“Right here in Diamondback. Edward Victor High.”
“Did she graduate?”
“Last January.”
“Then what?”
“She took a month off, said she wanted a li’l rest before she started lookin for work. In March, she got a job waitressin here in Diamondback, but she wasn’t makin much money at it, so she left that in April musta been, and took the job clerkin at the hotel downtown — leastwise that’s what she tole me. Moved out of here in May. How many months is that?”
“Five, ma’am.”
“I thought it was six. I tole you six before, didn’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s five then.” She shook her head. “Seems longer.”
“Where was she waitressing?” Meyer asked.
“Caribou Corner, here in Diamondback. That’s a steak joint, I don’t know why they give it such a god-awful name. A caribou’s some kind of big moose or somethin, ain’t it?”
“I think so,” Meyer said.
“Name like that don’t make me want to eat no steak, I can tell you that.”
“Caribou Corner,” Carella said. “C.C.”
“Pardon?” Mrs. Hawkins said.
“Right, that’s what it meant,” Meyer said. “Clara Jean at Caribou Corner.”
“Mrs. Hawkins,” Carella said, “are you certain your daughter never mentioned anyone named George Chadderton?”
“I’m positive.”
“When she moved out, did she take everything she owned with her? All her personal possessions? Diaries, address books...”
“Didn’t keep no diary. But she took all her other things with her, yes. You mean where she kept her phone numbers an all?”
“Yes.”
“Took ’em with her.”
“Did she leave anything of hers here?”
“Well, some nightgowns an a few bras and panties, like that. So if she come up to spend a day and she needed somethin to sleep in, or a fresh change of underthings, they’d be handy.”
“Did she come here often?”
“Ever now and then.”
“When did you last see her alive?”
“Thursday.”
“She was here this past Thursday?”
“Well, past two months, she been comin home ever Thursday.”
“Why’s that?”
“Just to see her mama, I guess,” Mrs. Hawkins said, and suddenly avoided Carella’s eyes.
“Mm-huh,” he said. “This is something new, though, huh? The Thursday visits?”
“Well, past couple of months.”
“You say she moved out in May...”
“Yes, May.”
“And this is September.”
“That’s right.”
“So if she started visiting you on Thursdays a couple of months ago...”
“That’s right, Thursdays.”
“That’d mean she started visiting you in July, is that right?”
“I spose,” Mrs. Hawkins said.
“Had she come to see you at all in May and June?”
“No, that’s when she just moved out, you know.”
“But in July she started coming up here every Thursday.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Hawkins said. Her eyes still would not meet his. She rose suddenly, went to the cabinet, took down the bottle of bourbon and poured herself another shot. She drained the glass at once, and poured it full again. Silently, the detectives watched her.
“Mrs. Hawkins,” Carella said, “have you got any idea why your daughter suddenly started coming up here every Thursday?”
“I tole you. To see her mama,” Mrs. Hawkins said, and lifted the shot glass again.
“What time did she usually get here?”
“Oh, in the mornin sometime.”
“What time in the morning?”
“Oh, sometime before noon. I’d be at work, you see, but I’d usually call on my lunch hour, and she’d be here.”
“Sleeping?”
“What?”
“When you called, would she be sleeping?”
“No, no, wide awake.”
“Did she ever mention having worked the night before?”
“Well, I never asked her. When she first started comin, I thought she was workin for that hotel, you see. Wednesday night was when she got paid, she tole me, an Thursday was when she come uptown to see her mama.”
“With her paycheck?”
“Well, no, it was cash.”
“How much cash?”
“Well... two hundred dollars ever Thursday.”
“And you never suspected that this money might be coming from prostitution?”
“No, I never did. Clara Jean was a good girl.”
“But finally she told you.”
“Yes.”
“Just two or three weeks ago.”
“Yes.”
“What’d she tell you?”
“That she was prostitutin herself, and that the man takin care of her and three other girls was somebody named Joey Peace.”
“Confessed all this to you, huh?”
“Yes.”
“How come?”
“We was feelin close that day. I had taken sick and didn’t go to work, and when Clara Jean come to see me, she made me some soup an we sat in the bedroom watchin television together. Just before she went to the—” Mrs. Hawkins cut herself short.
“Yes?” Carella said.
“Down to the grocery,” Mrs. Hawkins said. “She tole me what she’d been doin these past months, the prostitutin herself, you know.”
“Did she say anything about that two hundred dollars every week?”
“Well, no, she didn’t.”
“She didn’t mention, for example, that this might be money she was keeping from Joey Peace?”
“No, she never said nothin about that.”
“Because you know, I guess, that most pimps demand all of a girl’s earnings,” Carella said.
“I woulda guessed that.”
“Yet your daughter came around with two hundred dollars in cash every Thursday.”
“Yes. Well, yes, she did,” Mrs. Hawkins said, and lifted the shot glass again.
“Did she leave that money with you, Mrs. Hawkins?”
“No,” Mrs. Hawkins said, and hastily swallowed the bourbon remaining in the glass.
“Did she take it with her when she left?”
“Well, I... I just never asked her what she done with it.”
“Then how’d you know she had it with her each week?”
“She showed it to me one time.”
“Showed you two hundred dollars in cash?”
“That’s right, yes.”
“Just the one time?”
“Well... I guess more than one time.”
“How many times, Mrs. Hawkins?”
“Well, I guess... I spose ever time she come here.”
“Every time? Every Thursday?”
“Yes.”
“Showed you two hundred dollars in cash every Thursday?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I... I don’t unnerstan what you mean.”
“Why did she show you two hundred dollars in cash every Thursday?”
“Well, she didn’t exactly show it to me.”
“Then what did she do?”
“Just tole me she had it, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“So I’d know what... so I’d... so in case anythin happened to her...”
“Did she think something was about to happen to her?” Meyer asked at once.
“No, no.”
“Then why’d she want you to know about the money?”
“Well, just in case, that’s all,” Mrs. Hawkins said, and reached again for the bourbon bottle.
“Hold off on the sauce a minute,” Carella said. “What was your daughter doing with that two hundred bucks a week?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Hawkins said, and shrugged.
“Was she hiding it here from her pimp?” Meyer asked.
“No,” Mrs. Hawkins said, and shook her head.