The road was generally barren, especially on nights like this one when October was trying its best to serve as a harbinger of dead winter. A cold wind had come up, blowing off the River Harb, sending everyone but mad dogs, Englishmen and policemen indoors. There was, perhaps, a slight difference in the motivation of the triumvirate. For whereas mad dogs stayed outside because of the vagaries of insanity, and Englishmen because of their internationally renowned sang-froid, the policemen were there under duress. There was not a policeman on that road that night who would not have preferred being at home with a good book, or a good woman, or a good bottle of brandy. There was not a policeman present that night who would not have preferred even a bad book or a bad bottle of brandy or, to be frankly unpatriotic, a bad woman.
There were no women, good or bad, on that road that night.
There were only men, and men engrossed in their work can be dull company to each other even when the weather is mild.
“I never seen it so cold in October in my whole life,” Detective Andy Parker said. “I been living in this city my whole life, and I never seen it so cold like this. Tonight, they better bring in the brass monkeys, I am telling you. Tonight, everything freezes.”
Detective Cotton Hawes nodded. His fingers around the flashlight, even through the leather, fur-lined gloves he wore, felt frozen to the bone. He kept the circle of light on the patch of grass across the road from the driveway pillars. The lab technician at his feet, a man named Peter Kronig, was a person with whom Hawes had had a slight brush not too long ago. Hawes could not say whether or not he disliked holding the light for Kronig while Kronig searched the grass on his hands and knees. He knew that he’d ridden Kronig’s tail pretty shamefully on their one previous encounter, and he was rather embarrassed by their proximity now. Of course, Hawes had been working at the 87th Precinct for only a short time when he had first run across Kronig. Like any new kid on the block, he was anxious to prove himself to the other kids. In the presence of Steve Carella, whom he immediately considered the best cop on the squad, Hawes had begun riding Kronig at the police lab. Carella had chewed him out later, in a kindly fashion to be sure, and Hawes had learned a valuable lesson: Don’t make enemies of the lab technicians. He had learned his lesson well. Its meaning assumed renewed importance now that he was once more working with Kronig.
“Move the light,” Kronig said. “Over to the left.”
Hawes moved the light.
“It’s only sixteen degrees,” Parker said. “Can you feature that? It feels like twenty below, don’t it? But it’s only sixteen. I heard it over the radio. Man, it’s cold. Ain’t it cold, Hawes?”
“Yes,” Hawes answered.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“I talk,” Hawes said. He did not particularly feel like justifying himself to Andy Parker. He didn’t know the man too well, this being the first time they’d been on a squeal together, but from what he’d seen of him around the squadroom, Parker was a man it paid to stay away from. At the same time, Hawes did not want to make the same mistake he’d made with Kronig. He did not want to make an enemy where he could make a friend. “It’s just that my teeth are frozen together,” he added, hoping this would mollify Parker.
Parker nodded. He was a big man, almost as tall as Hawes, who stood six feet two inches high in his bare soles. But whereas Hawes’s eyes were blue and his hair was red (except for a white streak over the left temple), Parker gave an impression of darkness, black hair, brown eyes, five o’clock shadow. And, in all honesty, the two men could not have been more dissimilar than their appearances indicated. Hawes was a cop who was still learning. Parker was a cop who knew it all.
“Hey, Kronig,” he said, “what the hell are you searching for? Buried treasure? We got nothing better to do than crawl around on our hands and knees?”
“Shut up, Parker,” Kronig answered. “I’m the one who’s doing the crawling. All you’re doing is bitching about the weather.”
“What, you ain’t cold?” Parker said. “You got Eskimo blood?” He paused. “Eskimos lend out their wives, you know that?”
“I know,” Kronig said. “Let’s try over here, Hawes. Come on.”
They moved several feet up the road, the flashlight playing on the grassy shoulder lining the gravel.
“It’s the truth,” Parker said, “whether you know it or not. An Eskimo goes to visit another Eskimo, he lets you borrow his wife for the night. So you shouldn’t get cold.” Parker shook his head. “And they call us civilized. Would you lend me your wife for the night, Kronig?”
“I wouldn’t lend you a nickel for a cup of coffee,” Kronig answered. “Over here, Hawes. This looks like something.” He stooped suddenly.
“I didn’t ask for a nickel, I asked for your wife,” Parker said, and he grinned in the darkness. “You should see this guy’s wife, Hawes. Like a movie star. Am I right, Kronig?”
“Go blow it out,” Kronig answered. “It’s nothing, Hawes. Let’s move up a little.”
“What are you looking for?” Hawes asked, as gently as he knew how.
Kronig stared at him for a moment, his breath pluming from his mouth. “Footprints, tire tracks, traces of clothing, matches, any damn thing that might give us a lead.”
“Well,” Hawes said gently, “I don’t want to stick my two cents in. You know your job, and I have no right to offer any suggestions.”
“Yeah?” Kronig said. He looked at him suspiciously. “Seems to me the last time we met, you had a lot of suggestions, and a lot of answers. You knew all about ballistics, didn’t you? The Annie Boone case, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Hawes said.
“Yeah, so now you’re shy, huh? The shy flower of the Eighty-seventh Squad.”
“I’ve got no quarrel with you,” Hawes said. “I behaved like a jerk that time.”
“Yeah?” Kronig said, surprised. He kept staring at Hawes. Then he said, “What’s your suggestion? I’m not God.”
“Neither am I. But would the kidnaper be likely to park the car here, or to stand here, or do anything here where he could be seen? I mean, right on the road?”
“Possibly not. Where do you think he parked?”
“There’s a turnabout up there. About five hundred yards from the pillars. Just a little dirt cutoff. It’s pretty well screened with bushes. It’s worth a chance.”
“Then let’s try it,” Kronig said.
“Like a movie star,” Parker said. “This guy’s wife. She’s got knockers out to here. You never seen knockers like on this guy’s wife except on the silver screen. Man, I’m telling you!”
“Shut up, Parker,” Kronig said.
“I’m complimenting your wife. It ain’t everybody got breastworks like this woman got. Man, you could lose yourself up there. You could bury your nose, and your mouth, and your whole goddamn head if you—”