It was also clear that someone of the same description, and definitely wearing a hearing aid this time, had passed himself off to Naomi Schneider as Detective Steve Carella of the 87th Squad.
The Deaf Man had been driving a stolen blue Buick Century on the night Josie spotted him and a gray Jaguar sedan on the night he’d driven Naomi home. Even before Carella called Auto Theft, he suspected the Jaguar had been stolen, too.
His call to Auto disclosed that a dozen Jaguars, apparently popular cars with thieves, had been stolen in this city since the beginning of November. Four of them had been sedans. One of those had been gray. It had not yet been recovered. Carella now had a license plate number for the car the Deaf Man might still be driving. If the same license plate was still on it. And if the car hadn’t already been dumped in some empty lot in the next state.
The Deaf Man was a one-man crime wave.
But what was he up to?
What was the goddamn significance of these pictures he kept sending them? Did the numbers themselves mean something? Why all this police paraphernalia, with eight black horses thrown in for good measure?
Come on, Carella thought, play it fair. Give us a break, willya?
* * * *
The next break in the case—if in retrospect it could be considered that—came on the third day of December, a Saturday. It came with a phone call from Naomi Schneider at twenty minutes past three.
‘Did you just call me?’ she asked Carella.
‘No,’ he said. And then at once, ‘Have you heard from him again?’
‘Well, somebody named Steve Carella just called me,’ she said.
‘Did it sound like him?’
‘I guess so. I’ve never heard his voice on the phone.’
‘What’d he want?’
‘He said he wants to see me again.’
‘Did he say when?’
‘Today.’
‘Where? Is he coming there?’
‘Well, we didn’t arrange anything actually. I thought I’d better call you first.’
‘How’d you leave it?’
‘I told him I’d call him back.’
‘He gave you a number?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is it?’
Naomi gave him the number.
‘Stay right there,’ Carella said. ‘If he calls again, tell him you’re still thinking it over. Tell him you’re hurt because you haven’t heard from him in such a long time.’
‘Well, I already told him that,’ Naomi said.
‘You told him...?’
‘Well, I really was hurt,’ Naomi said.
‘Naomi,’ Carella said, ‘this man is a very dangerous criminal. Don’t play games with him, do you hear me? If he calls again, tell him you’re still considering whether you want to see him again, and then call me here right away. If I’m not here, leave a message with one of the other detectives. Have you got that?’
‘Yes, of course, I’ve got it. I’m not a child,’ Naomi said.
‘I’ll get back to you later,’ he said, and hung up. He checked his personal directory, dialed a number at Headquarters, identified himself to the clerk who answered the phone, and told her he needed an address for a telephone number in his possession. The new hotline at Headquarters had been installed because policemen all over the city had been having trouble getting information from the telephone company, whose policy was not to give out the addresses of subscribers, even if a detective said he was working a homicide. Carella sometimes felt the telephone company was run by either the Mafia or the KGB. The clerk was back on the line three minutes later.
‘That number is for a phone booth,’ she said.
‘On the street or where?’ Carella asked.
‘Got it listed for something called the Corners on Detavoner and Ash.’
“Thank you,’ Carella said, and hung up. ‘Artie!’ he yelled. ‘Get your hat!’
* * * *
When the knock sounded on the door to Naomi’s apartment, she thought it might be Carella. He had told her he’d get back to her later, hadn’t he? She went to the door.
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
‘Me,’ the voice said. ‘Steve.’
It did not sound like the real Carella. It sounded like the fake Carella. And the real Carella had told her the fake Carella was a very dangerous man. As if she didn’t know.
‘Just a second,’ she said, and unlocked the door and took off the night chain.
There he was.
Tall, blond, handsome, head cocked to one side, smile on his face.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Long time no see,’ she said. She felt suddenly weak. Just the sight of him made her weak.
‘Okay to come in?’
‘Sure,’ she said, and let him into the apartment.
* * * *
The Corners at three-thirty that Saturday afternoon was—thanks to the football game on the television set over the bar—actually more crowded than it would have been at the same time on a weekday. Carella and Brown immediately checked out the place for anyone who might remotely resemble the Deaf Man. There was only one blond man sitting at the bar, and he was short and fat. They went at once to the men’s room. Empty. They knocked on the door to the ladies’ room, got no answer, opened the door, and checked that out, too. Empty. They went back outside to the bar. Carella showed the bartender his shield. The bartender nodded.
‘Tall blond man,’ Carella said. ‘Would have used the phone booth about forty minutes ago.’
‘What about him?’ the bartender said.
‘Did you see him?’
‘I saw him. Guy with a hearing aid?’
‘Yes.’
‘I saw him.’
‘He’s been in here before, hasn’t he?’
‘Coupla times.’
‘Would you know his name?’
‘I think it’s Dennis, I’m not sure.’
‘Dennis what?’
‘I don’t know. He was in here with a guy one night, I heard the guy calling him Dennis.’
‘There’s just this one room, huh?’ Brown said.
‘Just this one.’
‘No little side rooms or anything.’
‘Just this.’
‘Any other toilets? Besides the rest rooms back there?’
‘That’s all,’ the bartender said. ‘If you’re lookin’ for him, he already left.’
‘Any idea where he went?’
‘Nope.’
‘Did he leave right after he made his phone call?’