“But you know more?”
He nodded.
“Who is this guy who keeps saving my life and insisting that I find Mrs. Sebastian?”
“I don’t know,” said Green.
“I was tired. I was frightened. A man named John Pirannes-ever hear of him? — had just tried to kill me. I should have asked the ball of muscle why he didn’t go find Melanie Sebastian.”
“Yes,” said Green. “We’ve got five more minutes.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve heard of John Pirannes. I don’t know him. And yes, you should have asked this man why he didn’t try to find Melanie. My guess is that he doesn’t know how to find people, intelligent people who don’t want to be found.”
“He had no trouble finding me,” I said. “Don’t comment. I’ll take the flattery. I know how to find smart people, especially smart people like Melanie Sebastian who want to be found, but on their schedule. Am I making sense?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you and Melanie Sebastian lovers?”
“I’m gay, Mr. Fonesca. I told you.”
“Why do they call it gay? Most of the homosexuals I’ve known are smiling on the outside and depressed on the inside,” I said.
“Like you?”
“There is a distinct similarity,” I said, sinking back into the chair. I considered asking him to prescribe a tranquilizer for me. I’d been on antidepressants for almost a year after my wife died. I wasn’t depressed now. I was manic. I must have looked confused. He reached over for the pad on his desk, picked up a pen, wrote something, tore off the sheet and handed it to me. It wasn’t a prescription for tranquilizers. It was two suggestions. I looked at them.
“More games,” I said.
“I’m afraid so,” he agreed. “We’re out of time.”
He got up and so did I.
“Two people have died in the last two days, both murdered,” I said. “I shouldn’t be playing games for rich people, for you, Carl Sebastian, his wife. I’ve got a girl in real trouble, not just a spoiled rich runaway wife.”
“And you think it’s your responsibility to find a murderer?” he asked. “Mr. Fonesca, it’s the responsibility of the police to find murders. Time’s up.”
“So,” I said, following him to the side door. “I’m not paranoid.”
“In general? I don’t know. In this instance, no, I don’t think so.”
He opened the door. I folded the note he had given me and placed it in my shirt pocket.
“You’re going to call her now-Melanie-aren’t you?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I stepped out and he closed the door behind me.
The blue Buick was parked half a block ahead of me on Palm. I considered walking over to it, asking the guy who had saved my life to have a cup of coffee and help me out with some answers. From my minimal contact with him, I didn’t think he’d be a great conversationalist and I doubted if he would give me any answers.
I drove down Palm slowly and headed for the law office of Tycinker, Oliver and Schwartz. Harvey was in his computer room. He didn’t look happy to see me. I handed him the note Geoffrey Green had given me and told him to look at item one.
“I can get an answer to that one in an hour, maybe less,” he said, looking a bit happier. “But I’m working on something for Matt Schwartz now. I can have an answer in two, three hours. You want overall? You want details?”
“Overall for now,” I said. “Details when you have the time.”
“I can’t print out,” he said. “I don’t want hard evidence.”
“I trust your memory,” I said.
Harvey grunted slightly and reached for a mug of tea with the little string and tab hanging over the edge.
“It ain’t what it used to be,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what “it” was.
“Someone’s playing games with me, Harvey-with us.”
“I like games,” he said, pushing a button on the gray keyboard in front of him. “What I don’t like is your Melanie Sebastian waving a virtual-reality carrot in front of me.”
The computer clicked musically and came to life.
“I’ll buy you dinner, you name the place, when this is over,” I said.
“My tastes are modest, Lewis,” he said. “That was not always the case.”
“Good. I’ll call you later. You’ll be here?”
“I’m always here,” he said.
“Mind if I use your phone?”
The second of the two scrawled items on Geoffrey Green’s pad was just two words: Caroline Wilkerson.
I had her number and all the other ones, plus fragments of notes I had made that I had trouble reading, in the little notebook I kept in my back pocket. Her voice came on: answering machine. I left a message, told her I still wanted to talk to her again and would call her back.
Then I called Sally at her office. It was getting late but I knew the kind of hours she kept. I had to wait about three minutes because she was on another line.
Harvey ignored me. He sipped tea, watched the screen, hit buttons and talked to his computer.
When Sally came on, I asked,
“How’s Adele?”
“I checked with my supervisor. We filed charges so we could hold her at Juvenile.” Sally sounded tired. “I think she’d run away otherwise. I explained it to Adele. She wasn’t happy in some ways. In others, she was. Juvenile is safe, but it’s only for a few days. We’ll drop charges. We’ll keep her in detention, try to find a foster home, hope she doesn’t run again. Hope a judge doesn’t send her back to her father. She told me what happened.”
“She told you.”
“Spiltz,” she said. “I’m writing a report now. I have no choice, Lewis. I could lose my job, maybe even be up on charges, obstructing justice.”
“You told your supervisor?”
“I told my supervisor.”
“Can I buy you dinner?”
“I don’t know when I’ll be done,” she said.
“I’m not in a hurry.”
“I told the kids I’d have dinner with them,” she said. “I’m picking up fried chicken. You want to come over?”
“You think Michael and Susan would go for that?”
“They think you’re interesting,” she said with the first touch of amusement.
“Give me a time,” I said. “I’ll show up with the chicken.”
“Eight,” she said. “That should be safe. You don’t happen to know someone who wants to become a foster parent? Someone who might want and be able to control Adele. We’re talking about a saint here. You know any saints?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
Harvey chortled. I have heard few real chortles in my life, but this was definitely one of them. He chortled at a list of telephone numbers on the screen in front of him.
“On the other hand,” I said, “I may know someone who might be willing to take on the challenge.”
“Give me a name,” Sally said. “I’ll turn it over to the department that handles placement.”
“I’d better talk to her first,” I said. “See you at eight.”
I hung up. I was procrastinating. I was avoiding. Now that I was starting to feel alive, I was also starting to look forward to things, like a bucket of fried chicken with Sally and her kids. I had realized while John Pirannes was telling me to put on a pair of swimming trunks that I was not as suicidal as I had been only a few days ago.
Ann Horowitz would definitely be pleased. I was feeling fear, pain, possibility and anxiety. There was much to be said for the alternative, depression.
I didn’t want to go talk to Dwight Handford now, at least not for the same reasons I had wanted to before. But I did have to talk to him.
“Couple of more calls,” I said, figuring out a way to avoid Dwight.
“Many as you like,” Harvey said as telephone numbers scrolled rapidly down the screen. “Bingo. Bingo. Bing. There it is.”
“What?” I asked, pushing buttons on the telephone pad.
“Not your job,” Harvey said. “I don’t think you’d be interested, but I can tell you when I crack something like this, when it hits the screen, it’s better than any drink or the best coke I ever had.”