‘One-twenty-seven ...’ Carella repeated, writing.
‘This is marked with an “Auto” flag,’ the man from Motor Vehicles said. ‘May have been recovered by now, I don’t know. You’d better check with them.’
‘Thanks,’ Carella said.
* * * *
Teddy listened motionless as Naomi told her all about the man she’d met in a bar some three weeks ago, a man she claimed was Steve Carella. Detective Carella had told her he was not married. They had gone to her apartment afterward. Naomi detailed all the things they had done together in her apartment, her eyes unflinching, the words spilling soundlessly from her lips. They had spent the entire weekend together. He had told her he wanted her to go to work on Monday morning without anything under her...
Teddy held up her hand. Not quite like a traffic cop, but with much the same effect. She rose, crossed the room to a rolltop desk standing near a Tiffany-type floor lamp, and took from it a pencil and pad. She walked back to where Naomi was sitting.
On the pad she wrote: Are you sure the name was Detective Stephen Louis Carella?
‘He didn’t give me his full name,’ Naomi said. ‘He just said Steve Carella.’
Did he say where he worked? Teddy wrote.
Naomi began talking again.
Teddy watched her lips.
The man—she kept referring to him as ‘your husband’—had told her he worked uptown at the Eight-Seven, right across the street from Grover Park. He’d told her he was working a homicide he’d caught on the twenty-fifth of October. Dead woman in the park, about your age, he’d said.
‘I’m twenty-five,’ Naomi said, a challenging look on her face.
Told her the woman had been shot in the back of the head. Totally naked, not a stitch on her. Not much to go on, he’d told her, but we’re working on it.
How can she know all this? Teddy wondered.
On the pad she wrote: When was this?
‘November fourth,’ Naomi said. ‘A Friday night. He left on Monday morning, the seventh. When I went to work that morning—does your husband ask you to run around naked under your dress? Does he tie you to the bed and stick his goddamn...’
Teddy held up the traffic-cop hand again. She rose and went to the desk again. She picked up her appointment calendar. On Friday night, November 4, she and Carella had had dinner with Bert Kling and his girlfriend, Eileen. They had talked about the plastic surgery Eileen was considering. It had been painful for Eileen to discuss the scar a rapist had put on her left cheek. On Saturday, November 5, she and Carella had taken the kids to see a magic show downtown. On Sunday, November 6, they had gone to visit Carella’s parents. She went back to where Naomi was sitting. On the pad she wrote. Please wait, and then went down the hall to fetch Fanny.
* * * *
The man at Auto Theft said, ‘This vehicle is still missing, Carella.’
‘When was it stolen?’ Carella asked.
‘We got it down for October twenty-third.’
‘From what location?’
‘Outside the doctor’s office. One-twenty-seven Hall.’
‘What time?’
‘Six p.m. Well, that’s when he discovered it was missing. He was going home from work, thought at first it might’ve been towed way by us. He had it parked in a no-parking zone. He called Traffic, they told him they hadn’t towed his fuckin’ car away, and he shouldn’t have parked it in a no-parking zone to begin with. He told them he was an M.D. Big deal. They told him to call Auto, which is what he done. Anyway it ain’t been recovered yet.’
‘Thanks,’ Carella said.
* * * *
‘Mrs. Carella would like me to translate for her,’ Fanny said. She looked at Naomi sternly, her arms folded across her ample bosom. ‘Save a lot of time that way.’
‘Fine,’ Naomi said, looking just as stern.
Teddy’s fingers moved.
Fanny watched them and then said, ‘This man who picked you up wasn’t my husband.’
‘Your husband?’ Naomi said, looking suddenly puzzled.
‘Mrs. Carella’s husband,’ Fanny said. ‘I’m translating exactly what she signs.’
Teddy’s fingers were moving again.
‘My husband and I were together on the weekend you’re talking about,’ Fanny said.
‘You’re trying to protect him,’ Naomi said directly to Teddy.
Teddy’s fingers moved.
‘What did this man look like?’ Fanny asked.
‘He was tall and blond...’
Watching Teddy’s hands, Fanny said, ‘My husband has brown hair.’
‘What color eyes does he have?’ Naomi asked.
‘Brown,’ Fanny said, ahead of Teddy’s fingers.
Naomi blinked. She realized all at once that she couldn’t remember what color his eyes were. Damn it, what color were his eyes? ‘Does he wear a hearing aid?’ she asked in desperation.
This time Teddy blinked.
‘No, he doesn’t wear no damn hearing aid,’ Fanny said, though Teddy hadn’t signed a thing. ‘You’ve got the wrong man. Now what I suggest you do is get out of here before I...’
Teddy was signing again. Very rapidly. Fanny could hardly keep up.
‘This man you met is a criminal,’ Fanny said, translating. ‘My husband will want to talk to you. Will you please wait here for him? We’ll call him at once.’
Naomi nodded.
She suddenly felt as if she were in a spy novel.
* * * *
Carella did not get back to the house until six that night.
Naomi Schneider was still waiting there for him. Fanny had brought her a cup of tea, and she was sitting in the living room, her legs crossed, chatting with Teddy as Fanny translated, the two of them behaving like old college roommates, Teddy’s hands and eyes flashing, her face animated.
Naomi thought Carella was very good-looking, and wondered immediately if he fooled around. She was happy when Teddy excused herself to see how the children were doing. Twins, she explained with her hands as Carella translated. A boy and a girl. Mark and April. Ten years old. Naomi listened with great interest, thinking a good-looking man like this, burdened with a handicapped wife and a set of twins, probably did play around a little on the side. She waited for Fanny to leave the room, grateful when she did. She was going to enjoy telling the real Steve Carella all about what the fake Steve Carella had done to her. She wanted to see the expression on his face when she told him.
The real Steve Carella didn’t want to know what the fake Steve Carella had done to her.
Instead he started questioning her like a detective.
Which he was, of course, but even so.