“Whiskey. Whiskey and soda.”
“It’s the first time I ever tasted it.” He tried to remember how much a bottle of whiskey cost. There was almost none being made now because of the grain shortage and each year the stored supplies grew smaller and the price increased. At least two hundred D’s a bottle, probably more.
“That was very refreshing, Shirl,” Santini said, placing his empty glass against the arm of his chair where it remained, “and you have my most heartfelt thanks for your kind hospitality. I’m sorry I must run along now, Rosa is expecting me, but could I ask you something first?”
“Of course, Judge — what is it?”
Santini took an envelope from his side pocket and opened it, fanning out the handful of photographs that it contained. From where he sat all Andy could see was that they were pictures of different men. Santini handed it over to Shirl.
“It was tragic,” he said, “tragic what happened to Mike. All of us want to help the police as much as we can. I know you do too, Shirl, so perhaps you’ll take a look at these pictures, see if you recognize any of these people.”
She took the first one and looked at it, frowning in concentration. Andy admired the judge’s technique for talking a lot and really saying nothing — yet getting the girl’s cooperation.
“No, I can’t say I have ever seen him before,” she said.
“Was he ever a guest here, or did he meet Mike while you were with him?”
“No, I’m sure of that, he’s never been here. I thought you were asking if I had ever seen him on the street or anything.”
“What about the other men?”
“I’ve never seen any of them. I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help.”
“Negative intelligence is still intelligence, my dear.”
He passed the photographs to Andy, who recognized the top one as Nick Cuore. “And the others?” he asked.
“Associates of his,” Santini said as he rose slowly from the deep chair.
“I’ll keep these awhile,” Andy said.
“Of course. You may find them valuable.”
“Must you go already?” Shirl protested. Santini smiled and started for the front door.
“Indulge an old man, my dear. Much as I enjoy your company, I must keep sensible hours these days. Good night, Mr. Rusch — and good luck.”
“I’m going to make myself a drink,” Shirt said after she had shown the judge out. “Can I liven up that one for you? If you’re not on duty, that is.”
“I’m on duty, and I have been for the last fourteen hours, so I think it is about time that duty and drink mixed. If you won’t report me?”
“I’m no ratfink!” She smiled, and when they sat opposite each other he felt better than he had for weeks. The headache was gone, he was cool and the drink tasted better than anything he remembered.
“I thought you were through with the investigation,” Shirl said. “That’s what you told me.”
“I thought so then, but things have changed. There is a lot of interest in getting this case solved. Even people like Judge Santini are concerned.”
“All the time I knew Mike I never realized he was so important”
“Alive, I don’t think he was. It is his death that is important, and the reasons — if any — for it”
“Did you mean that, what you said this afternoon about the police not wanting anything moved from this apartment?”
“Yes, for the present. I’ll have to go through everything, particularly the papers. Why do you ask?”
Shirl kept her eyes on her glass, clutching it rightly with both hands. “Mike’s lawyer was here today, and everything is pretty much like his sister said. My clothes, my personal belongings are mine, nothing else. Not that I expected anything more. But the rent has been paid here until the end of August—” she looked up squarely at Andy, “and if the furniture is left here I can stay on until then.”
“Do you want to do that?”
“Yes,” she said, nothing more.
She’s all right, Andy thought. She’s not asking any favors, no tears or that kind of thing. Just spreading her cards on the table. Well, why not? It doesn’t cost me anything. Why not?
“Consider it done. I’m a very slow apartment searcher, and an apartment this big will take until exactly midnight on the thirty-first of August to search properly. If there are any complaints refer them to Third Grade Detective Andrew Fremont Rusch, Precinct 12-A. I’ll tell the parties concerned to get lost.”
“That’s wonderful!” she said, jumping happily to her feet. “And it deserves another drink. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t feel right about, you know, selling anything from the apartment. That would be stealing. But I don’t see anything wrong with finishing off the bottles. That’s better than leaving them for that sister of his.”
“I agree completely,” Andy said, lying back in the soft embrace of the cushions, watching her delicate and attractive wiggle as she took the glasses into the kitchen. This is the life, he thought, and grinned crookedly to himself, the hell with the investigation. At least for tonight. I’m going to drink Big Mike’s booze and sit back on his couch and forget everything about police business for just one night.
“No, I come from Lakeland, New Jersey,” she said, “we just moved here to the city when I was a kid. The Strategic Air Command was putting in those extra-long runways for the Mach-3 planes and they bought our house and all the other ones nearby and tore them down. It’s my father’s favorite story, how they ruined his life, and he has never voted for a Republican since and swears he would rather die first.”
“I wasn’t born here either,” he said, and took a sip of the drink. “We came from California, my father had a ranch—”
“Then you’re a cowboy!”
“Not that kind of a ranch, fruit trees, in the Imperial Valley, I was just a little kid when he left and I hardly remember it. All the farming in those valleys was done with irrigation — canals and pumps. My father’s ranch had pumps and he didn’t think it was very important when the geologists told him he was using fossil water, water that had been in the ground thousands of years. Old water grows things just as well as new water, I remember him saying that. But there must have been little or no new water filtering down because one day the fossil water was all used up and the pump went dry. I’ll never forget that, the trees dying and nothing we could do about it. My father lost the farm and we came to New York, he was a sandhog on the Moses Tunnel when they were building it.”
“I never kept an album,” Andy said.
“It’s the sort of things girls do.” She sat on the couch next to him, turning the pages. In the front were photographs of children, ticket stubs, programs, but he was only slightly aware of them. Her warm bare arm pressed against his and when she leaned over the album he could smell the perfume in her hair. He had drunk an awful lot, he realized vaguely, and he nodded his head and pretended to be looking at the album. All he was really aware of was her.
“It’s after two, I better get going.”
“Don’t you want some more kofee first?” she asked.
“No thanks.” He finished the cup and carefully set it down. “I’ll be around in the morning, if that will be all right with you.” He started toward the door.
“The morning is fine,” she said, and put her hand out. “And thanks for staying here this evening.”
“I should be thanking you for the party, remember I never tasted whiskey before.”
