“How long would it have taken him to set it up?” I asked.
“A few hours,” Schultz said. “There are holes in the roof, that’s how the birds got in. He could have done it during daylight, any day this week.”
“The guy you shot,” I said, “whatever his name was, he was wearing a rubber trench coat. What about the coat?”
“It’s a specialty item,” said a new voice. I looked up to see Willick bending over his notes. “Something like that, you have to order special.” Willick looked up, feeling the speculative gaze of the entire room, and blushed scarlet to the roots of his receding hair. “I checked this last week,” he said. “Just working a hunch.” He was redder than Finch.
“Where did it come from?” Captain Finch rapped out.
“Place on Santa Monica,” Willick said, going from red to pale green without so much as a transition. “The Pleasure Closet.”
“Hammond,” Finch said, “it would seem we’ve underestimated your protege.”
“Who gives a shit?” I said rudely. “Who ordered them?”
“Somebody named Festus,” Willick said.
“Great,” Finch said. “Festus. Nobody is named Festus.”
“There was that guy on Gunsmoke,” Willick said helpfully.
Finch took a long breath before he said, in a regretful tone, “I knew your dad.” He blew the breath out. “Expensive?”
“Three hundred bucks a pop,” Willick said, reassured to be on familiar ground at last.
“And they never asked for his last name?” I said. “He ordered a few three-hundred-dollar coats, and they never asked for his address?”
“Oh, no.” Willick said.“He paid in full, in cash, in advance.”
“How many?” I asked, when the silence made it clear that Willick had been abandoned, rubber-coated, on his desert isle. “How many coats did Festus order?”
“Three,” Willick offered humbly. “He ordered three.”
“When?”
“Two years ago, the first one. The others he ordered on May twelfth.”
“What did he look like?” I asked Willick.
“Like everybody,” Willick said. “Middle thirties, short brown hair-not blond-thin, no notable scars or birthmarks.”
“Where’d Dennis Thorpe’s wig come from?” That was Hammond, so he was awake after all.
“We don’t know yet,” Finch said, “but it’s just a cheap Halloween wig. Sold all over the place.”
“Prints in the Doopermart?” Hammond again.
“All over the place,” Finch said. “Hundreds of them, from dozens of people. The place has been empty for years.”
“Then he probably did the setup yesterday,” Hammond said. “If there are people in and out, he couldn’t have left it there without someone accidentally triggering it.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Finch said with some asperity. “And, yes, we’re already talking to people in the area to see if anyone saw anything.”
“Captain,” Hammond said, sounding something like his old self, “would you like me to leave the room? Dr. Schultz just suggested that the clown could have rigged it any time in the past few days. Well, he couldn’t, could he?”
“None of this,” Annabelle Winston said, rapping the table with her knuckles. “I’ll have none of this. If you withhold information one more time, we’re going public with the reward.”
“He wasn’t withholding anything,” Hammond said, staring at his knuckles. “He just hadn’t figured it out.” From the look Finch gave him, Hammond’s future with the LAPD wasn’t going to be a happy one.
“It’s going to be hard to find him through UCLA,” I said, just to ease the tension. “Especially since he’s probably not blond.” I summarized the conversation with Dr. Blinkins.
“We’ll work that end, then,” Schultz said. “Talk to all the teachers, all the graduate students.”
“Suppose he’s still there?” Fred the lawyer said.
“He already knows we’re looking for him,” Schultz said calmly. “It may push him into doing something stupid.”
“Like burning another woman,” Annabelle Winston said. “We’ve seen what he does when the police give him a push.”
A uniformed patrolman came in and handed Finch a note. Finch read it and handed it back. “No calls,” he said.
“He didn’t know she was a woman,” Schultz said as the patrolman left. “She was wearing a man’s coat.”
The floor rippled and heaved beneath me. “Oh, no,” I said.
People stared at me. “Was she wearing a skirt?” I asked. “Nylons rolled down on her calves?”
Schultz looked at Finch, and Annabelle Winston rapped the table again and said, “Now.”
“Yes,” Schultz said, searching for something to look at.
I shook my head. Something sharp and hot had pushed its way up into my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could speak.
“He talked to a woman last night,” Hammond said. “The one who wanted a bath. Remember?” Schultz didn’t reply.
“She wanted to die clean,” I finally said.
Schultz exhaled in a thin hiss. “He couldn’t have been watching,” he said uncertainly. “He was in position by then. That was the last stop.”
“Stick it up your nose, Schultz,” I said. “When was the last time you were right? I’ll bet you’ve got it marked on your calendar. Not this year’s calendar, probably one from some year with a six in front of it.” Schultz started to say something, but I found myself standing, holding on to the edge of the table with both hands. “You stupid son of a bitch, you heard me talking to her last night, you heard it all, and this is the first time you’ve even asked your highly trained self whether he didn’t burn his first woman on purpose? Whether she might be a message to me?”
“Sit down,” Annabelle Winston said quietly.
“You’re right,” Schultz said quietly to me.
“I’ll sit down when and where I feel like it, and I already know I’m right. I don’t need positive reinforcement from some overeducated household appliance with thirty initials after his name. In case I’m not making myself clear, Dr. Schultz, I think you’re a brass-plated, steel-riveted asshole.”
“You’re right,” Schultz said again. He was looking at his lap.
“Thank you,” I said, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
“I fucked up,” Schultz said, looking squarely at me. “We knew it was the same woman. We just didn’t tell you.”
“That’s it,” Annabelle Winston said.
“You should have followed her,” I said.
“It’s even worse than that,” Schultz said, without taking his eyes off me. “We wouldn’t have had to follow her.”
“You’re joking,” I said, appalled.
“He burned her on the bench,” Schltz said. Then he looked down at his stomach, very quickly, and sat still for a moment. “Right where you talked to her,” he said.
Then he put both of his hands, very empty hands, on the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Simeon,” Hammond said into the embarrassed silence.
“I don’t want to hear from you,” I said.
“You’re absolutely right,” Dr. Schultz said to me. “I should have known. I should have anticipated it. I’ll go to my grave-”
“Not soon enough,” I said.
