly dressed in a simple white blouse and plain black slacks. In spite of it all, she was still appealing. I hugged her, but she was unreceptive.
   When we got to the sidewalk, I took her hand. It was like reaching into the freezer.
   "My van is parked around the corner. We'll go to my house so I can pack. Bea is probably asleep and Arthur hasn't been home in two days, so we won't be disturbed."
   I continued to hold her hand as we turned away from the building. We paused for a moment and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There was only one obstacle in my path. After I cleared it, I would be free.
   The streets were unusually quiet and the sidewalks were empty. The stars peeked through the darkness only occasionally and there was no moon at all.
   "Then we'll swing by your apartment and you can get your things --- okay?" I could see Margo was reluctant to go with me. I was suddenly in the company of a total stranger. "You said you'd go with me."
   "I --- I know I did, but --- "
  "You don't seem very excited." Her hand was moist.
   She looked at me for the first time. Her eyes were dull. Then she sighed almost resignedly. "We'll take the T-Bird. I want to drive it one last time before it's sold. Call it sentiment."
   "I think we should take my Silverado. Kate's car is too small." I said it too quickly.
   "How did you know it was Kate's car?" Margo let go of my hand. "Today is the first day it's been out of the shop in two months. No one has seen this car until now."
   I was caught off guard. "You told me once that your sister drove a T-Bird."
   "I did?" She looked unconvinced.
   "Yes." I lied.
   Margo, puzzled, paused for a moment and looked around her dubiously. Then after a long hesitation, she finally got behind the wheel. I got in beside her and we drove off into the night.
   We drove in silence for several miles before I lit up a Camel. My hand was shaking. This wasn't going to be easy.
   "Turn left on Route Thirty-nine." I said.
   "Why? Aren't we going to --- ?"
   "Just do it, okay?"
   "Manny, I hate that road."
   I didn't respond. I didn't care. I took a long drag and exhaled slowly. The windows were down and the brisk night air was refreshing. All I could think of was my impending, new found freedom.
   "Manny, is this awful road really necessary?"
   "Yes. I have to clear my mind. Keep driving."
   We drove another mile in silence. I glanced in the rearview mirror. I got a strange vibe that we were being followed. Then the headlights disappeared. Maybe I'd imagined it. It didn't matter. The time had come.
   "Pull over --- " I pointed to a large clearing. " --- there."
   Now I could smell Giorgio. This was going to be tougher than I thought.
   "Where are we going, Manny? I thought --- "
   "I said, pull over!" I took out a thirty-eight and aimed it at her. She screamed. "Don't argue with me. Just do it!"
   I remembered pointing a pistol at her the first time we'd met. Only then I wouldn't have used it.
   "This is my other thirty-eight." I said menacingly. "But you already know that --- don't you!"
   Margo shakily pulled off the road and stopped where I had told her. The small secluded area had a lot of weeds and a few bare, scraggly trees. What little grass there was, was dead. It was mostly dirt and gravel.
   "We've been driving almost forty minutes and I'm still waiting for you to ask me about my meeting with Nick Foley." I expected a response but she chose to remain mute. So I continued. "But that really isn't necessary, is it? Because you had your little ear to the door --- right?" I pushed the gun against her nose. "Or maybe Nick has already filled you in on everything." She started to speak but I cut her off. "The point is you know!" I pushed the weapon against her harder. "You know everything. That's why you wouldn't ride with me in the Silverado. How could you possible sit with me in a van that once carried your sister's mutilated body?" I could hear her choked sobs and even in the dark I could tell she was trembling. Then I glanced in the rearview mirror. I could see the headlights again. "But you were going to go away with me anyway. Why?"
I put my hand up before she could speak. "Actually, it's not important. At least --- not now." The headlights were getting closer. I tossed my cigarette out the window and quickly lit another one with my free hand. I took a long drag and exhaled slowly. We both sat quietly in the darkness for one or two minutes. The smell of Giorgio was slowly fading.
   "When you first walked into my office, I swear to God I thought I was looking at a ghost. It was as if Kate Blair had risen from her grave. She had come back from the dead!" I knew I was talking because I could feel my lips move. But the words seemed to emanate from another galaxy. "And then I felt this immediate grand and powerful attraction. It was the same sensation as when I'd first seen Kate at that writer's conference in Kentucky some two years ago." I took another long drag. "Of course it wasn't you I was attracted to. It was Kate --- all over again."
   "Of course." Margo's words were barely discernible.
   "Or to be more exact," I expounded, "it was your resemblance to Kate that consumed me: the same color eyes, the same color hair, the same wonderful body. The similarity was overwhelming."
   There followed a long silence punctuated only by an occasional car speeding by.
   "I should never have taken the case. That was a serious mistake!" As I spoke, I kept my eyes and my weapon both rigidly pointed at her. "I mean --- I kill someone and then their sister comes to me for help in finding her. What are the odds of that occurring?" I didn't wait for an answer.
   "Astronomical, I would say!" My heart began to race so fast I was afraid it would leave my body. And it pounded so loudly, I could hear it. I was soaked with sweat and I could hardly breathe. "But I couldn't help it. I had to take the case. At that point I was sucked in like an elephant in quicksand!"
   There was another extended silence. Another car sped by.
  "Then as time went on and I got to know you, I thought if I could beat this thing maybe you and might have a chance after all --- maybe." I watched as most of my ash fell to the floor. "I tried my damnedest to develop some feelings for you. But it was an exercise in futility. I don't know what the hell I was thinking." I took one final drag and threw the butt out the window. "Oh --- it might have worked if Kate hadn't come into my life first. But that's a moot point, isn't it? Because she did!" Again I waited for a response and again I got none. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters!" I gripped the thirty-eight harder and got my face closer to hers. "Damn them! Damn all of them!" I fought back the tears as I spoke. "They all had to get in my way, didn't they? Curt Warner with his fucking greed! Martha Bowden with her fucking stupidity! If only they would have kept their fucking mouths shut!" I took a deep breath and softened my tone. "And now --- you."
   The headlights appeared to be less than one quarter mile away and closing in.
   "Why, Manny? Why?" She was crying hysterically. "Why did you have to kill her?"
   "Because she was a fucking whore!" I yelled in her ear. "I loved her. But you can't love a whore. Whores don't love you back!" Tears were pouring down my face. "I couldn't have Kate. No one could have her." Then I added mockingly, "And don't give me that 'I love my sister' crap! You knew what she was."
   "Kate was sick." Margo said unexpectedly.
   "I know. But it made no difference. Don't you see?" I knew my face was beet red. I felt like I was sitting under a heat lamp. "I still had to kill her." I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. "And now I have to kill you too."
   Margo suddenly reached for the door handle. I grabbed her by the neck with my right hand. The grip was weak but effective. She screamed. I pressed the barrel of the gun against her cheek.
   "Manny --- please --- "
   "I truly regret that it didn't work for us. But for what it's worth, next to Kate, I will always think of you as the most alluring woman I've ever met."
   "Manny --- " She was still crying and still trembling.
   "I'm sorry, Margo. This is very painful for me as I'm sure it is for you.” One second I wanted to blow her fucking brains out, and the next I wanted to hold her close and tell her how sorry I was.
“But you must understand that --- "
   "Don't do it, Manny." The familiar voice soared through the open window. "It's over. Put the piece down --- slowly."
   I could feel something hard against the back of my head. I knew it was Nick's gun. I was suddenly frozen to my seat.
   "Manny, I'm begging you. Let's not have another senseless killing." Nick continued evenly --- always in control. "She's wired, Manny. It's all on tape. Now drop the gun!"
   I swallowed hard. A large hairball was suddenly lodged in my throat.
   Wired! On tape!
   Nick was right --- as usual. Kate was the one I wanted. Margo was only a replacement. Margo came in second. It would be another senseless killing. And for what?
   I could feel my grip on the thirty-eight weaken. I dropped it harmlessly on the seat. Then I let go of Margo's neck. She jumped away and ran out of the car.
   Nick and another cop quickly cuffed me. I got dizzy and everything around me began to swim. It all happened so fast I couldn't orient myself. I could hear Nick's soft voice. It sounded miles away.
   "Like I said, Manny. It's over."
*











 

 Epilogue



   "Thanks for letting us wire you." Nick said. "I know it was risky."
   Nick was standing with Margo outside the police station in front of Kate Blair's T-Bird. It had been two days since Manny's arrest and both Nick and Margo were visibly drained. This was the first time they'd had a chance to talk.
   "I have to admit there were several times I came close to chickening out."
   "Thank Heaven you didn't." Then he added quickly. "And I'm sorry it took so long getting to you, but we had to make certain it was all on tape."
   "I understand." Margo took out a tissue and wiped her eyes. "So what will happen to Manny.?"
   Nick thought a moment. "He'll be convicted on three counts of murder and probably end up on death row. Then his attorney will file an appeal and everything will be put in limbo for --- God knows how long."
   Two motorcycles whizzed by.
   "What are you going to do?" Nick asked.
   "Well --- no immediate plans. I suppose I'll go back home and try to put my life back in order."
   "What about your job?"
   "I have contacts there." She put her tissue away. "I'll be all right."
   Nick took out a fresh cigar and studied it. "I guess I owe you an apology."
   "Oh --- I hold no grudges. I know you were just doing your job."
   Nick nodded slowly.
   "How did Manny's sister and brother-in-law take the news?" Margo asked.
   "His sister, Bea, is a basket case. His brother-in-law is a --- a putz!"
   "A what?"
   "A --- never mind."
   A silence seemed to go on for eons. Margo broke the spell.
   "It seems I was wrong about Herb Rowland and John Carver."
   "Well --- " Nick squinted as he unwrapped his cigar. " --- not entirely. They really are both worthless pieces of shit!"
   Margo opened the car door, then turned slowly towards Nick. "You'll miss him, won't you?"
   "I miss him already." Foley made no attempt to hide his grief as he wiped away the tears.
   Margo got behind the wheel and the engine suddenly came to life.
   "Maybe one day we'll meet again, Nick --- " She smiled. " --- under more pleasant conditions."
   Nick returned the smile. "If we do and it's in Cleveland, you're invited for dinner."
   Margo's smile widened. "Well, thank you."
   Nick finally put the cigar in the corner of his mouth. "My wife makes one helluva brisket."
   "I'm sure she does."
   Margo reached through the open window and she and Nick shook hands.
   "Goodbye, Nick."
   "Goodbye, Margo."

 

FINIS