SIXTEEN

Matt left the Police Administration Building and found his car. The interior lights were on. Because, he saw, the door was ajar.

Christ, was I so plastered when I came here that I not only didn’t lock the car, but didn’t even close the damned door? No wonder Milham was worried if I was all right to drive.

Or did somebody use a Car Thief’s Friend and open the door? Did I leave anything inside worth stealing?

He pulled the door fully open and stuck his head inside.

There was no sign of damage; the glove compartment showed no sign that anyone had tried to force it open.

I deduce that no attempt at Vehicular Burglary has occurred. I am forced to conclude that I was shitfaced when I drove in here. Shit!

There was a white tissue on the floor under the steering wheel.

Penny’s Kleenex. With her lipstick on it.

He picked it up and looked at it.

What the hell do I do with it? Throw it away? I don’t want to do that. Keep it, as a Sacred Relic? I don’t want to do that, either.

He patted his pocket and found a book of matches.

He unfolded the Kleenex, struck a match, and set the Kleenex on fire. He held it in his fingers until that became painful, and then let what was left float to the ground. He watched until it was consumed and the embers died.

Then he got in the Porsche and drove out of the Roundhouse parking lot.

His stomach hurt, and he decided that was because he still hadn’t had anything to eat. He drove over to the 1400 block of Race Street where he remembered a restaurant was open all night. He ordered two hamburgers, changed his mind to three hamburgers, a cup of coffee, a large french fries, and two containers of milk, all to go.

Then he got back in the Porsche and drove home.

The red light was blinking on his answering machine. He was tempted to ignore it, but finally pushed the Play Messages button.

Predictably, there was a call from his mother, asking if he was all right. And one from his father, same question. And there were seven No Message blurps; someone had called, and elected not to leave a message.

He opened the paper bag from the St. George Restaurant and started to unwrap a hamburger.

The telephone rang.

He debated answering it, but finally ran and grabbed it just before the fifth ring, which would turn on the answering machine.

“Hello?”

There was no reply, but someone was on the line.

“If you’re going to talk dirty to me, please start now,” Matt said.

There was a click and the line went dead.

“Fuck you, pal,” Matt said, hung the telephone up, and went back to the hamburger.

The telephone rang again.

“Goddamn it!”

He snatched the phone from the wall and remembered at the last moment that the caller, this time, might be his mother, and one did not scream obscenities at one’s mother.

“Hello?”

And again there was no reply.

“Oh, goddamn it!”

“Were you asleep?” It was a female voice.

Jesus Christ! Amanda?

“Amanda?”

“I was worried about you,” Amanda said.

“I’m all right.”

“I knew this was going to be a bad idea. I told myself you would be all right.”

“I’m glad you called,” he said. “What was going to be a bad idea? Jesus, it’s quarter after three. Was that you on the machine? You called and didn’t leave a message?”

There was no reply, which told him it had indeed been Amanda who had called and elected not to leave a message.

“How long have you been trying to reach me?”

“I got here about eleven,” she said, very softly.

“Where’s here? Home?”

“No.”

“Where are you?”

“In the Warwick Hotel.”

“The Warwick? I thought you were staying with Chad?”

“I was. They put me on the train at seven.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What happened is that I kicked myself most of the way to Newark for being afraid what Chad and Daffy would think if I told him I was worried about you and wanted to see you. So I got off in Newark and came back. At the time, it seemed like a reasonable idea.”

“Jesus, that was nice of you,” he said.

“I haven’t had anything to eat,” she said. “Damn you. Where were you?”

“On the job. Working.”

“I should have guessed that,” she said. “I thought maybe you were out getting sloshed.”

“I started to,” he said. “And then I decided I’d better go to work.”

There was a long pause, and then she said:

“This is your town. Is there someplace I can get something to eat this time of the morning?”

“How about a lukewarm hamburger and some limp french fries?”

There was another long pause.

“You mean at your place?”

“I stopped off at a restaurant on my way home,” he said.

“I’m so hungry I’m tempted to accept,” Amanda said. “But knowing you, you’d get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, hell, I wouldn’t-Jesus, Amanda!”

“All I want to be is your friend, Matt, OK? I thought you could use one.”

“Absolutely. I understand. Nothing else ever entered my mind.”

“OK. As long as you understand that.”

“I do. Perfectly. Look, you want me to bring the hamburger there?”

“No,” she said, after a just-perceptible pause. “I know where you live. Give me ten, fifteen minutes. I have to get dressed again. The last call was going to be the last call.”

“I’ll come get you.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Amanda said, and hung up.

“I will be damned,” Matt thought aloud. “That was really very nice of her.”

He went back to the table, took knives and forks and salt and pepper and plates from cabinets, and laid them on the table. Then he got a pot from under the sink and poured the coffee into it.

At least I can offer her hot coffee!

Then he went into the living room and sat down in his chair. While I wait, I’ll take a look at this stuff:

When Detective Wally Milham pushed open the door of the Red Robin Diner at Frankford and Levick it was nearly empty, and for at least fifteen seconds, which seemed like much longer, he couldn’t find Helene Kellog. But then he saw her, in a booth halfway down the counter, staring into a coffee cup on the table.

She had a kerchief around her head, and was wearing a cotton raincoat.

He walked quickly to the booth and slid onto the seat facing her.

“Hi,” he said.

She looked up at him and smiled wanly, but didn’t speak, and when he touched her hand, she pulled it away.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he said.

“My mother came into my room. I hadn’t heard the phone ring, it’s downstairs in the hall. And she told me I had a call-”

“When was this?”

“Just before I called you.”

“You were in bed?”

“Of course I was in bed. It was…God, I don’t know. Late. Of course I was in bed. Everybody was in bed. My mother had to get out of bed to answer the phone…”

“Take it easy, honey,” Milham said gently.

“I’m frightened, Wally.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“He said, he said, ‘Keep your…’ Wally, he said, ‘Keep your fucking mouth closed, bitch, or you’ll get the same thing your fucking husband did.”

“Sonofabitch,” Milham said. “Did you recognize the voice?”

Helene shook her head.

“Honey, do you know something about-what your husband was doing, something dirty, that you haven’t told me?”

“No. But, Wally, they must know I went to see Sergeant Washington.”

“You did what?”

“Oh, God, I didn’t tell you, did I?”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

“That I went to see Sergeant Washington.”

“No, you didn’t,” Milham said. “What exactly did you tell Washington?”

“I told him that the Narcotics Five Squad is all dirty, that Jerry was dirty, and that they probably are the ones who killed him.”

“Jesus!”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to involve you,” Helene said.

“Honey, I’m involved,” Wally said, and added, “You’re probably right. Somebody knows you talked to Washington. What did you do, call him up?”