“Wait! I just thought of something. Have to put you on hold.”
“’K.”
I did, checked my outgoing call record, and thumbed him back in. “Can you trace a phone number?”
“Is that a trick question?”
I gave him Samuel Wing’s cell.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
As I clicked off, Jack’s soup arrived. “Umm.” He sniffed. “Smells as good as my mother’s.”
“Your mother’s from Fujian?”
“My mother’s from Chicago. She takes a lot of cooking classes. Makes a hell of a pile of potato latkes, too. Now, your turn.”
Bill reached for his phone so I could show Jack the Chaus. Before he got it out of his pocket, though, my own phone rang. An unfamiliar number, so I answered in both languages.
“Hello, this is R. T. Singh calling.” The voice spoke English with the lilt of India. “You have said you lost an object in my taxi this afternoon?”
Samuel Wing’s cabbie! I’d just about forgotten. “Yes, Mr. Singh, thank you for calling. Yes, I think I might have lost something. Though it wasn’t an object.”
“I don’t understand, I am sorry.”
“It was my husband.”
Cautiously, he said, “Please?” while the men at my table exchanged surprised looks.
“Mr. Singh, you picked up a Chinese man at four on Hudson Street. He’s thin, with gray hair. He was wearing a gray suit? That’s my husband. I’m afraid—” I let my voice catch, then went on. “I’m afraid he was going to see … He was on his way … Mr. Singh, I think he has a mistress!”
“Oh. Oh, my. I—” said R. T. Singh. Bill and Jack were grinning, so I turned to the wall. Unfortunately, it was a mirror. They were inescapable.
“All I want, Mr. Singh, is to know where he was going. I’ll pay you for that. It’s just, not knowing, do you understand? It’s driving me crazy!” As were Jack’s and Bill’s merry stares.
“Now I see,” R. T. Singh said slowly. “Because when I received the e-mail, I said to myself, you did not have a woman passenger this afternoon at the time the alert is telling you, I think so. But Mrs. Chin—”
“Please, call me Lydia.”
“Mrs. Chin, I do not like to be indiscreet.”
“Of course not. And I wouldn’t ask you. But I have to know! Maybe I’m wrong. That’s what I’m hoping, you see. That I have it all wrong and we can laugh about it later. But I look at the children—our youngest looks just like him—and I start to cry. Please? I’ll send you a reward, I really will. I just have to know! Where did he go?”
After a short pause, he said, “Please. No reward. I prefer not to become involved in affairs such as these. I will tell you where I took the gentleman and after that I will delete your telephone number. If mine has appeared in your telephone record I ask that you delete it, also.”
“I promise! Can you check now?”
“There is nothing I need check. I remember because I was saying a prayer, that he does not want to turn about and go downtown. To get stuck in the Holland Tunnel traffic, you see, that was my worry. Luck was by my side, however. The address the gentleman requested allowed us to take the West Side Highway not south, but north. The Lincoln Tunnel can of course be a problem at that hour, also, but the tie-up was not bad, and we reached his destination soon after passing through that jam.”
To a woodpecker, the world’s a tree. To a cabbie, it’s all about the traffic. “Yes,” I said, with impressive self- control. “His destination, which was where?”
“Right at the next exit beyond the tunnel. Twelfth Avenue, at the foot of Forty-second Street. I left him on the south side, as that was where I turned. But he crossed to the north side while I drove away.”
I was temporarily speechless. “Did he go into the building there? On the northeast corner?”
“I believe he did. I am sorry, Mrs. Chin, if this is what you feared.”
“I—no, Mr. Singh, I’m better off knowing. Are you sure I can’t send you something to show my gratitude?”
“No, as I say, I don’t want to become involved, I think so. I hope for you everything works out well.”
“Thank you,” I said automatically. “I hope the same for you.”
I clicked off and stared at the guys. They exchanged glances. “What’s up?” Bill said. “You look a little stunned. What was that about?”
“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “Remember I told you someone came to my office and threatened me?”
“Circuitously, yes. I wasn’t sure you were serious. You didn’t sound worried.”
“I didn’t think
“Are you now?”
“I honestly don’t know. The guy—he said his name was Samuel Wing—told me he represented some people who wanted me to stop looking for the Chaus. He wouldn’t say who or why they cared but he was ready to hand me
