'Coroner's Office' send you a report,' Kurtz said, thinking he could ace the Big O, but Ollie merely smiled.
'I can't blame you for being so cautious,' he said, 'knife stickin out of her chest and all.'
Fuck you, Fat Boy, the ME thought, but he blew his nose instead and walked out.
The Homicide dicks wandered around the apartment looking grouchy. Ollie guessed they were still smarting over his Irish joke, which he thought was a pretty good one, hey, if you can't take a joke, go fuck yourself. There were enough personal items around the place—an engagement calendar, an address book, bras and panties in the dresser—to convince Ollie that the girl lived here and wasn't just visiting whoever had juked her. The super of the building confirmed this a few minutes later when he came upstairs to see how the investigation was coming along. One thing Ollie hated—among other things he hated—was amateur detectives sticking their noses in police work. He asked the super what the girl's name was, and the super told him she was Althea Cleary, and that she'd been living here since May sometime. He thought she was from Ohio or someplace like that. Idaho maybe. Iowa. Someplace like that. Ollie thanked him for the valuable information and his citizenly concern and ushered him out of the apartment. One of the responding blues told him the lady who'd phoned the police was in the hall outside waiting to talk to him, was it okay to let her in?
'What makes you think it wouldn't be okay?' Ollie asked.
'Well, it being a crime scene and all.'
'That's very good thinking,' Ollie said, and smiled enigmatically. 'Show her in.'
The woman was in her late fifties, Ollie guessed, wearing a green cardigan sweater and a brown woolen skirt. She told Ollie that she and Althea were friends, and that she'd knocked on her door around two o'clock to see if she wanted to go down for a cappuccino.
'I work at home,' the woman said. 'And Althea was home a lot, too. So sometimes, we walked over to Starbucks for cappuccino.'
'What is it you do?' Ollie asked. 'At home, I mean.'
'Well, I teach piano,' she said.
'I always wanted to play piano,' Ollie said. 'Could you teach me five songs?'
'I'm sorry?'
'I want to learn five songs. I want to play five songs like a pro. Then when I go to a party, I can sit down and play the five songs and everybody' think I know how to play piano.'
'Well, if you can play five songs, then actually you are playing the piano, aren't you?'
Ollie hated smart-ass women, even if they knew how to play piano.
'Sure,' he said, 'but I mean they'll think I know more than just the five songs.'
'I suppose I could teach you five songs,' the woman said.
'Have you got a card or anything?'
'Don't you want to know about Althea?'
'Sure, I do. Have you got a card? I'll give you a call, you can teach me five songs sometime. Do you know 'Night and Day'?'
'Yes, I do. You should understand, however ... I normally teach classical piano. To children, mostly.'
'That's okay, all I want is five songs.'
'Well,' the woman said, and sighed, and opened her handbag. She fished in it for a card, found one, and handed it to Ollie. The name on the card was Helen Hobson.
'How much do you charge?' he asked.
'We can discuss that,' she said.
'Maybe you can give me a flat rate for just the five songs,' he said. 'Did she work nights or what?'
His change of direction was so abrupt that Helen actually blinked.
'You said she was home a lot,' Ollie said.
'Oh, yes. She worked nights. At the telephone company.'
Ollie hated the telephone company. He could easily imagine some irritated subscriber stabbing Althea Cleary in the chest half a dozen times.
'I liked her a lot,' Helen said. 'She was a very nice person.'
'Who you used to have cappuccino with every now and then.'
'Almost every day.'
'But today when you went down, you found her dead.'
'The door was open,' Helen said, nodding.
'Standing wide open, you mean?'
'No, just a crack. I thought this was odd. I called Althea's name, and when I got no answer, I walked in. She was in the kitchen. On the floor there.'
'What'd you do then?'
'I went up to my own apartment and called the police.'
'What time was this, Miss Hobson?'
'A little after two. My lesson ended at two, I don't have another one till four. So I came down to see if Althea wanted to come with me to Starbucks.'
'How'd you come down?'
'By the stairs. I'm only one flight up.'
'See anybody on the way down?'
'No one.'
'Anybody outside her apartment?'
'No.'
'When did you notice the door was open?'
'Immediately.'
'Before you knocked or anything?'
'I didn't knock at all. I saw the door standing open maybe an inch or two, so I called her name, and went in.'
'Thanks, Miss Hobson, we appreciate your help,' he said. 'I'll call you about the lessons. All I want to learn is five songs.'
'Yes, I understand.'
''Night and Day,' and four others. So I can impress people.'
'I'm sure they'll be very impressed.'
'Hey, tell me about it,' Ollie said.
'You got this under control here?' Monoghan asked.
'Soon as the technicians get here,' Ollie said. 'What's holding up traffic? Is the Pope in town or something?'
'You gonna tell a Pope joke now?'
'I only know one Pope joke,' Ollie said.
'Maybe this lady here can teach you four more,' Monroe said. 'Then you can really impress people. You can play five songs on the piano, tell five Pope jokes, and maybe five Irish jokes if there are any Irishmen in the crowd.'
'Sounds like a good idea,' Ollie said. 'You know four Pope jokes, Miss Hobson?'
'I don't know any Pope jokes at all,' she said.
'I need four more Pope jokes,' Ollie said. 'I'll have to get them someplace else, I guess.'
'Can I leave now?' she asked.
'You want some advice?' Monroe said.
'Sure, what's that?' Ollie said.
'There are lots of Irishmen on the job. I wouldn't go telling any more Irish jokes, I was you.'
'Gee, is that your advice?'
'That's our advice,' Monroe said.
'You think telling Irish jokes might be politically incorrect, huh?'
'It might be downright dangerous,' Monroe said.
'Gee, I hope that's not a threat,' Ollie said.
