The elevator operator was a pimply-faced white kid wearing a brown uniform with gold braid. “Fourth floor,” he said, as the elevator ground to a halt. He slid open the door and looked over his shoulder at all three of them. The two cops—Wiggy was sure they were—stepped out into a large waiting room with framed posters of books lining the walls. Wiggy hesitated.
“Sir?” the elevator operator said. “This is the fourth floor.”
In the next ten seconds, Wiggy did some quick calculations. Two blondes had forced him to give up the money he’d taken from Frank Holt before shooting him dead and stuffing him in a garbage can. Now two cops were here at the place that had hired the limo for the two blondes. Was it possible the cops were also looking for the blondes? If so, how long would it be before they linked Wiggy himself to the murder of Frank Holt?
“I think I made a mistake here,” he said to the elevator operator.
“Hi, Charmaine,” the fat cop said to the fat broad behind the reception desk.
“Take me back to the lobby,” Wiggy said.
The elevator operator shrugged and started to pull the door shut.
The tall, slender cop turned and took a look at Wiggy just as the closing door blocked him from view.
THE MAN WHO INTRODUCED HIMSELF as the publisher here at Wadsworth and Dodds was wearing a brown suit, darker brown shoes, a corn-colored shirt, and a green bow tie sprinkled with gold polka dots. He had snow white hair, and he told Carella his name was Richard Halloway. He remembered Ollie as DetectiveWatts, a misapprehension Ollie quickly corrected.
“It’sWeeks, sir,” he said. “Detective OliverWeeks.”
“Yes, of course, how stupid of me,” Halloway said. “Sit down, gentlemen, please. Some coffee?”
“I could use a cup,” Ollie said.
“Detective Carella?”
“Yes, please.”
Halloway lifted the receiver on his phone, pressed a button on the base, and asked someone to bring in some coffee. He put down the receiver, turned to the detectives, smiled, and said, “So. What brings you back here, Detective Weeks?”
“We’re still trying to figure out what Jerry Hoskins was doing up in Diamondback on December twenty-third,” Ollie said. “According to his customers, he wasn’t there to see any of them.”
“It is peculiar, isn’t it?” Halloway said.
“A couple of the booksellers seemed surprised you had sales reps at all,” Carella said.
“Oh? Did they?”
“Seemed to think a firm this size might do better with a distributor.”
“We’ve considered that, of course. But then we wouldn’t get the personal service we now enjoy.”
“Five sales reps altogether,” Carella said.
“Yes.”
“One of them in Texas, is that right?”
Before Halloway could answer, a knock sounded on the door, and the receptionist came in with a tray on which there was a pot of coffee, three cups and saucers, a pitcher of milk, and a bowl containing an assortment of white, pink, and blue packets.
“Ah, thank you, Charmaine,” Halloway said.
Charmaine put the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
“You wouldn’t have any cookies or anything, would you, Charmaine?” Ollie asked.
“Well … uh …”
“See if we have any cookies,” Halloway said.
“Yes, sir,” she said, and went out.
Ollie was already pouring.
“How do you take this?” he asked.
“Black for me,” Halloway said.
“A little milk, one sugar,” Carella said.
He was watching Halloway. A good three or four minutes had passed since he’d asked about the sales rep in Texas, more than enough time for Halloway to frame an answer. Halloway seemed to be engrossed in Ollie’s short order technique. Ollie was opening a packet of sugar now, pouring it into Carella’s cup. He handed it to him, and then carried Halloway’s black coffee to the desk. Charmaine came in with a platter of Fig Newtons, just as Ollie sat on the couch beside Carella again.
“Thank you, Charmaine,” he said.
Charmaine smiled at him and went out.
“Your rep in Texas,” Carella said.
“Yes.”
“He lives in Eagle Branch, is that right?”
“Yes, Eagle Branch.”
“You listed his name as Randolph Biggs …”
“Yes, that’s his name.”
“Would this be a side job for him?”
“A side job?”
“A second job. He wouldn’t have another job, would he?”
“Not that I know of. Another job? No. Why would he have another job? Working for us keeps him busy enough, I’m sure.”
“He wouldn’t be a Texas Ranger, would he?”
Halloway burst out laughing.
“Forgive me,” he said, “a TexasRanger? I hardly think so.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“Of course I’ve met him.”
“Did Jerry Hoskins know him?” Ollie asked.
“Yes, I’m sure they knew each other. I’m sure they were at sales conferences together.”
“Twice a year, is that right?” Carella asked.
“Yes. In the spring and the fall.”
“Would they have seen each other this year?”
“I feel certain.”
“This spring? This fall?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Where, Mr. Halloway?”
“Why, here. We had both conferences at the Century Hotel.”
“You didn’t have your conferences in Texas, did you?”
“No.”
“Eagle Branch, Texas?”
“No.”
“So they couldn’t have met down there, could they?”
“Hardly.”
“When’s the last time you yourself saw Mr. Biggs?”
“When he was up here in September. For our last sales conference.”
“Do you talk to him often?”
“Every now and then.”
“Will you be talking to him anytime soon?”
“I would imagine.”
“Tell him we were asking for him, will you?”
“I’ll be sure to.”
There seemed nothing further to say.
Carella was wondering if they had enough on Biggs to justify an arrest warrant and extradition from Texas. Ollie was thinking he would like to ask this little white-haired son of a bitch if he knew that Biggs had introduced Cassandra Ridley to his friend Frank Holt, who’d paid her two hundred thousand dollars to fly dope up from Mexico. He wanted to ask him if maybe Biggs had athird job besides sales rep and Texas Ranger, and could that third job possibly be smuggling drugs? He wanted to suggest that if one of Halloway’s sales reps was fucking with drugs down in Mexico then maybeanother of his reps was doing the same thing up in Diamondback, which was maybe what had got him killed. Ollie wanted to scare the shit out of Halloway, was what he wanted. Sometimes, if you scared them hard enough, they jumped the wrong way.