day.”
“And stops here last,” I said.
“With the day’s receipts,” Hawk said. “How nice.”
There was a bath and two bedrooms down the short corridor. I sent the women down to one of the bedrooms. Hawk leaned in the doorway of the corridor to see that they stayed in the bedroom, and I called New York City Information and got the number for Rachel Wallace.
“She the writer that got kidnapped on you?” Hawk said.
I was dialing 212. I nodded.
“Maybe she don’t feel too helpful toward you,” Hawk said.
The phone was ringing. “I got her back, didn’t I?”
“That would help,” Hawk said. Rachel Wallace answered.
I said, “Spenser’s the name, heterosexuality is my game.”
Rachel Wallace said, “How good to know you haven’t aged. How are you?”
“Bad,” I said. “I need help.”
“You need help?”
“Yes,” I said, and told her.
“I can get there by evening,” she said.
“No,” I said, “thank you. There’s nothing, right now, for you to do out here. What I need is research. I want to know everything I can know about Jerry Costigan and his kid.”
“What’s the kid’s name?”
“Russell. I don’t know whether Jerry is the old man’s real name or short for Gerald or Jerome or whatever.”
“It’s all right,” Rachel Wallace said. “I’ll find it. It’s a little after noon in New York. I’ll go down to the public library, I should have something for you by suppertime. Can I call you?”
“Yes,” I said, “call me here.” I gave her the number. “Helping me is against the law,” I said. “Probably makes you an accessory after.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ll call you about nine tonight, your time.”
“I’ll be here,” I said and hung up.
“She the lesbian,” Hawk said. “I saw her on the tube once.”
“Lesbian, feminist, gay-rights activist, probably opposes racism too,” I said.
“Don’t sound to me like a good American,” Hawk said.
I got up and walked to the window and looked out at the Post Office Building across Mission. “We got a couple of things to do after we roust Leo,” I said. “We go see Dr. Hilliard and we visit Jerry Costigan.”
“Who Dr. Hilliard?” Hawk said.
“A name on Susan’s calendar. Probably a shrink.”
“And where we find Jerry Costigan?”
“He must be in Mill River. I think Rachel Wallace will find his address. If she doesn’t we’ll just go down and ask.”
“Be good to get back to old Mill River,” Hawk said.
CHAPTER 8
THE PHONE BOOK TOLD ME THAT DR. DOROTHY Hilliard had offices on Russian Hill, and the noon news told me that an “exhaustive manhunt” for me and Hawk had now spread throughout the Bay area.
“Exhaustive,” Hawk said.
“No stone unturned,” I said.
“Did you really kill that guy?” Meg said.
“Yes,” Hawk said. “It was the best thing for him.”
Fay was not talking.
For lunch we had peanut butter sandwiches and instant coffee. The peanut butter was Skippy. The bread was pale white.
“This is revolting,” I said.
“We don’t usually eat here,” Meg said.
“I can see why,” I said. I ate three sandwiches. After lunch Hawk took a shower and then had a nap. I watched the women. At suppertime Meg said, “We got no more peanut butter.”
For supper we had white toast and Kraft strawberry jam and some white jug wine. The evening news rehashed most of what the noon and morning news had said. They still had me fifteen pounds too heavy. After the news we watched an animal program and then something called Trauma Center.
