He didn’t yet realize how close his retirement was.
—soon as he got his hands on however much money the commissioner gave him for this valuable stuff he was about to tape. So he didn’t need to know about anyconspiracy Wiggy had tapped into through somebody’s computer. Nor did he want todo anything about any such conspiracy, even if it did exist, which he strongly doubted because Wiggy’s story sounded like so much jive to him. So—subtly and not wishing to appear too aggressive or inquisitive—he asked, “How’d it feel killing that dude on Christmas Eve?”
“I think we should go to the police,” Wiggy said, “tellthem the story.”
And suddenly, he shoved himself out of his chair and went marching straight for the telephone.
CARELLA WAS on his way home when the cell phone in his car rang. Ollie Weeks was on the other end.
“Guess what?” he said.
“Surprise me,” Carella said.
“I just got a call from Walter Wiggins.”
“What?”
“Ah yes.”
“The man Gomez is supposed to be taping?”
“The very same.”
“The man who maybe shot and killed Jerry Hoskins?”
“That’s the one.”
“Is he confessing?”
“I don’t think so. But he wants to talk to us.”
“What about?”
“Some kind of big conspiracy.”
“Uh-huh,” Carella said.
“I’m on my way to 1280 Decatur. You want to meet me?”
Carella looked at the dashboard clock.
“Give me half an hour,” he said.
ANTONIA BELANDRES was very impressed that Will had managed to find his way here in all this snow. He jokingly told her he used to drive a dog sled team in Alaska, which somehow she took to be the truth, and was even more impressed. He now had two lies to account for. He hoped he did not lose her when he told her he was not a police lieutenant, and had never been to Alaska in his life.
There wasn’t a single cab in sight when they came downstairs from her apartment. He had deliberately picked an Italian restaurant not too distant from where she lived on South Shelby, but it was really coming down and he apologized for asking her to walk the six blocks, but he was afraid they might lose their reservation.
“Don’t be silly, Lieutenant,” she said. “Ilove walking.”
Lieutenant, he thought. Boy.
As it was, he needn’t have worried about the reservation. The restaurant was almost empty. In fact, the owner fawned over them as if they were the Mayor and his wife who’d braved the storm to come here. He offered them a bottle of wine on the house, and then reeled off the specials for the night, all of which sounded delicious. Antonia ordered theosso buco. Will ordered the veal Milanese, which turned out to be breaded veal cutlets, oh well.
“By the way,” he said, when they had each drunk a glass of wine and Will was pouring again, “I’m not a police lieutenant. In fact, I’m not even a cop.”
“Oh?” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “Here’s to golden days and purple nights,” and clinked his glass against hers.
“Where’d you learn that toast?” she asked. “Golden days and purple nights.”
“Singapore.”
“Me, too.”
“So here’sto them,” he said.
“Here’sto them,” she said. “Golden days and purple nights.”
They drank.
“Then what were you doing with all those detectives?” she asked. “If you’re not a cop.”
“I was sort of with them,” Will said.
“If you’re not a cop, what are you?”
“Actually, a burglar,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, and shrugged.
