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“Almost,” I said. “I’ll see you in two hours at the outside. And cook a big dinner. I’ll need it.”

I stood there a moment, thought about her, remembered how her voice sounded. I wondered what was coming up next for us, what she would be to me and what I would be to her. I thought about love, about its effect on some people I knew. It was either the most essential single thing in the world or the one thing a man had to learn to get by without, and I couldn’t make up my mind which way it worked. You could argue either side.

I lit a pipe, poured more cognac. And made another phone call.

Kaye answered. When she recognized my voice she started talking very fast and very shakily.

“Oh, Ed,” she said. “Ed, I’ve been worrying about you. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter,” I told her. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know. But you’ve been calling Jack and seeing Jack and I was all worried.”

“What about?”

“About you.”

“Me?”

A pause. “Ed, if you’re... sick... you can tell me, Ed. I have a right to know. I—”

I laughed, as much out of relief as anything else. “It’s not for me,” I improvised. “It’s for Jack. He needed a detective and wanted to keep the business in the family. A few clients did a skip and he wanted me to run a tracer on them, get them to pay their bills. I don’t think you should worry yourself sick over it.”

She sounded very happy. “But I worry,” she said. “I mean, you’re all alone in the world, Ed.”

“I’ve got a pretty sweet sister—”

“You know what I mean. If you had a wife to take care of you I wouldn’t worry.”

I laughed again. “Maybe I will,” I said. “Soon.”

“You’ve got a girl?”

“Dozens of them. But there’s one who’s been getting important. I’ll tell you all about it one of these days. Look, put your husband on, will you?”

She said something sweet, and I said something sweet, and then she put her husband on.

And I talked to him.

After that I took a fast shower and a faster shave. The shave was a little too fast — I wound up slicing off part of my face. I couldn’t stop the bleeding with a styptic pencil so I slapped a Band-Aid on the gash and grinned at myself in the mirror. Just everybody in New York had swung at me or shoved a gun in my face in the past few days, and the only way I could get hurt was by cutting myself with my own razor. Hell, maybe it would leave an interesting scar.

I went back to the living room. Then I sat down in one of the leather chairs and waited for him.

He knocked at the door. When I told him it was open he came in, a little out of breath, his hair poorly combed and his face redder than usual. His tie was loose and his face was weak with the same fear I’d seen there before.

“I got here as soon as I could,” he said. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting, Ed. Something the matter?”

I took a step toward him. I threw the briefcase at him and he raised his hands instinctively to block it. It bounced off his hands and landed on the floor.

“This is yours,” I said. “You forgot it last time you were here.”

“For God’s sake, Ed!”

“You son of a bitch,” I said. “You rotten bastard.”

I hit him in the face. He backed off, his hands up to cover his face, and I belted him in the middle. When he folded up I hit him in the face and he went to the floor. He started to get up.

I said: “Stay there, Jack. If you get up I’ll knock the crap out of you.”

He stayed there.

“I never suspected you,” I told him. “Never. Hell, I didn’t want to suspect you. You were Kaye’s husband, I was doing you a favor to begin with. And you played me for a sucker from the word go. You’re a rotten son of a bitch, Jack.”

He opened his mouth. I waited for him to say something but he changed his mind. He bit his lip, closed his mouth. He looked away from me.

“How did you meet Alicia?”

“I told you. She came to my office.”

“Was that part true?”

He nodded.

“Then that’s where the truth stopped. You met her and the two of you wound up in the hay. You were mannered and polished and socially acceptable and she was warm and blonde and good in bed. So the two of you hit it off fine.

“She was also talkative. She told you all about Wallstein and Bannister and a half-million bucks worth of stolen jewels.”

“Ed—”

“Shut up. This didn’t happen on East Fifty-first Street. It happened in her apartment in the Village. Because the apartment and the alias came later. She never thought of them. They were your ideas. The whole double-cross gimmick was your idea all the way, wasn’t it?”

“It just happened,” he said.

“Happened?”

“You know what I mean. We were talking about... the jewels. And we both thought—”

“I think it was your idea, Jack.”

He didn’t say anything.

I said: “She was a floater all the way, took things as they came. Her life wasn’t easy but she knew how to get by. She was Wallstein’s mistress and he idolized her. And he was going to have enough money to keep her happy as soon as his deal went through. No, I don’t think she could have thought of the double cross. That had to be your idea.”

I looked at him and saw how weak and gutless he was. I was hoping he would get up so I could knock him down again. I remembered Wallstein telling me I wasn’t a violent man. But now I felt violent.

“So you rented an apartment for her,” I went on. “And gave her a phony name. And just to be safe you took the briefcase away from her. Why? Didn’t you trust her?”

“Of course I did. Damn it, I loved her!”

“Then why did you take the briefcase? Why not let her hold onto it? Because you had the case all along, Jack. That’s why Wallstein didn’t find it when he killed her. It wasn’t there. Why take it if you trusted her?”

“I thought it would be safer with me.”

“Safer from whom?”

“Wallstein, Bannister. Everybody.”

“Then you didn’t think she was very safe, did you?” He looked up, puzzled. “Even with the new apartment and the alias, you knew somebody might get to her. And if they did, you wanted to make sure you had the briefcase. She wasn’t so important. But the jewels were.”

“That’s a lie!”

“Is it?”

He looked at the floor again. “She was all that mattered,” he said brokenly. “I didn’t care about the jewels. I didn’t give a damn about them. I was in love with her.”

I let it go. “You had it all set up with her,” I said. “You doped out a way to cross Wallstein and Bannister both at once. Then you and Alicia would lie low for a while. I suppose after that you were going to skip the country. Where were you going to go?”

“Brazil. I don’t know.”

“And live happily ever after. But Wallstein got to her first. He loved her, too — everybody loved that girl, Jack. He loved her enough to kill her after she crossed him up. And Wallstein wasn’t the sort of man who killed if he could avoid it.”

“He was a crook.” His eyes flared. “He was a rotten Nazi.”

“He was also a better man than you are. He killed her and he went through that apartment from floor to ceiling looking for a briefcase that wasn’t there. Because you had it.

“She was already dead when you got there. And you fell apart, Jack. Suddenly the whole world was falling in on you. Hell, you were scared green. That’s when you stripped her.”

His mouth fell open.

“Yeah, you stripped her. That’s the only way it adds up. She was wearing something that could be traced to you. Or you thought it could. I can even guess what it was. You told me once how she liked to sit around the house in that man’s bathrobe you bought her. Was that what she was wearing?”