"We might be."
"There are indications he's something of an all-around medical charm boy, or just very, very susceptible. His office nurses aren't picked entirely for their academic records, let's say, and there's a high turnover. And there have been whispers about the doctor-patient relationship in certain instances. Just whispers."
"I see," I said. "But there's no chance of his being offbeat in other ways, say politically? No chance of anybody's having got to him?"
"You supply the crystal ball, I'll read it," said the voice on the phone. "Chance? Sure there's a chance. There's always a chance. They may come up with something on thorough investigation. But this guy's just interested in money and women as far as I can see; he's not the kind to go haywire politically. And the material looks unpromising if you're hunting a potential killer."
I said, "After you've cut up enough dead bodies in medical school, I shouldn't think a live one would bother you much. And doctors have access to very convenient drugs, and ways of covering things up that aren't available to the layman. The man we're looking for doesn't necessarily have to be a pineapple and tommy-gun artist, you know."
"Still, there's better homicidal stuff around," the voice said.
"Kroch?"
"They finally found him for you. You were right, he's a pro all right, but they were checking the wrong lists. They were looking for someone Grandpa Taussig would be likely to recruit, someone from the regular herd, close at hand. This one is a stray from another ranch entirely."
I said, "Meaning what?"
"Hold onto your hat," said the voice on the phone. "Kroch used to be one of Reinhard Heydrich's Nazi strong-arm boys. An angry young man with a club, but his specialty was the pistol. He went in for small calibers, quiet and precise. Not what you'd expect from the crude physical characteristics, is it? Heydrich had great faith in young Kroch, it says here, and used him frequently. After the British elimination team got the Hangman, Kroch disappeared. Yours is the first report on him since the war. It was thought he was dead."
"Well, he isn't," I said. "So he's an ex-Gestapo bully-boy. Those former Nazis keep cropping up all over these days, don't they? I had to go down into Mexico after one just last summer, a gent named Von Sachs who was going to establish a Fourth Reich over here, or something. He was a regulation sonofabitch, fascist style, but he handled a machete real pretty for a while." I frowned. "Any theories on how Kroch comes to be working for the Communists, if he really is?"
"It's not unusual. A lot of those lads didn't care who they swung a blackjack for as long as they were paid. And Taussig would be needing a lot of manpower for a scheme as ambitious as this one. A trained goon like Kroch could set his own price, almost. Washington likes Kroch better than Mooney, friend. They want you to put the show on the road as soon as possible. If Kroch follows and the other one doesn't, nab him."
"Sure," I said. "And what if they both follow? Or neither does?"
"Don't borrow trouble. Start driving and use the mirror, first. See what comes along behind. But watch yourself. This boy's no rabbit; it'll take more than a figure-four trap to catch and hold him."
"It'll take more than a harsh word to make him talk, too," I said.
"That's not your worry unless you want it to be. You present the body, breathing, and experts will take it from there. They'll get it out of him. Any more questions?"
I hesitated. "One. Antoinette Vail. Is she being watched?"
"She's covered. She hasn't shown yet this morning. Why?"
"No reason," I said.
I didn't really know why I'd asked the question. Toni didn't belong in the case, except that I'd dragged her in for a diversion. Nobody would thank me for being concerned about a kid who was just an irrelevant nuisance, not even the kid herself.
XI
THE COFFEE SHOP had a white tiled floor and old-fashioned-looking tables and chairs, but no booths or jukebox. I seated Olivia at a corner table, acting as if we'd just happened to meet in the doorway by accident.
She was wearing a dress this morning, I noticed. It wasn't much to cheer about, one of the fashionably loose, baggy, blousy jobs that look very smart on a model built like a broomstick, which she wasn't. It was some kind of brownish jersey. They tell me that knitted stuff is very practical for traveling. I'm glad to hear it's good for something. Decoration-wise, it always looks like a variation of burlap to me.
Still, it was a dress and it wasn't tweed. There were other changes.
"For God's sake," I said.
"What is it… Oh."
She blushed a little and looked self-conscious. It was pink and innocuous, but it was real lipstick. Pretty soon she'd break down and powder her nose and everything. It gave me a funny feeling. I mean, after all, it was just a job for me. I didn't really want the responsibility of guiding the woman to a new view of life.
I'd had enough of personal feelings on this job. I could still hear Antoinette's voice: Why, I really liked you! And you set me up for this! Dr. Olivia Mariassy was just another decoy, I reminded myself firmly. Unlike Toni, she knew she was being used, but God only knew what I'd have to set her up for in the end.
"It isn't nice to stare," she said. "It isn't nice to make fun of me."
"Who's making fun?"
"I thought a bride-to-be would naturally pretty herself up a little," she said defensively "We're still getting married today, aren't we? Wasn't that the plan?"
"That's still the plan," I said. "In fact we've got orders from Washington to put it into execution as soon as possible. They want us to separate the sheep from the goats, or the sheep from the goat, singular. Whichever of the two follows, we're supposed to take him and turn him over to the wrecking crew pronto."
She glanced at me quickly. "The wrecking crew?"
"The I-team," I said. "The interrogation team. The experts. That is, unless we want to ask the questions ourselves."
She shivered slightly. "It isn't very nice, is it?"
"Not very."
"I wish there were some other way. I don't think it'll be a nice thing to remember, that I was a party to it and helped lure him into the trap. Whichever one of them it is. No matter if his job is to kill me, it won't be pleasant. Is this man Taussig really so important? What's he like?"
"I've never met him socially," I said. "I gather, if you met him on the street, you might think you were looking at Albert Einstein. Well, Emil is kind of a genius, too, in his own field. As for his importance, that's not a question you're supposed to ask, Doc. What do you want, a long patriotic speech about how the lives of innocent people and the fate of nations all depend on somebody's getting to Taussig in time?"
She sighed. "I know, some things you just have to accept. I'm not always happy about the uses to which science is being put these days, but I don't stop my research for that reason." She paused and said in the same tone of voice, "Talking about sheep-"
"What?"
"Talking about sheep and goats, we have company, Mr. Corcoran." She was looking beyond me. She leaned forward and covered my hand with hers. "Paul," she said, "darling-"
I got the idea. "Sweetheart!" I said, looking into her eyes with adoration.
Then Mooney was standing there with his horn-rims and heavy tweeds, looking as if he hadn't had much sleep. Despite his haggardness, I noticed, he was smoothly shaved. I caught a whiff of some masculine-smelling lotion as I got to my feet. He raised his hand quickly.
"Please! I'm not… I just came to apologize. I just wasn't myself last night."
I said aggressively, "Whoever you were, that guy's got a couple of punches coming."
Olivia was still holding my hand. She pulled me back. "Please, darling. It's such a lovely morning, let's not spoil it. If Harold wants to apologize, why don't you let him?" Her voice was smooth. She smiled at Mooney. "Go on, Harold. Apologize. Tell Paul you're sorry you hit him when he wasn't looking."