“No, we didn’t want to bother you at the school.”
“Well, thanks, I appreciate that. The way I’m falling behind these days, all I’d have needed was to be yanked out of class.” He looked first at Carella and then at Meyer. “What is it? Is there some good news?”
“Well, no,” Carella said. “That’s not why we’re here.”
“Oh. I thought for a moment—”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Do you think... is there still a chance you may get him?”
“We’re working on it,” Carella said.
“Mr. Moore,” Meyer said, “we had a long talk with a girl named Lonnie Cooper yesterday, she’s one of the dancers in Fatback.”
“Yes, I know her,” Moore said.
“She told us all about the party that took place in her apartment a week ago Sunday — the party you missed.”
“Yes?” Moore said, looking puzzled.
“She confirmed that there was cocaine at the party.”
“Confirmed?”
“We had previously heard it from three separate sources.”
“Yes?” Moore said. He still looked puzzled.
“Mr. Moore,” Carella said, “the last time we spoke to you, we asked if Sally Anderson was involved with drugs. You told us—”
“Well, I really don’t remember exactly what—”
“We asked you, specifically, ‘Was she involved with drugs?’ and you answered, specifically, no. We also asked if she was involved in any other illegal activity, and you answered no to that one, too.”
“As far as I know, Sally was not involved in drugs or any other illegal activity, that’s correct.”
“You still maintain that?”
“I do.”
“Mr. Moore, four different people so far have told us that Sally Anderson was sniffing coke at that party.”
“Sally?” He was already shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry, I can’t believe that.”
“You knew nothing about her habit, huh?”
“Well, you know, of course, that cocaine isn’t habit-forming. I’m speaking from a strictly physiological standpoint. There’s absolutely no evidence of any dependence potential for methylester of benzoylecgonine. None whatever.”
“How about a psychological dependence?”
“Well, yes, but when you ask me whether or not Sally had a habit—”
“We asked whether you knew about her habit, Mr. Moore.”
“I take exception to the word habit, that’s all. But in any event, to answer your question, I do not believe Sally Anderson was using cocaine. Or any other drug, for that matter.”
“How about marijuana?”
“Well, I don’t consider that a drug.”
“We found marijuana fibers and seeds in her handbag, Mr. Moore.”
“That’s entirely likely. But, as I just said, I do not consider marijuana a drug, per se.”
“We also found a residue of cocaine.”
“That surprises me.”
“Even after what we told you about that party?”
“I don’t know who told you Sally was sniffing cocaine—”
“Do you want their names?”
“Yes, please.”
“Tina Wong, Tony Asensio, Mike Roldan, and Lonnie Cooper.”
Moore sighed heavily, and then shook his head. “I don’t understand that,” he said. “I have no reason to doubt you, but—”
“She never used cocaine in your presence, is that it?”
“Never.”
“And this all comes as a total surprise to you.”
“Yes, it does. In fact, I’m flabbergasted.”
“Mr. Moore, in your relationship with Miss Anderson, did you ever see her on Sundays?”
“Sundays?” he said, and the telephone rang. “Excuse me,” he said and lifted the receiver. “Hello?” he said. “Oh, hi, Mom, how are you?” he said. He listened and then said, “No, nothing new. In fact, I have the two detectives with me right this minute. The ones working on the case. No, not yet.” He listened again. “Still very cold,” he said, “how is it down there? Well, Mom, sixty-eight isn’t what I’d consider cold.” He listened, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, and then said, “I’m really not sure. Right now, I’m in the middle of exams. Maybe during the spring break, I’ll see. I know I haven’t been down there in a while, Mom, but... well, August wasn’t all that long ago, really. No, it hasn’t been eight months, Mom, it’s only been six months. Less than six months, in fact. Are you feeling okay? How’s your arm? Oh? I’m sorry to hear that. You did, huh? Well, what did he say it was? Well, he’s probably right. Mom, he’s an orthopedist, he’d certainly know better than I what... Well, not yet, Mom. Well, thank you, but I’m not a doctor yet. Not for a while yet. An opinion from me wouldn’t be worth much, Mom. Well... uh-huh... uh-huh... well, if you want to think I saved that boy’s life, fine. But that doesn’t make me a doctor yet. And besides, anyone could have done what I did. The Heimlich Maneuver. Heimlich. What difference does it make how you spell it, Mom?” He rolled his eyes again. “Mom, I really have to go now, I have these detectives... what? Yes, I’ll tell them. I’m sure they’re doing their best, anyway, but I’ll tell them. Yes, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon. Good-bye, Mom.”
He put the phone back on the cradle, sighed in relief, turned to the detectives, and said, unnecessarily, “My mother.”
“Is she Jewish?” Meyer asked.
“Mother? No, no.”
“She sounded Jewish,” Meyer said, and shrugged. “Maybe all mothers are Jewish, who knows?”
“She gets lonely down there,” Moore said. “Ever since my father died—”
“I’m sorry,” Carella said.
“Well, it was a while ago. Last June, in fact. But they say it takes at least a year to get over either a death or a divorce, and she’s still taking it pretty hard. Sally was a tonic for her, but now...” He shook his head. “It’s just that she misses him so terribly much, you see. He was a wonderful man, my father. A doctor, you know. A surgeon, which is what I plan to be. Took care of us as if we were royalty. Even after he died. Made sure my mother wouldn’t have to worry for the rest of her life, even left me enough money to see me through medical school and set up a practice afterward. A wonderful man.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry for the interruption,” he said. “You were asking me—”
“What was that about the Heimlich Manuever?” Carella asked.
Moore smiled. “When I was down there last August, a kid began turning purple in a restaurant. Twelve-year-old Cuban kid, all dressed up for the big Sunday dinner with his family. I realized he was choking, and I jumped up and did the Heimlich on him. My mother thought I’d lost my mind, grabbing the kid from behind and — well, I’m sure you know the maneuver.”
“Yes,” Meyer said.
“Anyway, it helped him,” Moore said modestly. “His parents were very grateful. You’d have thought I liberated Cuba single-handedly. And, of course, I’ve been a hero to my mother ever since.”
“Her son the doctor,” Meyer said.
“Yeah,” Moore said. He was still smiling.
“So,” Carella said.
“So, yeah, what were we talking about?”
“Sundays and Sally.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you ever see her on Sundays?”
“Occasionally. She was usually pretty busy on Sundays. Her day off, you know, no show that night.”
“Busy doing what?”
“Oh, getting her errands done, mostly. Running here and there. We saw each other, of course, but only rarely. Did a little window-shopping together, went to the zoo every now and then, or the museum, like that. For the most part, Sally liked her privacy on Sundays. During the daytime, anyway.”