‘Is there some problem, Detective Genero?’ she said.
‘Only about whether to bring a present.’
‘Well, I’ll have to ask Pete...’
‘No, don’t do that!’ he said at once.
‘What?’
‘It’s supposed to be a surprise, isn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘I thought... the invitation makes it sound like a surprise party.’
‘Well, does it mention a present?’ Harriet asked, and wondered why she was entering into this man’s delusional system.
‘What?’ Genero said.
‘I said...’
‘Well, no, that’s why I’m calling.’ He suddenly thought he might have the wrong number. ‘Is this Harriet Byrnes?’ he asked.
‘Yes, this is Harriet Byrnes.’
‘Lieutenant Byrnes’s wife?’
‘Yes, I’m Lieutenant Byrnes’s wife.’
‘So should I bring a present?’
‘Detective Genero,’ Harriet said, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t advise you on that.’
‘You can’t?’ Genero said.
‘Maybe this is something you ought to discuss with someone who can really help you,’ she said, if you’re deeply troubled about some sort of present...’
‘Who?’ Genero said.
‘You,’ Harriet said. ‘Aren’t you the one who’s troubled about...?’
‘I mean, who should I discuss it with?’
‘I think you should call the Psychological Service,’ she said.
‘How do you spell that?’ Genero asked.
‘Just call the Psychological Service at Headquarters,’ she said. ‘Tell them you’re extremely worried about this present, and tell them you’d like to make an appointment to see someone. Once you’ve talked to them, you’ll be able to judge for yourself whether...’
‘Oh, I get it,’ Genero said. ‘Okay, don’t worry. Mum’s the word.’
‘Meanwhile, I’ll tell Pete you...’
‘No, no, don’t blow the surprise, Mrs. Byrnes, that’s okay. Thanks a lot. I’ll probably see you later, huh? Thanks again,’ he said, and hung up.
Harriet looked at the telephone receiver.
She found it difficult to believe she had just had this conversation.
She wondered if she should call Pete and tell him that one of his detectives had gone bananas. And then she wondered if perhaps someone really was throwing a surprise party for her husband. She sighed heavily. Sometimes police work got very, very trying.
* * * *
Genero could have become a hero when he spoke to Harriet Byrnes. He could have realized then that she hadn’t sent him an invitation at all and that there wasn’t going to be any surprise party for the lieutenant. But Genero was a dope, and he didn’t realize anything at all, and he still didn’t know whether he should bring a present or not.
What he figured was that Mrs. Byrnes had told him to use his own judgment.
The thing of it was he didn’t have any judgment on the matter. Suppose he didn’t bring a present, but a present was expected, he’d look like a jackass. Or suppose he did bring a present, but he was the only one there with a present, he’d still look like a jackass. The one thing Genero didn’t want was to look like a jackass. He sat there in his room in his mother’s apartment—he still lived with his mother, which was nice—and wondered what he should do.
If only he knew which of the detectives had been invited.
But he didn’t.
If only he knew which of the detectives he could trust.
He figured he could trust Carella, maybe. But he admired Carella, and he didn’t want Carella to think he was a jackass, asking whether he should bring a present or not, assuming Carella had even been invited to the party, which maybe he hadn’t.
Another detective he admired, perhaps even more than he admired Carella, was Andy Parker.
He called the squadroom and asked to talk to Parker.
Santoro, who was catching, said Parker had the four-to-midnight tonight.
Genero wondered if he should ask Santoro about the party. Instead, he asked for Parker’s home number. Parker answered the phone on the third ring.
‘Yeah?’ he said.
That was one of the things Genero admired about Parker. His gruff style.
‘Andy?’ he said.
‘Who’s this?’ Parker said.
‘Genero.’
‘What do you want?’ Parker said. ‘I ain’t due in till four.’
‘You’re gonna be there tonight, huh?’ Genero said.
‘What?’ Parker said.
‘In the squadroom.’
‘I got the duty, I’ll be there,’ Parker said.
‘With or without?’ Genero asked slyly.
‘What?’ Parker said.
‘You know,’ Genero said, and suddenly wondered if he did know. ‘Never mind, forget it,’ he said, and hung up.
Fuckin’ jackass, Parker thought.
* * * *
In the squadroom supply closet the timer inside the wooden box read 3:15 p.m. At midnight the timer had moved into the pie-shaped segment marked ‘Thursday.’ There were seven such segments on the timer, one for each day of the week. These segments were subdivided into fifteen-minute sectors.
Now, soundlessly, the timer moved into the 3:15-to-3:30 sector.
* * * *
A giant step on the way to Genero’s becoming a hero was his decision to buy the lieutenant a present. He figured he would make it something impersonal. He bought him a pair of pajamas. He also figured he would hide the present under his coat until he saw whether the other guys had bought presents or not. That way, he would be covered either way. If the other guys hadn’t bought presents, he would take the pajamas home and wear them himself; he had bought them in his own size, even though Byrnes was taller and heftier than he was.
He wondered whether the other guys would be bringing presents to the party.
He wondered how many other guys had been invited.
* * * *
There were sixteen detectives assigned to the 87th Squad. Of those sixteen, two were on vacation. Of the remaining fourteen, four had pulled the four-to-midnight shift on that fifth day of January and would have been at the squadroom even if they hadn’t received an invitation to the party. Unlike the blues, who worked five fixed eight-hour shifts and then swung for the next fifty-six hours, the detectives made out their own duty schedules. Usually—because vacation schedules and court appearances depleted the roster—only four of them were on duty in any given shift. The four detectives who arrived at the squadroom at fifteen minutes before the hour that afternoon were Parker, Willis, O’Brien, and Fujiwara. Each of them had received an invitation to the lieutenant’s party. None of them had discussed it with anyone else. Cops were very good at keeping secrets; in a sense secrets were a major part of the line of work they were in.