“Who said you could smoke in here?”
“You changed the rules?” He held the cigarette over the ashtray, prepared to stub it out.
“No. But you’re lucky I still have that.”
“The ashtray? Yeah, but you hid it. It wasn’t easy to find.”
“You’re supposed to be a detective.” I dropped into my chair.
“As such I have a question.”
“Which is?”
“When did you start using four-letter words?”
“I haven’t, as a rule. But some situations demand extreme measures.”
“Like me.”
“Yes, I’d say you’re one of those situations.” I paused. “Bill?” I said, more gently. “How’s Gary?”
Bill looked into his coffee. “Coping.”
“Better than you?”
He shrugged.
As badly as things turned out in that case, they’d have turned out worse if Bill hadn’t been there, and people-including Gary -told him that, but it didn’t comfort him. I think the reason Bill disappeared after that was that he didn’t want to hear anymore how it wasn’t his fault.
So I didn’t say it now.
“If you talk to him,” I said instead, “give him my love.”
Bill nodded.
I got up and poured more tea, to give myself a chance to figure out some really smart, articulate words for what I wanted to say next, but I was lost, really. All I could come up with was exactly what I meant: “What do we do now?”
“About what?”
“Well, it was lots of fun cracking up with you, but we still haven’t gotten past the part where we haven’t spoken in months because you’re a four-letter-word. And Joel’s still dead.” I tried for matter-of-fact, but I felt my eyes mist.
“How about,” Bill said, “we put the first item on hold and work on the second?”
“Meaning what?”
“Mary said you think Joel’s murder may be related to the case you’re working, but the homicide cop who caught it doesn’t.”
“Speaking of Mary, wait until I get my hands on her.”
“That’s between you two. What I’m proposing is, if you want, I’ll work with you on this. We can follow up whatever you think needs following. If you’re right maybe we can light a fire under the cops, and if you’re wrong we’ll find that out.”
“I’m right.”
“You usually are.”
“Boy, you must be seriously feeling guilty, to say something like that.”
“You’re right about that, too. Deal?”
“Is this why you called?”
“Yes.”
“Because you thought I needed help?”
“No. Because I wanted to help you.”
And that was like the “please” when he’d first called.
Probably the sensible thing to do would be to let the cops handle Joel’s murder. I could focus on Rosalie Gilder’s jewelry, assuming Alice Fairchild still wanted that. Bill speaks a number of languages, but none of them is Yiddish or Chinese, so if I took that route I could throw him out and count myself lucky to be rid of a fuckup.
But it was Joel who’d said we worked well together, Bill and I.
8
I laid the situation out for Bilclass="underline" Alice Fairchild and the Waldorf, Joel summoning me to his office because something was fishy, Detective Mulgrew’s unsolved robberies. I showed him the photos: the jewelry; Wong Pan, who stole it; Rosalie Gilder and her brother, Paul, smiling on a windy day. I gave him Rosalie’s first letter to read.
“There are others,” I said. “At the Jewish Museum.”
“Have you read them?”
“Some.”
“Do they help?”
I felt an odd, unexpected comfort: the same feeling I’d had dropping my suitcase in my own apartment after a month away.
“Not really, except to get to know her. It made me want to get her jewelry back even more, though.”
“Can I have them? I’ll read them later.”
“I’ll print you out a set.” I clicked on the computer and had just gotten to the Jewish Museum site when the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I answered in both languages. “Lydia Chin, Chin Ling Wan-ju.”
“Whatever,” a dismissive voice countered. “Where’s your client?”
“Detective Mulgrew?”
“Two points. Where is she?”
“I have no idea. She’s not at the Waldorf?”
“If she was why would I be calling you?”
Because you’re as charmed by me as I am by you? “If you tried there and her cell phone, I have no idea.”
“It would be good if you did.”
“I thought you said Joel’s death had nothing to do with her.”
“I don’t like witnesses running out before I talk to them. Makes them look bad.”
“Running out? Did she check out of the hotel?”
“No, and her things are still in her room. But she’s not turning up.”
“You were in her room?”
“Oh, gee. Shouldn’t I have done that? Look, when you hear from her, you’re going to let me know right away, right?”
“Anything you say.”
“Because I don’t like people helping witnesses run out, either.” He hung up on me.
“Mulgrew can’t find Alice,” I told Bill. “He thinks that makes her look bad. I can’t tell him where to find her, so I look bad, too.”
“Did she check out?”
“No.”
“Then what makes him think she’s not just in a meeting or something, with her phone off?”
“Probably because so many people avoid him all the time, it’s his first guess.”
“She may not even know he’s looking for her.”
“Or she could be in trouble. Maybe that’s what was fishy.” I tried Alice ’s cell and the Waldorf myself but just got voice mail. I pulled her card from my wallet. “I’m going to call her office in Zurich. Maybe they know how to reach her.”
“You can do that, but it’s eight at night there.”
I did it anyway, and all it got me was a woman’s voice, speaking German, saying nothing I understood except “Alice Fairchild.” I tried to leave a message, but the phone clicked off.
“How’s your German?” I asked Bill.
“My Dutch is better. Why?”
I made the call again and handed him the phone.
“The office is closed for two weeks,” he said. “Please call back.”
“That’s why it won’t take a message?”
“Who wants their voice mail clogged with two weeks’ worth of calls?”
“Who can afford to blow off business for two weeks? Wouldn’t your clients drop you if you did something like that?”
“My clients drop me for all sorts of reasons.”
“Yeah, like you don’t have that smart, dependable Chinese partner anymore.”
“And they know it’s my own fault. Maybe all the clients she cares about have her cell number.”
I was trying to think what to do when the phone rang again. It was another unfamiliar number, and I considered letting it go to voice mail, but at the last minute I answered, drawing out both names in case it was Mulgrew again.
“Ms. Chin? This is Leah Pilarsky calling.” The voice was tentative. “You don’t know me. I’m Joel Pilarsky’s sister-in-law.”
I felt as if the sun had suddenly gone down. “I’m so sorry about Joel.”
“Thank you. We all loved him. Ms. Chin, Joel’s wife, Ruth, asked me to get in touch with you. She got a call from someone looking for Joel, someone who didn’t know… Anyway, Ruth thinks it has to do with the case he’d just started, with you. Joel always spoke highly of you, and Ruth is sure he’d want you to go on. Do you want the number?”
Joel spoke of me at all? And, highly? “Yes, I do, please. Was it Alice Fairchild?”
“No. A man called Friedman, Stanley Friedman.” She gave me a number. “Do you know him?”
“No, but I’ll call him right away. Thank you very much. And please tell Mrs. Pilarsky how sorry I am.”
I briefed Bill while I dialed.