"Got it," he said. "Well, no problem, then. And we'll put out a pickup order just in case he happens to walk into our arms."
I called Anita and told her I'd be staying in the city around the clock for the next few days. I told her I was on a case I couldn't break away from. I'd done this before, sometimes legitimately, sometimes because I hadn't felt like going out toLong Island . As always, she believed me, or pretended to. Then I cleared all of my own cases, dropping some and shunting others off on other people. I didn't want anything else on my plate. I wanted to get James Leo Motley, and I wanted to get him right.
I told Elaine we'd have to trap Motley and she'd have to be the bait.
She wasn't crazy about the idea, didn't really ever want to be in the same room with him again, but she had a nice tough core to her and she was willing to do what had to be done.
I moved in with Elaine and we waited. She canceled all her bookings and told everyone who called that she had the flu and wouldn't be available for a week. "This is costing me a fortune," she complained.
"Some of these guys may never call back."
"You're just playing hard to get. They'll want you all the more."
"Yeah, look how well that worked with Motley."
We never left the apartment. She cooked once, but the rest of the time we ordered in. We pretty much lived on pizza and Chinese food.
The liquor store delivered bourbon, and she got the guy at the corner deli to send over a case of Tab.
Two days into it, Motley called. She answered in the living room and I picked up the extension in the bedroom. The conversation went something like this:
Motley: Hello, Elaine.
Elaine: Oh, hello.
Motley: You know who this is.
Elaine: Yes.
Motley: I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.
Elaine: Uh-huh.
Motley: Well? Are you?
Elaine: Am I what?
Motley: Are you all right?
Elaine: I guess so.
Motley: Good.
Elaine: Are you—
Motley: Am I what?
Elaine: Are you coming over?
Motley: Why?
Elaine: I just wondered.
Motley: Do you want me to come over?
Elaine: Well, I'm all alone. It's sort of lonesome here.
Motley: You could go out.
Elaine: I haven't felt like it.
Motley: No, you've been staying home all the time, haven't you?
Are you afraid to go out?
Elaine: I guess so.
Motley: What are you afraid of?
Elaine: I don't know.
Motley: Speak up. I can't hear you.
Elaine: I said I don't know what I'm afraid of.
Motley: Are you afraid of me?
Elaine: Yes.
Motley: That's good. I'm glad to hear that. I'm not coming over now.
Elaine: Oh.
Motley: But I'll be over in a day or two. And I'll give you what you need, Elaine. I always give you what you need, don't I?
Elaine: I wish you would come over.
Motley: Soon, Elaine.
When he'd hung up I went back to the living room. She was on the leather sofa and she looked exhausted. She said, "I felt like a bird charmed by a snake. I was acting, of course. Trying to make him think he'd broken my spirit and he really did own me, body and soul. Do you think he bought it?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I. It sounded as though he did, but maybe he was acting, too, playing my game with me. He knows I haven't left the apartment. Maybe he's watching it."
"It's possible."
"Maybe he's perched up somewhere with a pair of binoculars, maybe he can see in my fucking windows. You know something? I was pretending, but I wound up half convincing myself. It's like the rapture of the depths, it would be so goddamned easy to let go of my will and just drown. You know what I mean?"
"I think so."
"How do you suppose he got in? The other day, when I was fucking Whatsisname at the Sherry. He got past the doorman and then he got in the door. How did he do that?"
"It's not that hard to get past a doorman."
"I know, but they're pretty good here. And what about the door?
You said there weren't any signs of forced entry."
"Maybe he had a key."
"How would he get a key? I for sure didn't give him one, and I'm not missing any."
"Did Connie have a key to your place?"
"What for, to water the plants? No, nobody had a key. You don't even have a key. You don't, do you?
I never gave you one, did I?"
"No."
"I certainly never gave one to Connie. How did he get in? I've got a good lock on that door."
"Did you lock it with the key when you left?"
"I think so. I always do."
"Because if you didn't engage the deadbolt he could have loided his way with a credit card. Or maybe he picked up your key long enough to make an impression in wax or soap. Or maybe he picks locks."
"Or maybe he just used his fingertips," she offered, "and pushed the door open."
My fourth night there, the phone rang at a quarter to four. I'd gone to sleep some two hours earlier, my
gut full of Early Times and my whole system ragged with cabin fever. I heard the phone ring and willed myself awake, but my will wasn't strong enough to push through the fog. I thought I was awake but my body stayed in Elaine's bed and my mind in some sort of dream, and then Elaine was shaking me and urging me awake, and I threw back the covers and got my legs over the side of the bed.
"That was him on the phone," she said. "He's coming over." I asked what time it was and she told me. "I said give me an hour, a girl wants to look her best. He said half an hour, that should be plenty of time for me. He's on his way, Matt. What do we do now?"
I had her call the doorman and let him know she was expecting a guest. Send Mr. Motley right up, she told him, but be sure to ring and tell her he was on his way. She hung up and went into the bathroom, stood under the shower for two minutes, toweled off and started to get dressed. I don't remember what she chose, but she tried on a couple of different outfits, complaining about her own indecision all the while.
"This is crazy," she said. "You'd think I was getting ready for a date."
"Maybe you are."
"Yeah, a fucking date with destiny. Are you all right?"
"I'm a little slow off the mark," I admitted. "Maybe you could get some coffee going."
"Sure."
I got dressed, putting on the clothes I'd taken off two hours ago, the clothes I'd been wearing for the better part of a week. I generally wore a suit on the job in those days— I still do, more often than not—and I put it on. I had trouble getting my tie tied right and made two attempts before the inanity of it struck me and I pulled the tie out from under my collar and tossed it on a chair.
I had the .38 the city issued me in a shoulder holster. I drew it once or twice, then took off the jacket and the holster and wedged the gun under my belt, the butt nestled in the small of my back.
The bourbon bottle was on the table next to the bed. It was a fifth, and there was maybe half a pint left in it. I uncapped it and took a short pull straight from the bottle. Just a quick one, to get the old heart started.
I called to Elaine but she didn't answer. I put my suit jacket back on and practiced drawing the gun. The movement felt awkward, which can happen with any movement when you rehearse it to death. I moved the gun to the left side of my abdomen and practiced a crosshanded draw, but I liked that even less, and I thought about trying the shoulder holster again.
Maybe I wouldn't have to draw it. Maybe I could just keep the thing in my hand. We hadn't choreographed this show yet, hadn't decided where I was going to be when she let him in. I thought the simplest thing might be if I waited behind the door when she opened it, then stepped out with a drawn gun once he was inside. But maybe it made more sense to give him a little time alone with her first, while I waited in the kitchen or the bedroom for the right moment. There looked to be a psychological advantage in that, but there was more room in the script for something to go wrong. Her anxiety might tip him off, say, or he might just decide to do something weird. Crazy people, after all, are apt to do crazy things. It's their trademark.