'So discuss it with her,' he said.
'You think so, huh?'
'I think so,' Kling said, and looked up at the clock again. 'We'd better get a check, I don't want to be late. I told the guy two-thirty.'
Hawes signaled to the waitress.
'Where you headed, anyway?' he asked.
'1214 Haskell,' Kling said.
But he wasn't.
SHARYN WAS WAITING outside her office building in Diamondback.
The address was 3415 Ainsley Avenue, and she wasn't waiting for Kling.
He had checked her appointment calendar last night.
For today, June the eighth, she had written in Jamie.
And below that: My office. 2:30 p.m.
He had supposed, or hoped, that the two of them would be meeting for some sort of medical consultation, in her actual office upstairs, her space. But it was now two thirty-five, and here was Sharyn standing outside her building, and up the street came Dr. James Melvin Hudson, wearing a neatly tailored gray suit this time, white shirt, dark tie. Nodding in greeting, he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, as was apparently the custom between medical folk these days. Sublimely unaware of Kling's presence, they went ambling up the street together.
He followed behind at a discreet distance, the police term for keeping tabs on your girlfriend.
Or your significant other.
Or your lover.
Or whatever.
What goes around comes around, he thought.
They were going around the corner, he quickened his step, didn't want to lose them. Rounded the corner after them, almost bumped right into them, turned quickly away to avoid discovery. They were some ten feet ahead, checking out the lettering on a plate-glass window.
Ye Olde Tea Room.
Ye what? Kling thought.
He didn't know they even had tea rooms in America, old or otherwise. In the heart of Diamondback, no less. Would wonders never? He hung back while they entered the place, two innocent colleagues out for their early afternoon tea, pip pip and all that. As soon as they were
clear, he approached the plate-glass window, put his face to it, hands cupped on either side of his head, alongside his eyes, and peered inside.
They were approaching a table on the right, a small table against the wall, under a sconce that cast scant light onto the woman already sitting there.
A white woman.
The moment they sat, one on either side of her, the woman reached for their hands. Sharyn's right hand, Dr. James Melvin Hudson's left. A hand in each of her own. She gripped their hands tightly, and then burst into tears.
Kling wondered what the hell he had stumbled into here.
IT BOTHERED OLLIE that none of the credit card companies could help him on this thing. All he wanted was a damn name and address for the guy who'd picked up Melissa Summers - or vice versa - in the Olympia Hotel bar last Wednesday night, the second day of June. Now was that a big deal to ask?
Well, yes, they explained, it was a very big deal to ask. Because lacking the name of the card holder, it would be impossible to scan the thousands of purchases . . .
'This wasn't a purchase,' Ollie told each and every one of them, American Express, Visa, MasterCard, even Discover. 'This was a guy paying for drinks in a bar
Yes, well, whatever it was . . .
'A particular bar,' he explained to one and all, 'at a specific time. All you got to do is kick in your computer and zero in on the Olympia Hotel bar at eleven o'clock last Wednesday night, and bingo, we've got our customer, ah yes.'
But, ah no, they explained, that isn't the way it works, our computers aren't programmed that way. If you had the card holder's name . . .
'The card holder's name is what I'm looking for!'
And round and round the mulberry bush, but no cigar.
Ollie figured he'd have to hit the whores again.
THE THIRD NOTE that day arrived a little early.
A quarter past two instead of the usual three-thirty or so.
And it wasn't addressed to Carella.
Instead, it was addressed to Detective/ Third Grade Richard Genero.
Parker himself carried it into the squadroom.
'Desk sergeant gave me this,' he said, handing the envelope to Genero. 'Says a junkie dropped it off
'Naturally,' Meyer said. 'Same m.o.'
'Little early, though,' Willis said, looking at his watch.
'And now he's picking on you, Richie.'
'Richard,' Genero corrected.
He was staring at the envelope as if it contained some malevolent evil chemical worse than anthrax, whatever that was, some kind of hoof and mouth disease?
'Well, ain't you gonna open it?' Parker asked.
'Here,' Genero said, and handed the envelope to Carella. 'You open it.'
Carella was starting to pull on a pair of gloves when Parker said, 'Murchison already dusted it.'
Carella looked surprised. He put on the gloves, anyway, picked up a letter opener, slit open the envelope,
pulled out the single sheet of white paper inside, and unfolded it. The note read:
370HSSV 0773H
'What's that?' Parker asked. 'Your license plate number?'
'Why's he sending us numbers all of a sudden?' Genero asked.
'Letters, too,' Meyer said, leaning in for a closer look. 'HSSV. Mean anything to any of you?'
'There's the H again,' Eileen said. 'At the end of the sentence.'
'H for horseshit,' Parker said.
'How about the 'oh seven seven'?' Hawes asked.
'That's James Bond's number!' Genero said.
'No, that's Double-Oh Seven.'
They all kept staring at the message.
370HSSV 0773H
'Well, it's addressed to you,' Parker said. 'So maybe he's trying to tell you something personal.'
'I doubt that very much,' Genero said, sounding somehow offended.
'Why don't you turn it upside down, Richard?' Parker suggested.
'What do you mean?'
'See if it makes any sense that way. Go ahead. Turn it.'
Genero turned the letter upside down.
'Very funny,' he said.
THE DEAF MAN'S letter arrived some forty minutes
later. Another junkie delivered it. It was carried up to the squadroom by a patrolman wearing latex gloves. They knew they'd find no fingerprints on either the envelope or the message inside it, but one couldn't be too careful these days. The envelope was addressed to Carella again, the same personal challenge, one on one. The note inside read:
And here have I the daintiness of ear
