“Good,” Annie said. “Here’s this A.I.M. stuff, the list is as long as my arm, don’t bother to write it down. What we have... are you listening? We have an organization called Accuracy In Media, and another one called Advance in Medicine. We’ve got the American Institute for Microminiaturization, and the Asian Institute of Management. We’ve got the American Indian Movement, the American Institute of Musicology, the Association for the Integration of Management, the Australian Institute of Management...”
“These are all real?”
“Honest to God. Plus the Australian Institute of Metals, the American Institute of Man, and an organization called Adventure In Movement for the Handicapped.”
“Which of them is on Hall Avenue?” Eileen asked.
“I was saving that for last. 832 Hall, is that the address you have?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, it’s something called Against Infant Murder.”
“Against Infant Murder, huh?”
“Yep. 832 Hall Avenue.”
“What is it? Some kind of antiabortion group?”
“They didn’t define it as such when I called them. They said they were simply pro-life.”
“Uh-huh. Any connection with Right to Life?”
“None that I can see. They’re strictly local.”
There was a long silence on the line.
“You think any of the other victims made contributions to this group?” Eileen asked.
“I’ll be talking to all of them this afternoon, either on the phone or in person. If it turns out they did...”
“Yeah, it may be a thread.”
“It may be more than that. All the victims were Catholics, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. And Catholics aren’t supposed to use artificial means of birth control.”
“Only the rhythm method, right. Some Catholics.”
“Most, I thought. Are you Catholic?”
“You have to ask? With a name like Burke?”
“What do you use?”
“I’m on the pill.”
“So am I.”
“What is it you’re thinking, Annie?”
“I don’t know yet, I want to see how this checks out with the victims. But if all of them did contribute to A.I.M...”
“Uh-huh,” Eileen said.
There was another long silence on the line.
“I almost hope...”
“Yeah?”
“I hope they didn’t,” Annie said. “I hope Mary Hollings was the only one, a wild card.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise it’s too damn ghoulish,” Annie said.
Teddy’s appointment at the law offices was for three that afternoon. She arrived at twenty minutes to, and waited downstairs until two-fifty, not wanting to seem too eager by arriving early. She really wanted the job; the job sounded perfect to her. She was dressed in what she considered a sedate but not drab manner, wearing a smart suit over a blouse with a stock tie, pantyhose color-coordinated with the nubby brown fabric of the suit, brown shoes with French heels. The lobby of the building was suffocatingly hot after the dank drizzle outdoors, and so she took off her raincoat before she got on the elevator. At precisely 3:00 p.m. sharp, she presented herself to the receptionist at Franklin, Logan, Gibson and Knowles and showed her the letter she had received from Phillip Logan. The receptionist told her Mr. Logan would see her in a few moments. At ten minutes past three, the receptionist picked up the phone receiver — it must have buzzed, but Teddy had not heard it — and then said Mr. Logan would see her now. Reading the girl’s lips, Teddy nodded.
“First doorway down the hall on your right,” the girl said.
Teddy went down the hallway and knocked on the door.
She waited a few seconds, allowing time for Logan inside to have said, “Come in,” and then turned the doorknob and went into the office. The office was spacious, furnished with a large desk, several easy chairs, a coffee table, and banks of bookcases on three walls. The fourth wall was fashioned almost entirely of glass that offered a splendid view of the city’s towering buildings. Rain slithered down the glass panels. A shaded lamp cast a glow of yellow illumination on the desktop.
Logan rose from behind the desk the moment she entered the room. He was a tall man wearing a dark blue suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie. His eyes were a shade lighter than the suit. His hair was graying. Teddy guessed he was somewhere in his early fifties.
“Ah, Miss Carella,” he said, “how kind of you to come. Please sit down.”
She sat in one of the easy chairs facing his desk. He sat behind the desk again and smiled at her. His eyes looked warm and friendly.
“I assume you can... uh... read my lips,” he said. “Your letter...”
She nodded.
“It was very straightforward of you to describe your disability in advance,” Logan said. “In your letter, I mean. Very frank and honest.”
Teddy nodded again, although the word disability rankled.
“You are... uh... you do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
She nodded, and then motioned to the pad and pencil on his desk.
“What?” he said. “Oh. Yes, of course, how silly of me.”
He handed the pad and pencil across to her.
On the pad, she wrote: I can understand you completely.
He took the pad again, read what she’d written, and said, “Wonderful, good.” He hesitated. “Uh... perhaps we should move that chair around here,” he said, “don’t you think? So we won’t have to be passing this thing back and forth.”
He rose quickly and came to where she was sitting. Teddy got up, and he shoved the easy chair closer to the desk and to the side of it. She sat again, folding her raincoat over her lap.
“There, that’s better,” he said. “Now we can talk a bit more easily. Oh, excuse me, was my back to you? Did you get all of that?”
Teddy nodded, and smiled.
“This is all very new to me, you see,” he said. “So. Where shall we begin? You understand, don’t you, that the job calls for an expert typist... I see in your letter that you can do sixty words a minute...”
I may be a little rusty just now, Teddy wrote on the pad.
“Well, that all comes back to you, doesn’t it? It’s like roller skating, I would guess.”
Teddy nodded, although she did not think typing was like roller skating.
“And you do take steno...”
She nodded again.
“And, of course, the filing is a routine matter, so I’m sure you can handle that.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“We like attractive people in our offices, Miss Carella,” Logan said, and smiled. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”
She nodded her thanks — modestly, she hoped — and then wrote: It’s Mrs. Carella.
“Of course, forgive me,” he said. “Theodora, is it?”
She wrote: Most people call me Teddy.
“Teddy? That’s charming. Teddy. It suits you. You’re extraordinarily beautiful, Teddy. I suppose you’ve heard that a thousand times...”
She shook her head.
“...but I find that most compliments bear repeating, don’t you? Extraordinarily beautiful,” he said, and his eyes met hers. He held contact for longer than was comfortable. She lowered her eyes to the pad. When she looked up again, he was still staring at her. She shifted her weight in the chair. He was still watching her.
“So,” he said. “Hours are nine to five, the job pays two and a quarter to start, can you begin Monday morning? Or will you need a little time to get your affairs in order?”