sandwiches. The living room was empty, but for the little dog Wahgoosh, who barked at me as usual, and I growled back at him. Rosner wasn’t around, either, his chair outside the study empty but for yesterday’s folded-up racing form.
I knocked on the study door. “It’s Heller, Slim.”
“Come in, Nate,” Lindbergh said, and I did.
“I hear you stayed over in Princeton last night,” he said, looking up from some mail he’d been reading, material the troopers had culled from the hundreds of letters that had come in today.
“Yeah, I was able to, uh, get into that room a day early.”
He nodded noncommittally, only half-listening. “Henry went into the city, to his office, early this morning. He said he felt these spiritualist people were probably charlatans.”
“Yeah, probably,” I said, and sat down. “Where’s Rosner?”
“Pursuing some underworld leads in New York City, today.”
Cops and robbers, with the robber playing cop.
“Slim-there’s somebody outside you ought to give a few minutes to.”
“Who would that be?”
“Ellis Parker.”
Lindbergh nodded, blankly. I might have said Santa Claus or Joe Blow.
“Surely you’ve heard of him,” I said.
“Yes. He’s very well known.” He paused. He sighed. “If you think I should see him, I will.”
“Okay. Slim-are you holding up okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You getting any sleep? You took like hell.”
He smiled thinly. “It’s nice to have somebody around who isn’t afraid to tell me the truth. Yes, I am getting some sleep. Some.”
“Okay. I’m not your nursemaid or anything. But if you’re going to be the guy making the key decisions, you got to be on top of things.”
“I know.”
“Good. I’ll bring Parker around.”
Minutes later, I was ushering Parker in, and Lindbergh rose and the men exchanged greetings and admiration. Then everybody settled into their chairs, Parker leaning forward.
He had the foul-smelling corncob pipe going, held in one hand.
“Colonel Lindbergh, I’ve been a detective for over forty years. I’ve investigated twenty thousand cases, including over three hundred homicides. All but twelve of those homicide cases wound up in convictions.”
Lindbergh’s face was impassive; but his eyes tensed, just barely, at the mention of the word “homicide.”
Parker inserted the pipe in his tight mouth; he looked a little like Popeye the Sailor. “I’ve offered my services to Colonel Schwarzkopf, but have been rudely rebuffed-and as you may know I’m on the outs with Governor Moore. So coming aboard in an official capacity hasn’t been open to me. But I couldn’t sit idly by, just one county away, and not offer you my services. I’d like to be of help to you, sir.”
Lindbergh smiled politely. “That’s kind of you, Chief Parker. But I have to say I’m satisfied with the way Colonel Schwarzkopf is handling the matter.”
Parker grimaced. “No offense meant to you, Colonel, but that jackass has done every damn thing wrong, in this case, from A to Z. His failure to make a thorough search of the entire community within a wide radius of your estate is frankly, sir, shameful, inexcusable.”
Lindbergh said nothing.
“Ideally, I would like to head up the team of detectives in charge of the case-a mixture of my own boys and state troopers. But I’m available strictly as a consultant, if that’s your pleasure.”
Lindbergh said nothing. His eyes were like stones.
Parker shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Then Lindbergh spoke. His voice was as expressionless and unemotional as a telephone operator’s. “I have great respect for your achievements, Chief Parker. But I’ve already read and heard some of your opinions about this case, in the papers and on the radio. And I will have no truck with cheap shots, second-guessing and theorizing.”
“Colonel Lindbergh, my only concern is to offer my help in your time of…”
Lindbergh raised a hand in a stop motion. “I won’t have police officers from every which where tripping over themselves, seeking their own glory at the possible expense of my son’s life. Colonel Schwarzkopf and I have the situation in hand. Good day to you, sir.”
“Colonel Lindbergh…”
“Thank you for coming.”
Parker rose; his neck was red with anger, but he merely nodded to Lindbergh and went out.
I stayed behind.
“That guy is one of the most brilliant detectives alive,” I said. “And your boy Schwarzkopf is a goddamn department-store floorwalker!”
“Nate,” Lindbergh said tersely, his hands flat on his desk, “Ellis Parker is accustomed to getting the lion’s share of the limelight-he’s done remarkable work in the past, but he’s dazzled by his own publicity.”
“I’m sure he is jealous of Schwarzkopf,” I said with a shrug. “But a guy like that, who is a great detective by anybody’s yardstick, ought to be turned loose on a major crime like this-particularly when it’s in his own backyard, for Christ’s sake. It only makes sense!”
“No,” Lindbergh said.
I looked at him.
“Okay,” I said.
I went out. Lindy wanted to hear the truth from me, it seemed, but didn’t necessarily want to pay it any heed.
I caught up with Parker outside, just as he was about to climb into a Burlington County police car.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I said. “I’d like to have had you involved.”
“Who says I’m not going to be?” he said, one foot on the running board. And he winked at me.
The dust of Parker’s Ford on the dirt lane hadn’t settled when Breckinridge’s familiar Dusenberg pulled in. The lawyer looked grayer than usual as he climbed down from his fancy car and came straight over to me. He took me by the arm, took me aside.
“Heller,” he said. “What did you do last night?”
“It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to say.”
“You spent the night with that medium, didn’t you?”
I shrugged. “Slim said I was the resident spook chaser. Who else are you going to get to lay a ghost?”
He grabbed me by one arm. Almost shook me. The unflappable Breckinridge was definitely flapped. “What did she have to say?”
Actually, she hadn’t said much at all. She’d moaned a good deal and even screamed a couple times. But I wasn’t about to share my memorable evening with Sister Sarah with Breckinridge. I’m just not that kind of guy.
Besides, what would a stuffed shirt like Breckinridge know about a night of wild passion with a woman whose pale flesh glowed in the half-light of a flickering candle, who let me ride her and who rode me, till I was raw and sweating and dead from exhaustion. Sister Sarah could make a ghost out of any man.
But we hadn’t talked. I knew no more about her from spending the night with her than I did after that seance. Including going through her purse and her suitcases and other personal belongings, after she went to sleep.
“Hey, pal,” I said indignantly, “I don’t kiss and tell, okay?”
“She said a letter would come today. To my office.”
“Yeah, so?”
“This came by mail, to my office,” he said grimly, “this morning.”
He took an envelope out of his pocket, hastily opened it and held the letter up for me to see.
