"She gave us a sketchy idea," Sandy said.
Julia said, "Is it true you don't have a clue to the identity of this killer, Chief?"
Hallock bit the inside of his cheek. How could he pretend he had an idea, a suspect, when he was asking them to help him in this way? "That's right, Julia. Hate to admit it, but it's the truth. That's why I need you gals so badly."
"Do you think you could stop calling us gals, Waldo?" Julia said tersely.
"Huh?"
"Gals. We don't like being called gals."
"Why not?" he asked innocently.
Julia waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "It's too long to go into now." She turned to Fran. "Haven't you taught him any better?"
"Let's get on with it, okay?" Fran said, keeping her voice as even as she could.
"Fine by me," Julia responded.
Hallock continued to gnaw at his cheek. This was worse than addressing the Rotary. "Sorry if I offended."
Anne said, "Waldo, please go on. We wish to hear what you have to say."
He smiled at her, feeling a little better. "As you probably know each victim has been found with an A…" Having to say it aloud to these women made him feel really lousy. "Found with an A cut into their-bodies."
Florence said, "How'd you know it was an A?"
"It looked like one. We think this A is a very important clue. It could be the killer's initial. But we don't know if it's the first or the last initial."
"Or if it's an initial at all," Julia put in.
"That's right," he mumbled.
"So," she said, "to coin a phrase, we're shooting in the dark."
"Yes."
"You know, Julia," Sandy said, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"I just want to know the facts, that's all. Is it so terrible to get the lay of the land, so to speak?"
"Julia's right. I want you to know everything. And I intend to tell you everything in due time," he said pointedly. "I have no idea if this will work, but I want to try it." From a side table, he picked up five copies of the Yellow Book, the community directory, and passed one out to each of them. "There are about one hundred ninety- two pages that we have to cover in here. The last names starting with A's will be easy. One of you can just go through with a yellow marker." He got these from the drawer of the table. "Highlight everything that isn't a store or business of some kind.
"That leaves twenty-five letters, five for each of you. You can divide them up any way you want. Now, it's not just the first initial that's important. A middle initial is just as good."
"Because some people are called by their middle name even though they list their first name in the book. Right, Waldo?" said Sandy.
"That's right," he smiled. He took Fran's book, flipped it open, ran a finger down a page. "See, like this: Goodridge, Robert A."
"Do we run the marker over those?" Anne asked.
"Yes. There are about twenty-five thousand names you'll have to go through, five thousand each. Don't rush it. The one you miss could be the one we want most."
"I don't understand," Julia said obstinately. "What good is this going to do?"
"In a couple of hours I'll be back and tell you the rest," he stalled. He was meeting with Maguire in fifteen minutes to work on the questionnaire. "So, are there any more questions?" He prayed there weren't, avoiding Julia's eyes.
Florence said, "Are we going to be calling these people, the ones we're underlining?"
"What do you think all these phones are for, Florrie?" Julia said.
"I guess," she said meekly.
Hallock felt sorry for Florence. "Later on you'll be calling the people you've underlined, yes."
"What will we say to them?" Sandy asked.
"That's what I'm going to tell you later. Okay, ga-ladies, I-"
"Just as bad, Waldo," Julia interrupted.
"Oh, Julia," Anne said, "don't."
Julia said, "He needs his consciousness raised."
"I'll walk you out," Fran said.
"Thanks, all," he said, playing it safe. "See you later." On the front stoop Hallock said through his teeth, "What the hell am I supposed to call them?"
“Women.”
"Women?"
She nodded.
"I'm supposed to say, thank you, women?”
"Forget it, hon'."
"Thank you, women," he said again, puzzled.
"Thanks, all, was just super, Waldo."
"I think it's stupid," he sulked. “Thank you, women."
"Look, I don't want to start World War Three, but you'd say, thank you, men, wouldn't you?"
"It's different."
"It's not."
"Is."
"Isn't."
"Is."
"Waldo, what's stupid is this."
"You're right. I got to go, check in with Schufeldt, meet Maguire." He kissed her on the cheek.
"Come here," she said, pulling his head toward her, kissing him on the lips.
"Nice," he said. "You're some kinda ladygal."
She laughed. "So long gentlemanguy."
"Oh, you're a hoot, you are," he said, going down the steps.
"Waldo?" she called.
"Yeah?"
"Don't let Schufeldt get to you."
"I won't." Famous last words, he thought.
Colin sat in a back booth at the Paradise nursing a cup of black coffee. Hallock was late. Colin wondered what the chief wanted. He hadn't indicated on the phone, just said he needed his help. It was bound to be about the three murders, but how could he help?
He shouldn't have told Mark he was going out to meet Hallock, but he couldn't have predicted Mark's reaction.
"What do you mean he wants your help?"
"Just that. I don't know what it's about."
"Are you slipping or what?"
There it was again, the soft edge of criticism-a feeling that Mark was trying to undermine him. "Slipping?" He tried to sound casual.
"You didn't ask Hallock?" Mark said acrimoniously.
"I asked, he didn't answer. He said he didn't want to talk about it over the phone."
"I think he's getting flaky. He's never had a murder to solve before, now he has three of them."
"I don't know, he doesn't seem flaky to me. Just cautious."
"Cautious, hell. Behind the eight ball is what he is."
"Maybe, but he's got some kind of plan."
Mark laughed derisively. "Waldo Hallock's never had a plan in his life. You don't really know this guy, Colin."
"No, not well, but-"
"Not well? Not at all."
There was no use in arguing the point.
"Suppose I say you can't go?" Mark said.
"Come on, what's this all about?"
"It's about wasting time, Colin, that's what it's about."
"If you don't want me to go, I won't go. But I don't know what you're afraid of."
"Don't be an asshole. What do I have to be afraid of?"
"You tell me."
"Go on, big-time crime reporter, get the hell out of here. But when you come back with egg on your face don't blame me."
Annoyed, Colin left. Walking toward the Paradise, Mark caught up to him.
"Hey, pal, listen," he said, a hand on Colin's shoulder, turning him around. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me… yeah, I do."
Colin waited.
"I spoke to Amy this morning. It screwed me up. You know how it is."
In fact, Colin didn't know how it was.
"Forget everything I said, okay, pal?"
"Consider it forgotten," he answered grudgingly.
Sitting in the Paradise, Colin hadn't forgotten any of it. He didn't believe Mark but he didn't know why. Maybe he had talked to Amy, maybe it had even upset him, but Colin didn't think for a moment that Mark's attack had anything to do with Amy. There was only one reason Mark behaved the way he had: He was in a jealous rage. He couldn't stand Colin's good relationship with Hallock. Although it was nothing new, and Mark had previously said he was glad Colin got on with Hallock, something about this was out of sync and it nagged at him.
Hallock, mouth set in a grim line, approached the booth. "Son of a goddamn bitch!"
"What's up, Chief?"
"Son of a frigging bitch!" He sat down and slammed the table hard. "That ass-backwards moron! Christ Almighty!" His mouth was tight, shoulders in a dispirited droop.