"If you don't overdo it, you can go anytime. Her face is going to be a mess for another week, but she'll get back to normal. That blow she took was so massive we want to make sure that there is no permanent injury."
"And what would that be?"
"For one thing, a possible memory loss. So far there's no indication of that. When are you going up?"
"Tonight."
"Good. She'll be glad to see you." He grinned and added, "You know, of course, she's in love with you."
"We've been working together quite a while," I said.
"Quit working and get married. Man, you can't see the forest for the trees. That's some woman."
"In my business the longevity factor is pretty lousy, Doctor. It makes business for you and a mess out of marriages." I changed the subject and handed him the broken partial plate from the garage.
He took it, turned it around and looked at it from all angles. "What am I supposed to say about it?"
"What are the chances of having this identified?"
"I assume you mean by the police?"
"Right."
"Well, they send dental X rays, photos of partials and full dental plates and patients' charts around the country. I don't know what percentage results in an accurate identification by the technicians who did the work, but I know there have been numerous successes." He reached out and dropped the partial in my hand. "A display this small wouldn't be easy to track. Its very simplicity is the trouble."
"Damn," I said.
"The police are pretty resourceful, Mike. Their modern technology is awesome."
"Sure, when it can be concentrated."
"Can't you narrow this down any?"
I gave him a nice grin. "Burkey-boy, you are one hell of a smart medicine man." I flipped the partial in the air, caught it and dropped it in my pocket.
Burke reached in the drawer and pulled out a small pill-sample envelope. "Let's be neat with that thing."
He watched me drop it in, seal it shut and put it away again. I told him thanks for his trouble, went down to the street and waved at a passing cab.
Pat rolled the tooth between his fingers before he laid it on top of the desk. "You come up with the damnedest things, Mike."
"Your guys didn't do a good sweep on that garage."
"Maybe if you had come right in that night the guys wouldn't have been so loose about it." I nodded. He was right on that. "What am I supposed to do with this anyway? And don't say try to trace it. We're not dealing with a dead body or a missing person, so what's the priority? There's probably been a million of these partials-"
"Hold it, Pat," I interrupted. "Just go to a pair of sources on this one. Check it out with the dental charts on FBI and CIA agents."
"Are you nuts!" Pat exploded. "You think our guys are going to pull a stunt like that?"
"Why not?"
He scanned my face. "Give me a reason. And not that bullshit about having a feeling."
"There was a finesse to the situation," I said. They were after one answer, nothing more. They didn't even try to kick the crap out of me for getting in a couple of good shots where they hurt. They left my rod alone. They had access to sodium pentothal, they swabbed my arm with alcohol before injecting me. This is stuff guys with training will do automatically."
"Suppose it doesn't pay off?"
"You won't know until you try, will you?"
"Inquiries like this can raise a few eyebrows."
"Pat," I said, "you know and I know that all of us have strange connections in odd places. The New York Police Department is a powerhouse, baby, and when they ask, everybody listens. Just go to your connections, kid."
The hard look on his face softened into an annoyed frown and he nodded agreement. "Okay, it's a possible, so I'll put it through."
"Good."
I started to get up and he said, "Wait." He found a message slip under his desk blotter and handed it to me. "Here is a connection for you to go to, old buddy. Good luck."
Candace Amory had left a number for me to call.
"But let's keep our priorities straight first, Mike. You have something going for you, haven't you?"
"Like you said, a possible. Nothing concrete."
"Okay, let's hear it, and cut the garbage about it just being an idea."
"No problem, but tell me . . . how many guys you got working on my abduction?"
"Guess."
"One."
"Right on."
"And what did he come up with?"
Pat's expression was a little shrewd. "I think we've been friends too long. You go first."
"Smiley's a middleman for somebody. That garage of his might make money, but it's a damn front."
"Can you prove it?"
This time it was my turn to grin a little. "I might be able to do it better than you can. My rules are different. Now, what do you know?"
"We're on the same track, I think. Trouble is . . . if he's on some kind of a payoff, he isn't leaving any tracks. He lives in a cheap apartment, has an old car . . ."
"And says he plays the ponies," I put in.
"Who's to say he doesn't? This time he did leave town . . . we checked him out . . . and probably did hit the track to keep his cover straight."
"You've been working, Pat."
"New York's Finest on the job," he said. "My guy tells me you've been nosing around the area down there."
"Just trying to help. In this case, I'm my own client if there's any controversy about legitimacy."
"So far, no squawks. If there were it would have hit the fan by now. The Terrible Trio have been prowling around here all day going through mug shots and burning up the phones."
"What trio?"
"Coleman, Bradley and your candy lady," he said.
"I don't get State's involvement in this thing, Pat. Why would they want a rep on the ground floor? We're dealing with a killer, not international intrigue. So Penta nailed one of their guys overseas . . . and got an ex-mobster here . . ."
"He was looking for you."
"Balls. I don't buy it. I'm no damn motive."
"Mike . . . somehow you're in this up to your ears."
"Yeah, great," I said.
"Cover your ass, pal. You prowl around like you own the city and somebody is sure as hell going to take you out."
I looked at my watch and stood up. "I won't make it easy for him."
They knew me at the hospital, but wanted to see my ID anyway. A new cop on the door scanned my PI ticket, driver's license, checking my face against the photo, before letting me into Velda's room.
"Hey, kid," I said softly.
In the dim light I saw her head turn slightly and knew she was awake. They had propped her up, the sheet lying lightly across her breasts, her arms outside it. The facial swelling had lessened, but the discoloration still put a dark shadow on her face. One eye still was closed and I knew smiling wasn't easy.
"Do I look terrible?"
I let out a small laugh and walked to the bed. "I've seen you when you looked better." I took her hand in mine and let the warmth of her seep into me. Inside, I could feel a madness clawing at my guts, scratching at my mind because somebody did this to her. They took soft beauty and a loving body and tried to smash it into a lifeless hulk because it was there in the way and killing was the simple way of moving it.
"Mike, don't," she said.
I sucked my breath in, held it, then eased it out. I was squeezing her hand too hard and relaxed my fingers. "Everything okay, kitten?"
"Yes. They're taking care of me." She tilted her head up. "I miss you."
"I know."
"What's been happening?"
I filled her in with some general information, but she stopped me. She wanted details, so I gave them to her.
Finally, after thinking a few minutes, she said, "The one you call the 'walker' . . . it was him all right."
"It's not much of an identification."
"Maybe . . . I can add something," she said. "If that caller . . . the one who made the appointment to see you . . . is the walker, or the one you call Penta . . ."