“May I see that again?” Hawes said.
Alice extended her hand. The ring was a simple signet, the letters P.K. in gold scroll, with a small diamond chip near the K.
“I had it appraised,” Alice said. “Fifty bucks, the jeweler told me. My ring was worth five hundred. If you find him, tell him I want that damn ring back.”
“How well did you know Kettering?”
“Not very.”
“Well enough to give him a ring?”
“We were drunk. I told you.”
“How long did you know him?”
“About four months. I’m a receptionist at Milady. Do you know the magazine?”
“No,” Hawes said.
“The women of America only wake up and go to sleep with the damn thing,” Alice said.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. I thought cops were well-informed. Anyway, I’m the receptionist there. Phil came up one day to deliver some pictures. A photographic essay on how to keep nail-polish bottles in one place. He had this long piece of wood with spaces drilled into it—”
“Is that when you met?”
“Yes. He asked me out. I accepted. I went out with him about once a week after that.”
“Up until the time he went on his hunting trip?”
“Is that where he went? He didn’t tell me.”
“Did he ever discuss hunting with you?”
“Once in a while. He was pretty good, to hear him tell it.”
“How good?”
“Won a lot of shooting medals. Supposed to be a crack shot. That’s the way he told it, anyway.”
“Did you ever see any of those medals?”
“One. He carried it in his wallet. It was a shooting medal, all right. I guess he was a good hunter.”
“Did he call you when he got back from the trip?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from him since the end of August. I wrote him several letters asking for my ring back. He never answered them. I called his office, and I even went down there. The place was locked up. If I could remember where he lives, I’d go there, believe me.”
“Forget it,” Hawes said. “We’ve been.”
“Then he’s really gone?”
“Really gone,” Hawes said.
“Where?”
“We don’t know.”
“Well, I’d sure like to know. That ring was worth five hundred dollars.”
“Is he a good-looking man, Miss Lossing?”
“Phil? Not in the movie-star sense. But he’s very manly-looking.”
“Have a temper?”
“Not particularly violent, no.”
“Is he the kind of person who’d be likely to carry a grudge?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know him that well. We only dated for about four months, once a week. The only reason we exchanged rings is because we were drunk.”
“Did you go out to his home often?”
“I was there once. It’s a real suburban nothing. I ran for the hills.”
“Did he ever come here?”
“Of course.”
“Often?”
“To pick me up. Once a week. And to drop me off.” Alice Lossing studied Hawes for a moment. “What are you asking?”
“Only what I asked.”
“Are you trying to find out whether Phil and I—”
“No.”
“We didn’t.”
“Okay, but I didn’t ask.”
“You seemed like you wanted to.”
“Ask?”
“Yes.”
“About Phil? Or for myself?”
“One or the other,” Alice said.
“I’m not an asker,” Hawes said.
“No?”
“No. I have to report back to the squad when I leave here. I can do that by phone. Do you dance?”
“I dance.”
“Let’s.”
“Are you asking?”
Hawes smiled. Alice Lossing did not smile back.
“I’m a lady,” she said. “I like to be asked.”
“I’m asking. Would you like to go dancing with me?”
“You’re attractive,” she said. “I’d love to.”
“I keep wondering what a pretty girl like you is doing home all alone on a Friday night,” Hawes said.
“I was waiting for you,” Alice answered.
“Sure.”
“If you want to know the truth, I was stood up.”
“Okay.”
“You can call the squad from here, if you like. I’ll get changed.”
“Fine.”
“Are you off-duty once you make that call?”
“Technically, I’m never off-duty. But actually, yes, I am.”
“Then mix yourself a drink when you’re finished.”
“All right.”
Hawes made his call and mixed himself a drink. They left the apartment at nine-thirty. Alice thought Hawes was very attractive. She kept telling him so all night long. He thought she was very attractive, too. In fact, he fell in love with her while they were dancing.
They went for coffee afterward, and then he took Alice back to her apartment. It was still early, and so they sat and listened to records for a while. Her lips were very red and very inviting, and so he kissed her. It was too bright in the room, and so they turned off the lights.
And so…
15.
ARTHUR BROWN was tired of the virgins of Bali in full color. He was tired of the four wooden walls of the mock telephone-company shack. He was tired of the headset with which he monitored the tape. He was tired of the inane social drivel that passed back and forth between Lucy Mencken and her contacts in the world at large.
Arthur Brown was a most impatient man. He’d had the bad misfortune to be born with a name that emphasized his color. With Arthur Brown, the hatemongers had really had a field day. Because he was fair-minded and because he thought it might be better to give the haters an edge by giving himself a handicap, he had often thought of changing his name to Goldstein, thereby adding religion to color and offering the haters an opportunity to really flip their wigs. His impatience was born of expectation. Arthur Brown could look at a man and know instantly whether or not his color would be a barrier between them. And knowing, he would then expect the inevitable slur; and expecting it, he would then impatiently wait for it. He was a man sitting on a powder keg, the fuse of which had been lighted by the chance pigmentation of his skin.
The tap on Lucy Mencken’s phone had none of the characteristics of a powder keg, but it nonetheless filled Brown with itchy impatience. He could, by now, have told anyone interested exactly what the Mencken family would be having for dinner every night of next week, exactly what sniffles or sneezes the Mencken children had suffered during the past few days, the forthcoming social plans of the entire family, and even the bra size—a spectacular size, he admitted—of Lucy Mencken.