Marcus shrugged. He didn't seem disheartened.
'But I'll take any help I can get. The problem is, I don't even know enough to ask an intelligent question. The best guess is that it's a white guy and he's nuts. The stuff you were reading in the Globe is as much as I know either. All I can say is, if you hear anything, let me know. And if you catch the guy…' I shrugged.
'We catch the guy, we going to kill him,' Marcus said.
'Okay by me,' I said. 'You clipped people for lots worse reasons.'
The food came. As always at Legal, it came as it was prepared, so my squid and Hawk's scallops came before the red snapper.
'Go ahead, eat,' Marcus said.
'You think he's really a cop?' Marcus said.
'Yes,' I said.
'Maybe you should let it be known that Tony Marcus is interested in this case. Might make him think twice.' I looked at Hawk. He smiled happily and ate a scallop.
'The guy who's doing this hasn't thought once,' I said. 'It's got nothing to do with thinking. He's probably doing it because he needs to. He isn't going to be frightened off.'
'Might make the papers, though,' Hawk said, almost to himself.
'Black Crime Lord volunteers to help trap Red Rose Killer.'
'Good PR,' I said. 'Federal strike force got a tap on you or something?'
The red snapper arrived. Marcus took a bite; nodded to himself.
'Whatever,' he said, 'just remember Tony Marcus is available with the full resources of the organization.'
'Your whores are scared,' I said.
Marcus frowned.
'That's what it is. Your whores aren't willing to take a chance with a white hunter anymore because it might be old Red Rose.'
Marcus grinned, genuinely, and kept chewing on his redfish.
'It's hurting business,' Hawk said.
'Worst thing happen on the street since AIDS,' Marcus said.
'Good to find a real reason,' I said.
'Maybe there's more than one real reason,' Marcus said.
Hawk and I were finished eating. Hawk took the champagne bottle out of the ice bucket. It was still half full. He put it back. Both of us stood up.
'I hear anything, Tony, I'll let you know,' I said. 'And vice versa.'
Marcus nodded and put out his hand. I didn't shake it. Neither did Hawk.
'Finish the champagne, Tony,' Hawk said. 'Goes good with six Bloody Marys.'
We turned and walked away. I heard Marcus mutter to the blonde, 'The fucking odd couple.'
I looked back. Tony was watching us leave and the blonde was pouring Hawk's champagne into her empty wineglass and smiling automatically.
On Wednesday morning I got an audio tape in the mail. There was no return address on the package, and nothing on the label of the tape. I went over to the office stereo and took out my Ben Webster tape and put in the new one. Over the kind of speakers that Ben Webster deserved I heard a man's voice speaking in a harsh whisper.
Spenser, how are you? I'm the guy you're all looking for. I'm the guy doing those colored girls. You think you can find me? I don't think so. I don't think you're good enough. I think if you ever come up against me you're going to be up against something you can't handle. And maybe while you're looking for me, I'll be looking for you. And I know who you are.
The whisper was probably to disguise his voice. The phrasing was that of a man reading something he'd written out earlier. There was no background noise, no telltale sounds of a clock chiming on the coast of Bohemia or the whinny of a zebra that lived only in the Tasmanian central plain.
I played the tape again. It sounded just the same. I rewound it and played it again. After the fifth run-through I acceded to the fact that there wasn't anything to hear that I hadn't heard the first time. I called Quirk to tell him what I had, and he said Belson would come by and get it.
Which he did.
When he was gone I added up what I knew about the Red Rose killer. It came out to approximately nothing. Whatever had made him write Quirk had made him send me the tape. Or maybe it had. Or maybe there was an entirely other reason. Or maybe it wasn't really him. Maybe it was a crank. Or maybe Quirk's letter was from a crank. Or maybe both.
I'd learned over the years how to react when I ran into a mystery wrapped in an enigma. I locked the office and went down to the Harbor Health Club.
When I started working out there the Harbor Health Club was a working gym for fighters on the waterfront. The waterfront was run-down and warehousey, and Henry Cimoli, who ran the place, wore sweatshirts and Keds. Now
