“I bet you can’t program your VCR either.”
“I don’t
“For a bright man, you’re a moron when it comes to anything mechanical. How could the answering machine be on if I’m using call-forwarding? That’s the whole point. The call doesn’t go to the office, it’s transferred up here.”
“Yeah, but if that wasn’t working, wouldn’t the answering machine pick up?”
“The answering machine isn’t on. You don’t
“Why not?”
Mark Taylor, who’d been looking back and forth, held up his hands. “Kids,” he said. “Let’s not quarrel. The fact is, if she gets her one phone call, I’ll get the news almost as quick as you will.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Steve said. “Still-”
The phone on Mark Taylor’s desk rang. He scooped it up. “Yeah?… What you got?” He listened a moment, said, “Get back to me,” and hung up the phone. “You’re not going to like this.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I gotta call ’em as I see ’em. Word is, Stams made an arrest.”
“Shit. They say who?”
“No, but who else? All I got is a report Stams is on his way downtown with a suspect in tow.”
“Damn it,” Steve said. “I told her the minute things got sticky to clam up and call.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t let her.”
“Let her, hell. If he took her in, he’s gotta Mirandize her.”
“Yeah, but we’re talkin’ Stams.”
“Right. If he didn’t, it’s a hell of a break.” Steve shrugged. “Except with Stams, I wouldn’t put it past him to lie and say he did.”
“Think he could get away with it?”
“I don’t know,” Steve said impatiently. “But that’s beside the point. If. Amy followed instructions, the minute Stams looked at her funny she should have started screaming she wanted to call her lawyer. If she’s on her way downtown, things are not going as planned.”
“No kidding,” Taylor said. “So whaddya want to do?”
“Till she lights, there’s nothing I
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Taylor said. “Can you suggest anything practical that I’m not doing?”
“No. Yes. There’s a man runs a music store on the ground floor. Find out who that is, whether he’s the guy was working there earlier tonight.”
“What’s the name of the store?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Makes it a bit harder,” Taylor said dryly. He snatched up the phone, punched in a number. “Mickey, it’s Mark. Consider yourself on the clock. There’s a music store on West 47th Street.” He cupped the receiver, turned to Steve. “What’s the address?”
“Damned if I know. Tracy?”
“Got it,” Tracy said. She whipped open her notebook, read the address to Mark Taylor, who relayed it over the phone.
“Got that?” Taylor said. “I want to know the name of the shop, the name of the owner, and who was working there tonight.” He turned to Steve. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Find out where the guy is now.”
“Can he know why we’re askin’?”
“The less he knows the better. Just line him up.”
“You got it,” Taylor said. He relayed the instructions and hung up the phone. “Okay,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Fletcher’s partner. Marvin Lowery. Get a line on him, find out where he was this evening. You don’t have to go back any further than five o’clock, because up till then he was in court.
“Same thing with the detective-that’s Samuel Macklin. Only in his case, after he testified I don’t think he stuck around-he had no reason to. So you have to trace his movements from mid-afternoon. Find out if he went back to his agency, or home, or whatever.”
“Will do,” Taylor said. He picked up the phone and started to dial. Another line on his phone rang. He pushed the button, took the call. “Yeah?” he snapped. Then, “No, no, wait a minute. Who are you calling?… Yeah, hang on.”
Taylor looked up from the phone. “It’s her.”
18
Amy Dearborn had been crying.
Steve Winslow didn’t need her red eyes to tell him that- he’d been able to tell on the phone. As he looked at her through the wire-mesh screen in the lockup, he felt sorry for her, sure. But he also felt angry and impatient. So it was all he could do to appear sympathetic and calm.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
Amy snuffled once. “It’s a mess.”
“So I gather,” Steve said. “But you’d better define this mess, so I can start doing something about it.”
“It’s not my fault,” Amy said.
“I didn’t say it was.”
“I can tell. From your tone.”
“Forget my tone,” Steve said. “It’s been a long day. I need your story. I don’t want to drag it out of you. Pull yourself together and tell me the score.”
He lip trembled. “They tricked me.”
“Who tricked you?”
“That cop.”
“Sergeant Stams?”
“I don’t know his name. He sat there with a blank look. He seemed so stupid.”
“Yeah, that’s Stams. What happened?”
“I told your story. Just like you said.”
“Yeah. So?”
“He seemed to be buying it. I had no idea anything was wrong.”
“What was wrong?”
“The drawer.”
“What drawer?”
“What drawer do you think? The petty cash drawer.”
“What about it?”
“It was shut.”
“What?”
“It was shut. The damn drawer was shut.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me either. But that’s what happened.”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” Steve said. “Are you telling me that you told Stams you found the petty cash drawer open, and when you went to look at it, it was shut?”
“That’s right.”
“The cops didn’t close it?”
“He said they didn’t.”
