I could hear the music going off in my head. It was always like that when I began to get ideas and get excited. I was getting a crazy, wild idea that might prove a point and bring Pat into it after all, then the crap would really fly. Heads would roll. They'd set up the guillotine in Times Square and the people could cheer like at a circus, then slink back and get ready to start the same thing all over again.
There was an empty peanut-butter jar with dead worms in it on top of the piling. I shook the things out and wiped the jar clean with a handkerchief until it shone, then threw the handkerchief away, too. I climbed down the supports and filled the jar nearly full before I worked my way back, then screwed the lid back on and went back to the street.
Instead of calling Pat I drove straight to his office. He shook hands and invited me down the hall, where he picked up a report sheet, then took me back to his cubicle. He handed me the form. "There it is, Mike. She died by suffocation. Drowning. We called the time right, too. No doubt about it now."
I didn't bother to read the report. Instead I tossed it back on his desk. "The coroner around, Pat?"
"He's downstairs, if he hasn't left already."
"Call and find out."
He was about to ask a question, but thought better of it and reached for the phone. After a minute he said, "He's still there."
"Tell him to wait."
"It better be good. He's pretty cranky. Besides, he's with the D.A."
"It's good."
Pat told the operator to hold him, his eyes never leaving mine. When he hung up he leaned forward over his desk. "What is it this time?"
I laid the jar on his desk. "Have him analyze that."
He picked up the jar and scrutinized it, shaking it to bring the sediment to the top, frowning into the murky ooze inside the jar. When he saw I wasn't going to explain it he got up abruptly and went out the door and I heard the elevator take him downstairs.
I went through half a deck of Luckies before I heard the elevator stop again. His feet were coming towards the office fast and hard and I knew he was mad.
He was. He slammed the jar on the desk and swung around with anger written across his face. "What kind of a steer did you call that? He analyzed all right... he told me it was nothing but water filled with every kind of mess there was. Then he wanted to know the whys and wherefores. I looked like a damn fool. What was I going to say, that a private cop is using the police for a workbench to figure out a crazy scheme? I didn't know what I expected to find in there, but I thought it would be better than that!"
"Why didn't you ask the coroner if it was the same stuff he found in her lungs? Not her stomach, mind you, but her lungs. When you drown you suffocate because that little valve in your throat tightens up the air passage to keep anything from running into your lungs. It doesn't take much to suffocate a person just enough water to make that little valve jam. There's water in the stomach, but very little in the lungs. Go ahead, ask him."
Pat's eyes were ready to pop. His teeth bared in an animal-like grin and he said, "You brainy bastard, you!"
He picked up the phone and called downstairs. The conversation didn't take more than a minute, but there was a lot of excited talk going on. He put the phone back and slid into his chair. "They're double-checking now, I think you called it."
"I told you that before."
"Don't go too fast, Mike. We have to wait for the report. Now tell it your own way."
"Simple, Pat. Ann Minor was drowned, most likely in her own place. Then she was tossed into the river."
"That means carrying the body out of the house without being seen, you know."
"What of it? Who's on the street at that hour? Hell, getting her out isn't the hard job. Dumping her wouldn't be a hard job either."
"There's only one catch: the suicide note."
"I got ideas on that, too."
Pat dropped his head in his hand. "You know I'm pretty smart. I've been tied, up in police work as long as you have. I love it, I'm good at it. But you come up with the ideas. Do you think I'm getting too set in my ways any more? Am I reverting to type or something? What the hell is wrong with me, Mike?"
The only thing I could do was chuckle at him. "You aren't slowing up, kid. You just forget... sometimes a smart crook knows as much as a smart cop. You ought to start thinking like one of them sometimes. It helps."
"Nuts!"
"We have two murders now. They both looked like something else. We haven't proved the first one, but this second shows you the kind of people you're up against. They aren't amateurs by a long shot."
Pat looked up. "You were talking about an idea you had..."
"No dice. Get your own. This one's a little cock-eyed even for you. If it's what I'm thinking it's just another piece in the puzzle. Maybe 'it's even from a different puzzle."
The phone rang again and Pat answered it. His face stayed blank until he finished the conversation. He wasn't too happy. "My department has it now. The water in her lungs was clear. Traces of soap. She was drowned in a bathtub, probably. Not a sign of contamination."
"Then cheer up."
"Yeah, I'll break out in smiles. They're patting me on the back downstairs, but they want to know how I got wise. What the hell will I tell them?"
I pushed the chair back and stood up. "Tell 'em you made it all up out of your own two little heads."
When I left, Pat said damn, soft like, but he was grinning now.
And I was grinning because I wanted the police in on this thing. Where I was going was too much trouble for one person. Much too much--even for me. The cops had the boys and the guns. They had the brains, too. Pretty soon now those heads were going to roll.
I had my supper in the Automat before I went home. I loaded up a tray with everything they had and picked a table where I was alone and able to think. When I finished I felt better and kept thinking, over a cigarette. All the assorted pieces of the puzzle were clear in my mind, but I couldn't get them together. But at least they were clear and if I couldn't see the picture on the puzzle I knew one thing... there would be one thing when I got it together. I looked at Nancy's ring again and said, "Soon, Red... very soon now."
In an hour the day had lost its brightness and a light rain rolled in with the dusk. I turned up my collar and stayed close to the buildings until I reached my car. Traffic was heavier now, but I got on an express street that was running freely and headed home. By the time I made my apartment the rain was coming down hard with no signs of letting up. I drove into the garage, and ran for it. Just the same, I got soaked before I reached the canopy over the gates.
When I tried to get my key in the lock it jammed. I tried again and it jammed again. Then I saw scratches on the brass. The lock has been jimmied. I hauled out my rod with one hand and kicked at the door. It flew open and I charged in there like a jerk wide open to get myself killed, only there was nobody else in there with me.
The lights were on in every room and the place was turned upside down. Nothing was where it belonged. The cushions in the chairs and couch were ripped apart and the breeze was blowing the stuffing through the air like a field of ragweed.
Drawers were emptied and discarded in the middle of the floor. All my clothes were out of the closet and heaped in a pile, the pockets turned inside out. They didn't even overlook the refrigerator. Bottles, cans and cold cuts were drawing flies and dirt on the table and under the sink.
I grabbed the phone and dialed the house number downstairs and waited for the doorman to answer. When he came on, I had to fight to keep my voice down. "This is Mike Hammer in 9-D. Was anybody here looking for me?"
The guy replied in the negative.
"Was anybody hanging around the place today? Anybody who doesn't belong here?"