the lye didn't touch me was because it was a warning. All of which I told the cops. So why don't you read their report? Meanwhile I'm going to take a shower.'
I took my time cleaning up and getting dressed. When I came back out they were waiting for me, ensconced in the chairs they'd used the day before.
'We're going to be checking out that super like you suggested,' Scotto said.
'We don't think it'll take us anywhere, but we'll do it to show good faith.'
I started feeling better.
'I appreciate that,' I said. 'What about Mrs. Z?'
'You actually think there's someone called 'Mrs. Z'?'
'No,' I said, 'but maybe someone whose name begins with a Z. See, if it were just some woman and Kim didn't know her name, I'd think her natural instinct would be to call her 'Mrs. X.'
'Very shrewd,' Ramos said.
'If she really runs an escort service, it shouldn't be too hard to track her down.'
'All right,' Ramos said.
'We'll look into that.'
I nodded to him, and he nodded stiffly back. I gathered we were starting afresh.
'What else?'
'I'd like protection.'
'You mean round-the-clock bodyguards like we give the Mayor?' He laughed.
'Forget it.'
'What about tracing my calls?'
'Unlikely to work and difficult to do. But you can buy yourself a phone tape device. If he calls again, you tape his voice. That way you got evidence when and if he's caught. '
'Sure, why not?' I said.
'Three hundred bucks for a bar lock. Another hundred or so for an on-the-line tape machine.'
'What did he say exactly?'
I told them, then told them what I thought it meant.
That for some reason I'd been confused with another photographer. A photographer who was trying to hold up some people for money.
'And who is this 'other photographer'?' Ramos asked I showed him my composite of the Pentax man.
'Maybe him,' I said. 'I'm trying to find out who he is.' Ramos nodded.
'When you do, let us know.'
'Yeah, I'll do that,' I said.
There was a pause, and then Ramos leaned forward, as if there was something important he wanted to say.
'Look, Barnett, you and I, we got off on the wrong foot. But the thing you got to understand, I've worked a lot of homicide investigations, and there wasn't one of them there wasn't some trouble with the photographs.
The angle the depth, the perspective, whatever-the photographs were always off. So I've learned something: photographs lie; diagrams tell the truth. So, maybe, I saw you were a photographer, I took it out on you. I apologize.' I was touched. He was sincere.
'It takes a big man to apologize.'
He nodded, we shook hands, then they got up to leave.
Sal stopped me at the door.
'No question you got yourself a problem, Geoffrey. Throwing lye-that isn't funny. Dave and me, we're agreed-we're going to try and help you best we can. But understand: we're working on the Devereux homicide. We don't know if your stuff is connected yet.'
After they left I thought about what I ought to do. Usually, when I'm feeling bad, I go out and take pictures the concentration usually straightens out my brain. But now I hesitated. My caller had warned me I might get blinded while shooting on the street.
I'd been a tough guy once. In my photojournalist days I hadn't been afraid of anything. So maybe, I thought, becoming an artist has turned me into a wimp. I considered that awhile and decided that if I wanted to I could be just as tough as I'd ever been.
I spent the afternoon clearing papers off my desk. I owed letters to several friends, there were gallery invoices to send, and lab and other bills to pay. 08/7 07:55 AM S Cleveland OH 216 734-3684 14.0 3.44 The phone charge didn't register as unusual when I first saw it on my long-distance bill.
It was listed right after a call I'd made to Frank Cordero a couple of days before. But then I took a second look, and then it hit me: At 7:55 A.M., on Sunday, August 7, someone had used my phone to call Cleveland.
The call had lasted fourteen minutes. Kim claimed Cleveland as her hometown. August 7 was the day she disappeared. At 7:55 I was out buying groceries for our breakfast. When I returned, Kim told me that her story about being in danger had just been an acting exercise. I was excited. Actress or not, she really had been scared. The way I put it together, even while I was sleeping she'd been planning her escape. As soon as I went out she used my phone to see if it was all right to come home. When I came back she told me her story was just a story. Then after confirming our date for brunch, she went back to her apartment, did some fast packing up, said a quick good-bye to Jess, and left. But her escape hadn't been so clean. The Cleveland number was on my phone bill. Wherever that phone was, that was where she was staying. I was positive. All I had to do was call.
Rapidly I punched out the number. Then I settled back and listened. I let it ring twenty times before I gave up. Then I called the phone company business office and complained about my bill.
'I never made this Cleveland call,' I said.
'I wasn't even in town.'
'It's an automated charge, sir. The call was made from your telephone.'
'But I didn't make it.'
'Very good sir. We'll investigate and correct your bill.'
'Can you tell me whose number it is?'
'Sir, you just said you weren't home that day.'
'But-'
'Sir, if you weren't home you will not be charged for the call.'
'Could you at least give me the address?'
'I'm sorry, sir. We cannot give out that information.'
'But surely, with the reverse directory-'
'There is no public access to that directory, sir.'
I tried the Cleveland number every twenty minutes. Finally, a little after six, I got an answer.
'Hello?' It was a woman but it wasn't Kim. The voice sounded older, tougher, more working-class. I hesitated. If I asked for Kim I could scare her off.
'Sorry, wrong number,' I said, then hung up.
It was Thursday. The Public Library was open late. I took a taxi to Sixth and Forty-second, stopped at a newsstand, bought a Post, then walked around toward the main entrance on Fifth. It was a hot August evening. People were milling about. A drug dealer whispered 'Smoke, smoke' as I passed the entrance to Bryant Park.
The main reading room was filled with scholars. Homeless people too were dozing in the seats. I went to the far end where the out-of-town phone books were kept, found the Cleveland book, found a free seat at a table, and set to work.
I expected to spend hours, but I was lucky-I found the number in fifteen minutes.
Amos G 32231 W Loraine…. 734-3684 Amos: Could that be Kim's real last name? I went out to the corridor, found a pay phone, then used my telephone credit card to call Cleveland again.
'Hello?' It was the same woman.
'May I please speak to Mr. Amos?' I said.
A short pause.
'There is no Mr. Amos.' And from her tone I gathered that if there ever had been one, she'd as soon not be reminded.
'Sorry,' I said.
