acquaintance!'
'So we figure it like compound interest, chica-I'll add up how much it comes to per week.'
'Good night, mi villano optimists,' said Alison firmly.
He smiled at the closing door; he never liked them too easy.
At about the same time that Alison Weir was struggling with the zipper of the oyster-silk sheath and reflecting that Lieutenant Callaghan's advice about watching herself was an excellent idea, Agnes Browne was standing in the cold dim rooming-house hall, shivering in just her slip and the cotton robe she'd tied round her when Mrs. Anderson called her to the phone.
'You shouldn't've,' she kept saying, almost crying. 'Hitting a policeman like that, Joe, it's terrible, they right've arrested you-you shouldn't go losing your temper like that.'
'Well, they got a nerve, snooping around you just on account you found a body! What the hell they after, anyway? You didn't have anything to do- Listen, Agnes, I don't get it, Rita says there was a guy came up to her after work, another cop, asking about you-I guess she told you-I just got in, had to work late, and when she-'
'Oh, dear,' whispered Agnes to herself. 'I-I know, she called me.
…' Rita was Joe's sister who worked the same counter as Agnes, it seemed funny to think if she'd got that job at Kress's instead she'd never've met Rita or Joe, and it'd been just chance really-and she couldn't wish she hadn't, but-'Oh, dear.' Asking questions about how long had she known Agnes, Rita said, and like that. They must suspect. 'I-I don't know what they're after, Joe, but no call for you to get in trouble account of me, it's my own-'
'You got nobody to talk up for you, I guess your friends got a right to-'
'You mustn't,' said Agnes in agony. 'It's awful good of you, Joe, but you don't know-you-you better just not b-bother about me any more, because-' But she couldn't come out with it like that, over the phone, hear what he'd say, know what he'd think-she just hung up quick and went back to her room, shut herself in.
It'd been bad enough feeling guilty all the while, worrying, but when it came to getting your friends in trouble- Agnes dried her eyes and blew her nose and thought forlornly, Well, that's that. And serve her right too. Tomorrow morning, go to them and tell the truth-shame the devil, like her grandma used to say-and have it done with, that was all. Whatever they'd do to her for it. And afterward Joe and Rita and the others that'd been nice, that she'd like having for friends, they wouldn't want any more to do with her when they knew, but you couldn't expect different, she'd just have to take her medicine was all.
Better go to the store first, tell Mr. Snyder she was quitting, she'd have to anyway-and it'd mean finding another room too, because Mrs. Anderson wouldn't And it was silly, go on crying like this, when it was all her own fault….
TWELVE
The rookie who'd been riding the squad car that answered the call to Elena Ramirez' body was on night shift this week, and came into the precinct station on Main to check out at five past eight that morning, with his partner. They found the desk sergeant and a couple of the day men who'd just reported in guffawing over something on the sergeants desk.
'We got a present from an anonymous admirer, boys-ain't she purty? I guess somebody figures we're not getting enough feminine companionship.'
The rookie went up to look, and it was a doll-an old, dilapidated, half-broken-apart doll lying there. A big one, good three feet long.
'Where the hell did that come from?' asked his partner.
'Vic found it propped up against the door when he came on just now.'
'Like somebody'd sat it up there on purpose,' said Vic. 'The damnedest thing. Kids, I guess.'
'Aughh,' said the desk sergeant, 'what some o' these punks think is smart! Here, Vic, stick it out back in the trash, will you?
'Just a minute, Sergeant,' said the rookie. He had a funny feeling, looking at the thing; it was crazy, but- 'Hey, Pete,' he said to his partner, 'does it kind of remind you of something? Look at the way it's got that one eye-I mean-it's the damnedest thing, but that dead girl over on Commerce, Saturday-you know. I mean-'
They all looked at it again and Pete said what about it, and the rookie said weakly, well, he'd just wondered if there could be any connection. 'I mean, it's crazy, but maybe the boys downtown'd be interested-'
'In this?' said the sergeant. 'Now that'd be something. I can just see myself calling headquarters, ask if anybody down there wants to play dolls.'
'No, but-' The longer he looked at it, the funnier the feeling got. They had a little more backchat, the rest of them kidding him because that had been his first corpse and he hadn't acted as hard-boiled as maybe he should have; and the sergeant finally said, if he wanted to play detective so bad he could do it with his own dime and be sure and tell whoever he talked to it was strictly his own idea, none of the precinct's responsibility. They didn't think he'd have the nerve to do anything like that, but by then he was feeling stubborn about it, and he said all right, by God, he'd do just that, and got Vic to change a quarter for him and called downtown.
He got hold of Hackett after a little argument with Sergeant Lake, and in the middle of talking with him Hackett broke off to relay the news to Mendoza who'd just come in. The rookie hung on, listening to the lieutenant's exclamation in the background, and then jumped as Mendoza's voice came crackling over the wire: 'Tell your sergeant I'm coming right around-leave it as it is, and stay there yourself-'
'Yes, sir!' said the rookie, but the wire was already dead. Ten minutes later Mendoza walked in and took a look at the doll before he remembered to throw a good-morning at the sergeant.
'?Vaya una donacion! ' he murmured very softly to himself, and his very mustache seemed to quiver with excitement. 'Now what does this mean? But by God, whatever it means, it's the one-no odds offered!' He swung on the sergeant. 'Let's hear all about it!'
There wasn't much to hear, when they got down to definite details. It had been sitting up against the left side of the double doors, in a position where it wouldn't either interfere with that door's opening or necessarily be noticed, in the dark; this was an old precinct station, and the doors were set at the back of a recessed open lobby at the top of the front steps, which was temporarily unlighted due to defective wiring.
Consequently there was no terminus a quo; the thing might have been there since midnight and gone unnoticed by the various patrolmen going in and out during the night; or it might have been put there ten minutes before Vic found it, though it was likelier to have been before daylight.
And of course every man there had handled the thing, but it was no good swearing about that now. Mendoza demanded a sheet of wrapping paper and swathed the doll in it carefully; Prints would have to isolate any strangers from the precinct men, that was all.
So I've got you to thank for this,' and he turned to the rookie, who was nearly as surprised as the sergeant. 'What's your name?' The rookie told him. 'I'll remember that, you showed intelligence. What struck you about it?'
'Well, I-it's crazy, Lieutenant, but the way it looked lying there, it reminded me of that dead girl-the eye and all-it was just a sort of feeling-'
'Yes. You're a good man. Any time you want to get out of uniform, when you're qualified, I'll be glad to put in a word for you.'
The rookie, who had heard a little more about Mendoza by this time, stammered incredulous gratitude; the sergeant was struck dumb; and Mendoza walked out with the doll cradled tenderly in his arms. He could not resist showing it to Hackett before he delivered it to Prints; they looked at it lying there on his desk, mute, ugly, and enigmatic, and Hackett said, 'I laid myself open-say it-I told you so.'
'I'm magnanimous this morning. But that's the only thing I could say about it, boy-I'm just one big question mark about it otherwise. What the hell has it got to do with this?'
'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Ya veremos -I hope.'
