Lawrence Block
A Stab in the Dark
Scudder 04
Chapter 1
I didn't see him coming. I was in Armstrong's at my usual table in the rear. The lunch crowd had thinned out and the noise level had dropped. There was classical music on the radio and you could hear it now without straining. It was a gray day out, a mean wind blowing, the air holding a promise of rain.
A good day to be stuck in a Ninth Avenue saloon, drinking bourbon-spiked coffee and reading the Post's story about some madman slashing passersby on First Avenue.
'Mr. Scudder?'
Sixty or thereabouts. High forehead, rimless eye-glasses over pale blue eyes. Graying blond hair combed to lie flat on the scalp. Say five-nine or -ten. Say a hundred seventy pounds. Light complexion.
Clean-shaven. Narrow nose. Small thin-lipped mouth. Gray suit, white shirt, tie striped in red and black and gold. Briefcase in one hand, umbrella in the other.
'May I sit down?'
I nodded at the chair opposite mine. He took it, drew a wallet from his breast pocket and handed me a card. His hands were small and he was wearing a Masonic ring.
I glanced at the card, handed it back. 'Sorry,' I said.
'But-'
'I don't want any insurance,' I said. 'And you wouldn't want to sell me any. I'm a bad risk.'
He made a sound that might have been nervous laughter. 'God,' he said. 'Of course you'd think that, wouldn't you? I didn't come to sell you anything. I can't remember the last time I wrote an individual policy. My area's group policies for corporations.' He placed the card on the blue-checked cloth between us. 'Please,' he said.
The card identified him as Charles F. London, a general agent with Mutual Life of New Hampshire.
The address shown was42 Pine Street , downtown in the financial district. There were two telephone numbers, one local, the other with a 914 area code. The northern suburbs, that would be.Westchester County
, probably.
I was still holding his card when Trina came over to take our order.
He asked for Dewar's and soda. I had half a cup of coffee left. When she was out of earshot he said, 'Francis Fitzroy recommended you.'
'Francis Fitzroy.'
'Detective Fitzroy. Eighteenth Precinct.'
'Oh, Frank,' I said. 'I haven't seen him in a while. I didn't even know he was at the Eighteenth now.'
'I saw him yesterday afternoon.' He took off his glasses, polished their lenses with his napkin. 'He recommended you, as I said, and I decided I wanted to sleep on it. I didn't sleep much. I had appointments this morning, and then I went to your hotel, and they said I might find you here.'
I waited.
'Do you know who I am, Mr. Scudder?'
'No.'
'I'm Barbara Ettinger's father.'
'Barbara Ettinger. I don't-wait a minute.'
Trina brought his drink, set it down, slipped wordlessly away. His fingers curled around the glass but he didn't lift it from the table.
I said, 'The Icepick Prowler. Is that how I know the name?'
'That's right.'
'Must have been ten years ago.'
'Nine.'
'She was one of the victims. I was working over inBrooklyn at the time. The Seventy-eighth Precinct,Bergen and Flatbush. Barbara Ettinger. That was our case, wasn't it?'
'Yes.'
