“Sure,” Belson said. “She’s nowhere. Her hotel room is empty. Suitcases are still there, stuff still in drawers. She was supposed to be on a radio talk show this afternoon and never showed. Last time anyone saw her was last night around nine o’clock, when the room service waiter brought up some sandwiches and a bottle of gin and one of vermouth and two glasses. He says there was someone taking a shower, but he doesn’t know who. The bathroom door was closed, and he heard the water running.”
“And you got nothing for a lead.”
“Not a thing,” Belson said. He was lean and thin-faced with a beard so heavy that the lower half of his face had a blue cast to it, even though he shaved at least twice a day. He smoked five-cent cigars down to the point where the live end burned his lip, and he had one going now that was only halfway there but already chewed and battered-looking.
“Quirk coming in on this,” I said.
“Yeah, he’ll be along in a while. He had to be in court this afternoon, and he sent me down to get started. But now that you showed up, he probably won’t need to.”
Cronin hung up the phone and looked at me. “Who are you?”
Ticknor said, “Mr. Spenser was hired to protect her. We thought he might be able to shed some light on the situation.”
“Sure did a hell of a job protecting,” Cronin said. “You know anything?”
“Not much,” I said.
“Didn’t figure you would. They want you around, okay by me, but don’t get in the way. You annoy me, and I’ll roast your ass.”
I looked at Belson. He grinned. “They’re turning them out tougher and tougher up the heights,” Belson said.
“This must be their supreme achievement,” I said. “They’ll never get one tougher than this.”
“Knock off the shit,” Cronin said. “Sergeant, you know this guy?”
“Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Cronin. I know him. You want me to shoot him?”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Belson? I asked you a simple question.”
“He’s all right,” Belson said. “He’ll be a help.”
“He better be,” Cronin said. “Spenser, I want you to give Sergeant Belson a rundown on anything you know about this case. Belson, if there’s anything worth it, get a formal statement.”
“Yeah, sure,” Belson said. “Get right on it.” He winked at me.
Cronin turned to Ticknor. “You’re in the word business. You recognize anything from the way it’s written, the prose style?”
“If it were a manuscript, we’d reject it,” Ticknor said. “Other than that I haven’t anything to say about it. I can’t possibly guess who wrote it.”
Cronin wasn’t really listening. He turned toward Forbes, the lawyer. “Is there a room around here where we can meet with the media people, Counselor?” He addressed Forbes almost like an equal; law-school training probably gave him an edge.
“Certainly,” Forbes said. “We’ve a nice conference room on the second floor that will do, I think.” He spoke to Ticknor. “I’ll take him to the Hamilton Room, John.”
“Good idea,” Ticknor said. Forbes led the way out. Cronin stopped at the door. “I want everything this guy knows, Sergeant. I want him empty when he leaves.”
I said to Belson, “I don’t want my face marked up.”
“Who could tell?” he said.
Cronin went out after Forbes.
I sat on the edge of Ticknor’s desk. “I hope he doesn’t go armed,” I said.
“Cronin?” Belson laughed. “He got out of law school in 1973, the year I first took the lieutenant’s exam. He thinks if he’s rough and tough, people won’t notice that he doesn’t know shit and just wants to get elected to public office.”
“He figures wrong,” Ticknor said. Belson raised his eyebrows approvingly. Ticknor was behind him and didn’t see.
I said to Ticknor, “How’d you get the letter?”
“Someone delivered it to the guard at the desk downstairs,” Ticknor said. He handed me the envelope. It was blank except for Ticknor’s name typed on the front.
“Description?”
Belson answered. “They get a hundred things a day delivered down there. Guard paid no attention. Can’t remember for sure even whether it was a man or a woman.”
“It’s not his fault,” Ticknor said. “We get all sorts of deliveries from the printers—galleys, pages, blues—as well as manuscripts from agents, authors, and readers, artwork, and half a dozen other kinds of material at the desk every day. Walt isn’t expected to pay attention to who brings it.”
I nodded. “Doesn’t matter. Probably someone hired a cabby to bring it in anyway, and descriptions don’t help much, even if they’re good ones.”
Belson nodded. “I already got somebody checking the cab companies for people who had things delivered here. But they could just as easy have delivered it themselves.”
