“She never looks at the Times. ”
“It’ll be in the other papers, too.”
“She probably won’t read them, either. I don’t even know if she knows your last name.”
“She must.”
“Maybe.”
“Would she call the cops?”
“She’s a good person, Bernie. She’s not a fink.”
“She’s also jealous. She thinks-”
“I know what she thinks. She must be a lunatic to think it, but I know what she thinks.”
“She could decide to give the cops an anonymous tip. She could tell herself it was for your own good, Carolyn.”
“Shit.” She gnawed a thumbnail. “You figure it’s not safe here anymore?”
“I don’t know.”
“But the phone’s here. And the number’s in the paper, and how are we going to answer it from a distance?”
“Who’s going to call, anyway?”
“Rudyard Whelkin.”
“He killed Madeleine Porlock Thursday night. I’ll bet he took a cab straight to Kennedy and was out of the country by midnight.”
“Without the book?”
I shrugged.
“And the Sikh might call. What happened to his five hundred dollars?”
“You figure he’ll call so he can ask me that question?”
“No, I’m asking it, Bern. You had the money on you when Madeleine Porlock drugged you, right?”
“Right.”
“And it was gone when you came to.”
“Right again.”
“So what happened to it?”
“She took it. Oh. What happened to it after she took it?”
“Yeah. Where did it go? You went through her things last night. It wasn’t stashed with the book, was it?”
“It wasn’t stashed anywhere. Nowhere that I looked, that is. I suppose the killer took it along with him.”
“Wouldn’t he leave it?”
“Why leave money? Money’s money, Carolyn.”
“There’s always stories about killings in the paper, and they say the police ruled out robbery as a motive because the victim had a large sum of cash on his person.”
“That’s organized crime. They want people to know why they killed somebody. They’ll even plant money on a person so the police will rule out robbery. Either the killer took the money this time or Porlock found a hiding place that didn’t occur to me. Or some cop picked it up when no one was looking. That’s been known to happen.”
“Really?”
“Oh, sure. I could tell you no end of stories. But what’s the point? I’d be interrupted by the insistent ringing of the telephone.”
And I turned to the instrument, figuring it would recognize a cue when it heard one. It stayed silent, though, for upwards of half an hour.
But once it started ringing, I didn’t think it was ever going to stop.
Rrrring!
“Hello?”
“Ah, hello. I’ve just read your notice in the Times. I’m only wondering if I’m interpreting it correctly.”
“How are you interpreting it?”
“You would appear to have something to sell.”
“That’s correct.”
“Passage to, ah, Fort Bucklow.”
“Yes.”
“Would it be possible for me to know to whom I am speaking?”
“I was going to ask you that very question.”
“Ah. An impasse. Let me consider this.”
An English inflection, an undertone of Asia or Africa. A slightly sibilant s. Educated, soft-spoken. A pleasant voice, all in all.
“Very well, sir. I believe you may already have encountered an emissary of mine. If my guess is right, you overcharged him in a transaction recently. He paid five hundred dollars for a book priced at a dollar ninety-five.”
“Not my fault. He ran off without his change.”
An appreciative chuckle. “Then you are the man I assumed you to be. Very good. You have pluck, sir. The police seek you in connection with a woman’s death and you persist in your efforts to sell a book. Business as usual, eh?”
“I need money right now.”
“To quit the country, I would suppose. You have the book at hand? It is actually in your possession as we talk?”
“Yes. I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“I don’t believe I’ve given it. Before we go further, sir, perhaps you could prove to me that you have the volume.”
“I suppose I could hold it to the phone, but unless you have extraordinary powers…”
“Open it to page forty-two, sir, and read the first stanza on the page.”
“Oh. Hold on a minute. ‘Now if you should go to Fort Bucklow / When the moon is on the wane, / And the jackal growls while the monkey howls / Like a woman struck insane… Is that the one you mean?”
A pause. “I want that volume, sir. I want to buy it.”
“Good. I want to sell it.”
“And your price?”
“I haven’t set it yet.”
“If you will do so…”
“This is tricky business. I have to protect myself. I’m a fugitive, as you said, and that makes me vulnerable. I don’t even know whom I’m dealing with.”
“A visitor in your land, sir. A passionate devotee of Mr. Kipling. My name is of little importance.”
“How can I get in touch with you?”
“It’s of less importance than my name. I can get in touch with you, sir, by calling this number.”
“No. I won’t be here. It’s not safe. Give me a number where I can reach you at five o’clock this afternoon.”
“A telephone number?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t do that.”
“It can be any telephone at all. Just so you’ll be at it at five o’clock.”
“Ah. I will call you back, sir, in ten minutes.”
Rrrring!
“Hello?”
“Sir, you have pencil and paper?”
“Go ahead.”
“I will be at this number at five o’clock this afternoon. RH4- 5198.”
“RH4-5198. At five o’clock.”
Rrrring! Rrrring!
“Hello?”
“Hello?”
“Hello.”
“Ah. If you could say something more elaborate than a simple hello…”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Very good. I’d hoped it was you. I won’t use your name aloud, and I trust you won’t use mine.”
“Only if I want to call your club and have you paged.”
“Don’t do that.”
“They said you weren’t a member. Extraordinary, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps I haven’t been altogether straightforward with you, my boy. I can explain everything.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“The elusive item. Can I assume from your advertisement that it hasn’t slipped out of your hands?”
“It’s in front of me even as we speak.”
“Excellent.”
“ ‘Now if you should go to Fort Bucklow / When the moon is on the wane, / And the jackal growls while the monkey howls…’ ”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t read it to me. Or have you committed great stretches of it to memory?”
“No, I was reading.”
“Oh, to prove possession? Hardly necessary, my boy. You’d scarcely have shot the woman and then left the book behind, would you? Now how are we going to manage this transaction?”
“We could meet someplace.”
“We could. Of course neither of us would welcome the attention of the police. I wonder…”
“Give me a number where I can reach you at six o’clock.”
“Why don’t I simply call you?”
“Because I don’t know where I’ll be.”
“I see. Well, my boy, at the risk of appearing to play them close to the vest, I’m not sure I’d care to give out this number.”
“Any number, then.”
“How’s that?”
“Pick a pay phone. Give me the number and be there to answer it at six.”
“Ah. I’ll get back to you.”
Rrrring!
“Hello?”
“ CHelsea 2- 9419.”
“Good.”
“At six o’clock.”
“Good.”
Rrrring!
“Hello?”
“Hello. I believe you advertised-”
“Passage to Fort Bucklow. That’s correct.”