None I could think of. I spent a few minutes preparing the parcel I would take with me, then bit the bullet and got to it. I walked around until I found the Mercury Sable, opened its door, diddled its ignition, and drove it the nine or ten miles to Riverdale, found Devonshire Close without getting lost, and parked the car not in Mapes's driveway-the unfamiliar noise of a car in their own driveway might wake Mapes or his wife-but two blocks away. I walked the two blocks, well aware of the impossibility of appearing innocent walking residential streets at that hour. I went up the driveway to the side door, and looked longingly at it. I'd set the alarm to bypass that door, and unless someone had noticed, it was still like that. But I couldn't find out without opening the door, and if they'd changed the setting-well, that was a sentence I didn't want to finish.

That left the milk chute. Let's just say I didn't get stuck this time. Not on the way in, and not on the way out, either.

I drove home, parked the car right where I'd found it-who'd grab a parking space away from me at that hour? I got myself home, exchanged a friendly word with Edgar, and went straight to bed.

Thirty-Five

Bern, I hate to say it, but you don't look so hot."

"That's good."

"It is?"

"I don't feel so hot, either, and I'd just as soon be consistent. I ran myself ragged until daybreak, and I was tired enough to sleep until nightfall, but I made myself set the alarm and forced myself to get out of bed when it rang. Don't ask me how."

"I won't," she said. We were at the Poodle Factory. I'd opened up at eleven, having stopped on my way down to pick up a new prepaid cell phone on 23rd Street. I made a few calls with it, then picked up lunch at Two Guys from Kandahar, and brought Carolyn up to date while we ate.

She said she couldn't believe I'd gotten so much done in one night, and when I thought about it, neither could I. "I kept wanting to call it quits," I said. "When the poor bastard showed up from Twenty-four/Seven Pizza, I wanted to walk in there, pay him for it, take it home, eat it, and go to bed."

"Instead you broke into Mapes's office. Swipe any drugs while you were there?"

"I told you, I didn't take anything."

"You went through all that just to look at his appointment book."

"I had to, in order to schedule things. I couldn't set up a big showdown at a time when he was going to be busy giving some kid from Larchmont a new nose in time for her Sweet Sixteen party. I needed to know his schedule before I did anything else."

"And you called him this morning? How did you know what to say?"

"I didn't. I played it by ear. 'Mapes? I think you know who this is.' And evidently he thought so, too, because we went on from there."

"Was that the voice you used, Bern? Were you trying to sound like anybody in particular?"

I thought about it. "Maybe Broderick Crawford," I said. "Playing a heavy, not being one of the good guys inHighway Patrol. Basically I was trying to sound menacing."

"Well, you picked a good voice for it. Did you use it for the other calls?"

"No, because I wasn't sure menacing was the way to go. With some of them I wanted to sound ingratiating, and with others I just wanted to sound like a reasonable man with a reasonable proposition. It was strange, because I was calling people I didn't know."

"Telemarketers do that all the time, Bern."

" 'Hello, Mr. Quattrone. How are you today?' "

"I know, I can't figure out why they do that. The only person who ever starts a conversation by asking me how I am is some dimwit on Montserrat trying to sell me a time share in Omaha."

"Are you sure it's not the other way around? The thing is, they want you to think they're having a conversation with you, but most of them have never had one, so they're at a loss. I was at a loss of my own, because I was cold-calling people without knowing whether they were interested in what I had to sell. If not, I just wanted to move on to somebody else. The hard part was deciding whether they were expressing genuine bafflement or just playing dumb. Anyway, I told them the time and the place, and we'll see who shows up."

"How many people are coming?"

I hauled out my list. "The names with a check mark are ones I called this morning. I'll ask Ray to round up the ones with a star."

"Hey, I'm on the list. You want me there?"

"Of course."

"How come I don't get a check mark or a star?"

"Because I didn't call you this morning," I said patiently, "and I didn't think it would be necessary to have Ray bring you. I figured I'd just tell you about it, and you'd come."

"No problem," she said, scanning the list. " 'Barbara Creeley.' I guess you'll tell her, right? She's a lawyer, she's got meetings and closings all the time. Will she be able to come?"

"I hope so. It's not a dealbreaker if she can't, but I'd like to have her there."

" 'GurlyGurl.' You putLacey on the list? And how come you wrote down her screen name?"

"Because I didn't get much sleep last night and I'm a little rocky this morning and I couldn't think of her damn name."

"Don't bite my head off, Bern."

"I'm sorry. I thought you might like having her there, and it might be interesting for her. She's not tied into any of it, but there's a coincidental connection in that she works with Barbara. I figured it would be up to you to invite her, and it's your call to make. Personally, I'd just as soon have a lot of people in the room."

"Should I bring my cats? Just a little joke, Bern."

"Ha-ha."

"Man, you're nicer company when you've had a full night's sleep, aren't you? This is a long list, isn't it? Let's see who else is on it."

"This here is some list," Ray Kirschmann said. "How you gonna fit 'em all in this guy's house?"

Just bring them in through the milk chute, I thought. "It's a big house," I said. "Anyway, they're probably not all going to come. Some of the people I invited sounded as though they didn't know what I was talking about, and they'll probably find something else to do tomorrow afternoon."

"Weather report says there's a fifty percent chance of rain tomorrow," he said, "which is a lot like sayin' they don't know what the hell it's gonna do. Rain or shine, that's a lot of people to send clear up to the Bronx. I never heard of the street. ' Devonshire Close.' Close to what, Bernie?"

"Close to Ploughman's Bush," I said, "if that helps. They call it a close because it's closed at one end."

"You mean like a dead-end street? Why not come out and say so?"

"I suppose they could have," I said, "but I guess the developers felt it would be harder to sell houses on Devonshire Dead End."

"Either way, it's a Roach Motel for cars. They get in but they can't get out. I don't know if that's good or bad."

"I don't either, Ray. I'm starting to have third thoughts about the whole business."

"You mean second thoughts, don't you?"

"I already had those. I've taken it to the next level. The whole thing could fizzle."

"You mean you might not come up with a rabbit?"

"I'm not even sure I've got a hat."

He looked troubled, perhaps imagining how he'd come out of it if my magic act fell flat. Then he brightened. "Aw, you'll pull it off, Bernie. You always do. An' if you don't, well, hell, there's names on this list we could just arrest on general principles."

I made some more phone calls during the rest of Tuesday afternoon, and even went out to issue a couple of invitations in person. I met Carolyn at the Bum Rap, talked some more about the following day's agenda, and went straight home. I was in bed by 7:45, and asleep by 7:46. I slept the clock around, waking up a few minutes after eight.