“You really don’t have to drive me back to the dorm, you know,” Darcy said. “I could take a cab, really.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
“Or the subway,” she said.
“The subways are dangerous,” he said.
“I ride them all the time.”
“You shouldn’t.”
His car came into sight around the last curve in the ramp. The driver, a Puerto Rican in his fifties, got out of the car and said, “Ri’ on d’button. Fi’minutes.”
He did not contradict the driver. He gave him a fifty-cent tip, held the door open for Darcy, closed it behind her, and then went around to the driver’s side. The car was a fifteen-year-old Mercedes-Benz 280 SL. He had bought it when the money was still pouring in. The media ads, the television commercials. That was then. This was now.
“Fasten your seat belt,” he told her.
Hawes was in bed with Annie Rawles when the telephone rang. He looked at the bedside clock. It was ten minutes to 10:00.
“Let it ring,” Annie said.
He looked into her eyes. His eyes said he had to answer it; her eyes acknowledged this sad fact of police work. He rolled off her and lifted the receiver.
“Hawes,” he said.
“Cotton, it’s Steve.”
“Yeah, Steve.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No, no,” he said, and rolled his eyes at Annie. Annie was naked except for the gold chain and pendant. She toyed with the chain and pendant. He had still not asked her why she never took off the chain and pendant. He had meant to ask her that first night, last week, but he hadn’t. He had meant to ask her tonight, when she’d worn the chain and pendant even in his shower. He had not. “What is it, Steve?” he said.
“Our man just left Marino’s restaurant at 1118 South Haley. Can you get over there and talk to the waiter who served him?”
“What’s the rush?” Hawes asked.
“He had a young girl with him.”
“Shit, I’m on my way,” Hawes said.
“I’ll meet you there,” Carella said. “As soon as I can.”
Both men hung up.
“I have to go,” Hawes said, getting out of bed.
“Shall I wait here for you?” Annie asked.
“I don’t know how long it’ll be. We may have a lead.”
“I’ll wait,” Annie said. She paused. “If I’m asleep, wake me.” She paused again. “You know how,” she said.
“This is really very nice of you,” Darcy said. “Going out of your way like this.”
“Simply my way of thanking you for a wonderful interview,” he said.
They were on the River Highway now, heading eastward toward the university farther uptown. They had just passed under the Hamilton Bridge, the lights on its suspension cables and piers illuminating the dark waters of the River Harb below. Somewhere on the river, a tugboat sounded its horn. On the opposite bank, the adjoining state’s high-rise towers tried boldly and pointlessly to compete with the magnificent skyline they faced. The dashboard clock read 10:07. The traffic was heavier than he thought it would be; usually, you caught your commuters leaving the city between five and six o’clock, your theatergoers heading home at eleven, eleven-thirty. He kept his eyes on the road. He did not want to risk an accident. He did not want to become embroiled in anything that might cause him to lose her. Not when he was so close.
“You think you got everything you need?” she asked.
“It was a very good interview,” he said. “You’re very articulate.”
“Oh, sure,” she said.
“I’m entirely sincere. You have a knack for probing your deepest feelings. That’s very important.”
“You think so?”
“I wouldn’t say so otherwise.”
“Well... you’re very easy to talk to. You make it all... I don’t know. It just sort of flows, talking to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you do me a favor?”
“Certainly.”
“This’ll sound stupid.”
“Well, we won’t know until you ask, will we?”
“Could you... could I hear what my voice sounds like?”
“On tape, do you mean?”
“Yeah. That’s stupid, right?”
“No, that’s entirely normal.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and handed the recorder to her.
“See the button marked Rewind?” he said. “Just press it.”
“This one?”
He took his eyes from the road for a moment.
“That’s the one. Well, wait, first flip the On-Off button...”
“Got it.”
“Now rewind it.”
“Okay.”
“And now press the Play button.”
She pressed the button. Her voice came into the car mid-sentence.
“...even think of the Olympics right now, you know what I mean? It seems like a dream to me, the idea of Olympics competition somewhere down the line...”
“God, I sound awful!” she said.
“...I never even consciously think about it. All I’m concerned with right now is becoming the best runner I can possibly be. If I can break twelve, well then, maybe then I can start thinking about...”
“Like a six-year-old,” she said, and pressed the Stop button. “How could you bear listening to all that junk?”
“I found it very informative,” he said.
“You want this back in your pocket, or can I leave it here on the seat?”
“Could you run it forward for me, please?”
“What do I press?”
“Fast Forward. Just until you get to blank tape again.”
She experimented as he drove, running the tape forward, stopping it, and finally getting it past the last of their conversation in the restaurant. “That should do it,” she said. She turned the recorder off completely. “In your pocket? Yes? No?”
“Please,” he said.
“Hey, you’re missing the exit,” she said.
“There’s something I want to show you,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”
The blue sign indicating Hollis Avenue and Converse University flashed by overhead.
“Well, sure,” she said, “I guess so.” She hesitated. “What do you want to show me?”
“A statue,” he said.
“A statue?” She pulled a face. “What kind of statue?”
“Did you know there’s a statue of a runner in this city?”
“No. You’re kidding me. Who’d want to put up a statue of a runner?”
“Ah-ha,” he said. “I thought you’d be surprised.”
“Where is it? A runner?”
“Not far from here. If you have a minute.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said. She hesitated again, and then said, “You’re fun, you know that? You’re really a fun guy to be with.”
There was no siren on Carella’s private car. Driving as fast as he could, running as many red lights as he possibly could without smashing into any pedestrians or cars, it nonetheless took him half an hour to get to the restaurant. By that time, Hawes had already talked to the waiter, and was talking to the maitre d’ who’d taken McIntyre’s reservation on the phone. The moment Carella came in, Hawes said, “Excuse me,” and walked over to him. Carella seemed out of breath, as if he’d trotted all the way from Riverhead.