Nightlines

from beyond the dirt-spotted window, he sat down behind his desk and punched buttons on the answering machine.

'This is Eileen,' said the machine. 'Just a reminder-' Nudger pressed Fast Forward.

'Jeanette here, Mr. Nudger. Only one appointment today. At noon by the Twin Oaks Mall fountain. His name's Jock. He'll be wearing dark slacks and a beige sport jacket, no tie. Personnel Pool sent me out on a temporary secretarial job today, so phone me late this evening and report.' Click.

'Jack Hammersmith, Nudge. Call me at the Third when you get a chance. Some of us are pitching in for a birthday gift for Leo Springer…' Hammersmith's cigar-distorted chortle came through before Nudger could punch the red Off button.

He'd heard enough for now. In a way it was nice to know that the temporary office help firm that sent Jeanette out on jobs had tucked her safely away where she couldn't bother him for a while.

Nudger stood up and walked over to where a Globe- Democrat lay folded on the cold radiator. When he examined the paper he was surprised to find that it was four days old and wouldn't tell him what he needed to know. Dropping the paper into the wastebasket, he sat down again at the desk and dialed Hammersmith's number at the Third District. Hammersmith knew about Agnes Boyington and should have no trouble getting Springer to back off.

'I'm busy, Nudge,' Hammersmith said into the phone. 'Not much time for you. Ever seen a man actually foam at the mouth?'

'Only in bad movies. I think they do it with some kind of chemical.'

'Springer did it with only the forces of nature. He told me about his conversation with you. I set him straight. At least as straight as possible. He'll leave you alone, but not for long. I would describe him as incensed.'

'What did you tell him?'

'Practically nothing. He doesn't deserve to know anything at all.' Hammersmith was definitely annoyed. 'There's plenty to do in Vice. The bastard had no business meddling in Homicide. Unless of course he wants to become a victim.'

'I talked to Agnes Boyington at her house last night,' Nudger said. 'She as much as told me she hired Hugo Rumbo to help persuade me to accept her offer of a payoff to bow out of the case without telling her daughter. I think she was expecting me. Rumbo was there in the background, to protect her and intimidate me.'

'I suppose when Hugo told her about yesterday's fun in the Third District parking lot, she decided her best defense would be immediate offense. Gutsy lady.'

'She wears white gloves, even in this weather.'

'Springer told me. He was genuinely impressed. I know a massage parlor where all the girls wear white gloves.'

'Do you have anything yet that might tie in the Valpone murder with Jenine Boyington?'

'I was wondering when you'd ask,' Hammersmith said. 'The search of the Valpone apartment didn't turn up a six- six-six phone number, or anything else that proved useful. The autopsy report lists death by asphyxiation, from when her throat was slashed, but she was tortured before that. As badly as she was mutilated, she would have survived her injuries for at least an hour, though she wouldn't have been able to climb out of the bathtub. Maybe she tried; maybe that's why she had a leg draped over the side of the tub. Also, the lab report says there was no semen in her vagina, throat, or rectal tract, and no evidence of violent entry. So she wasn't raped or sodomized. But, like Jenine Boyington's murder, this is the worst kind of sex killing.'

Nudger knew what Hammersmith meant. This sort of murder was the giant, grisly step beyond rape. And it was a step that seldom allowed any backtracking. It was a step that led on, to more violent death. 'But there's no strong link between the two crimes,' Nudger said, disappointed.

'Nothing to rule it in, nothing to rule it out. But there is one other thing, Nudge. Turns out that Grace Valpone was engaged to be married. The date was set for next month.'

'Have you questioned the intended?'

'Sure. Name's Vincent Javers. President of his own small company out in Westport. Guess what? He was in Hawaii at the time of the murder, at a tire wholesalers' convention.'

'Hawaii, huh. Wally Everest was in Cincinnati when Jenine Boyington was killed. They're getting farther away.'

'The Valpone murder has a lot of the earmarks of the Boyington job, Nudge, but there are things about it that bother me. It doesn't quite fit.'

'Doesn't fit why?'

'Tell me, how likely is it that a woman engaged to be married would be setting up blind dates with who- knows- what over the nightlines a month before her wedding?'

'Not as likely as death or taxes,' Nudger admitted.

'Maybe it was only a coincidence that Jenine Boyington talked on the nightlines and also got herself murdered. She and Grace Valpone could have been killed by the same perp, but the nightlines might have had nothing to do with it.'

'Which would leave me way out at sea in my investigation,' Nudger said.

'It's a good thing you swim well. And it looks as if you'd better start stroking.' The tone of Hammersmith's voice suddenly changed. 'Duty calling, Nudge. It sounds remarkably like the Chief of Police.'

Nudger thanked Hammersmith and hung up.

He listened to the rest of his calls on the answering machine, hoping to hear Claudia's voice. But she hadn't phoned him. He got up from the desk and adjusted the Venetian blinds to a sharp downward angle to block the warming morning sunlight. His headache was gone. His stomach murmured something about being hungry. The omelet and dry toast hadn't been enough to eat. Nudger figured he'd been burning up a lot of calories lately just by worrying.

He closed the office, then went downstairs for a doughnut and a bracing cup of vile black coffee at Danny's.

Danny was alone except for an old woman hunched over a cup of coffee at the far end of the counter. She wore a faded dress with crescent stains of perspiration beneath the arms, and she was talking softly and earnestly to herself.

Nudger felt a current of pity for her as he sat as far away from her as possible, so as not to eavesdrop, and asked Danny for a small coffee and a Dunker Delite. Danny smiled and nervously wiped his hands on his gray towel as he headed for the coffee urn. He was glad not to be alone with the woman, who seemed harmless enough and more interested in staring at her coffee than in drinking it. Maybe it was the coffee that had caused her condition.

Nudger sipped his own coffee, then took a bite of a particularly large Dunker Delite. He used a paper napkin to wipe the grease from his fingers, then, like the woman down the counter, stared into his cup and thought about his world.

It occurred to him that the crowd roar he'd heard on Claudia's phone might have come from somewhere other than Busch Stadium. A television set or radio? Not likely. Nudger was sure he would have recognized a broadcast sound. Maybe Claudia lived near a Little League field or a park where high school or legion baseball was played.

No, Nudger decided. Not much baseball was played at one in the morning, not even major league ball. It could be that he was wrong about the source of the sound. Then he heard again the crowd's roar last night as he was driving near the stadium.

'Did the Cards play in town night before last?' he asked Danny.

Danny nodded, a gleam of interest in his dark, basset eyes. He was a baseball fan and an ardent Cardinals rooter. 'They won thirteen to ten in extra innings,' he said.

Nudger paused as he raised his foam coffee cup. 'How many extra innings?'

'They played seventeen innings, their longest game of the season. They won the game with two singles and a home run when they had two outs. If they get good pitching in September-'

'Never mind that. What time was the game over?'

Danny shrugged and leaned on the glass doughnut case. 'Oh, I dunno, but it had to be awful late. You could find out what time, I guess.' He stood up straight. 'In fact, I know where you could find out. I still got that day's sports page in a stack of newspapers in the back room.'