“You weren’t going to ask, huh? I was home.”
“All night long?”
“Here we go,” Moore said, and rolled his eyes.
“You were her boyfriend,” Meyer said flatly.
“Which means I killed her, right?” Moore said.
“You seem to be asking the questions and giving the answers both,” Meyer said. “Were you home all night?”
“All night.”
“Anyone with you?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean, not exactly? Either someone is with you or you’re alone. Were you alone?”
“I was alone. But I called a friend of mine at least half a dozen times.”
“What about?”
“The study material. Questions back and forth.”
“Is he a med student, too? This friend you called?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Karl Loeb.”
“Where does he live?”
“In the Quarter.”
“Do you know his address?”
“No. But I’m sure he’s in the phone book.”
“What time did you call him?”
“Off and on, all night long.”
“Did you call him at midnight?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did he call you at any time last night?”
“Several times.”
“When’s the last time you spoke to him?”
“Just before I went to sleep. I called Sally first, I tried her number—”
“Had you called her before that?”
“On and off, yes.”
“Last night, we’re talking about.”
“Yes, last night. I called her on and off.”
“Were you worried when you didn’t get her?”
“No.”
“How come? When’s the last time you tried her?”
“About three in the morning. Just before I called Karl for the last time.”
“And you got no answer?”
“No answer.”
“And you weren’t worried? Three in the morning, and she doesn’t answer the phone—”
“You’re talking about theater people,” Moore said. “Night people. Three o’clock is still early for them. Anyway, she knew I was studying. I figured she must’ve made other plans.”
“Did she tell you what plans?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“When did you call her again?”
“I didn’t. I heard about... when I woke up, I turned on the radio and I... I... heard... I heard...”
He suddenly buried his face in his hands and began weeping. The detectives watched him. Carella was thinking they’d been too harsh with him. Meyer was thinking the same thing. But why’d he come up here? Carella wondered. Meyer wondered the same thing. And why had a medical student expressed ignorance of what sort of evidence might be turned up by an examination of Sally’s personal effects? Weren’t medical schools teaching prospective doctors about bloodstains anymore? Or traces of semen? Or fingernail scrapings? Or human hair? Or any of the other little physical leftovers that could later lead to positive identification? Moore kept weeping into his hands.
“Are you all right?” Carella asked.
Moore nodded. He fumbled in his back pocket for a handkerchief, tossing the tails of the trench coat aside. There was a stethoscope in the right-hand pocket of his jacket. He found the handkerchief, blew his nose, dried his eyes.
“I loved her,” he said.
The detectives said nothing.
“And she loved me,” he said.
Still they said nothing.
“I know what you’re trained to look for, I know all about it. But I had nothing to do with her murder. I came up here because I wanted to help, period. You might do better to go looking for the son of a bitch who did it, instead of—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moore,” Carella said.
“I’ll bet you are,” Moore said. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket. He looked up at the wall clock. He stood up and began buttoning the trench coat. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “You’ll find my number in Sally’s book, you can reach me at night there. During the day, I’m at Ramsey.”
“We appreciate your help,” Meyer said.
“Sure,” Moore said, and turned and walked out of the squadroom.
Both men looked at each other.
“What do you think?” Carella asked.
“The idea or the execution?”
“Well, I know I blew it, but the idea.”
“Good one.”
“I really was looking for a third party at first—”
“I know that. But the other way around, right?”
“Right. Some guy—”
“Or some lady—”
“Right, who was annoyed because Sally Anderson was seeing Moore—”
“Right.”
“And who decided to put the blocks to her.”
“A possibility,” Meyer said.
“But then Moore blew sky-high—”
“Right, I could see the wheels clicking inside your head, Steve.”
“Right, when I reversed field, right?”
“Right. You were thinking, ‘Hey, maybe Moore is the jealous party, maybe he’s the one who killed her.’ ”
“Well, yeah. But I blew it.”
“Maybe not, maybe now he’ll run a bit scared. Two things we’ve got to find out, Steve—”
“Right. The exact times he was on the phone talking to this guy Loeb—”
“Right, the other med student.”
“Right. And where he was on Tuesday night, when Lopez was getting his.”
“You decided not to go with Lopez, huh?”
“I wanted to see if Moore would volunteer an alibi for Tuesday.”
“Listen, you know something?” Meyer said. “Who says the same gun means the same killer?”
“Huh?” Carella said.
“I use a gun to kill somebody on Tuesday night. I throw the gun away. Somebody picks it up, and it finds its way onto the street. You come along and buy the gun to use on Friday night. No connection at all between the two murders, do you get it?”
“I get it,” Carella said, “and you’re making life difficult.”
“Only because I can’t see any connection at all between Paco Lopez and Sally Anderson.”
“Monday’s a holiday, isn’t it?” Carella asked abruptly.
“Huh?”
“Monday.”
“What about it?”
“It’s Washington’s Birthday, isn’t it?”
“No, that’s the twenty-second.”
“But we’re celebrating it on the fifteenth. We’re calling it ‘Presidents’ Day.’ ”
“What’s that got to do with Moore?”
“Nothing. I’m thinking about the cat.”
“What cat?”
“Sally’s cat. She was supposed to pick it up on Monday. Will the vet be open on Monday?”
“I guess if she put it in her book—”
“She listed a pickup for three o’clock.”
“Then I guess he’ll be open.”
“So who’ll pick up the cat?” Carella asked.
“Not me,” Meyer said at once.
“Maybe Sarah would like a cat,” Carella said.
“Sarah doesn’t like cats,” Meyer said. His wife did not like any animals. His wife thought animals were animals.
“Maybe the girl’s mother will take the cat,” Carella said, very seriously.
“The girl’s mother is in San Francisco,” Meyer said, and looked at him.
“So who’ll take the goddamn cat?” Carella said. He had once taken home a Seeing Eye dog he’d inherited on the job. Fanny, the Carella housekeeper, had not liked the dog. At all. The dog no longer resided at the big old house in Riverhead. Meyer was still looking at him.