Ipswich or Newburyport where the houses were stately and old and the air was clean and cold and full of the sea. Where there's a kind of mellowness and a memory of another time and another America. Probably never was another America though. And if I headed out that way I'd probably be sitting around the police station in Ipswich, smelling the steam pipes and the disinfectant and wondering if some poor slob deserved what he was getting.
Quirk came out of his office. And looked at Haller. Then turned to me.
'Come in and talk.'
I did. I told the same story to Quirk that I had to Belson. Exactly the same way. Quirk listened without a word. Looking straight at me all the time I talked. When I was through he said, 'Okay, wait outside.'
I did. He called Terry Orchard in. Haller went with her. The door closed. I sat some more. The dick at the end of the room still talked into the phone. The two that had come in with Quirk continued to sit and look elaborately at nothing. The sun had come up and shone into one corner of the room. Dust motes drifted in languidly.
'I can't stand it anymore,' I said. 'I'll confess, just don't give me the silent treatment anymore.'
The two detectives looked at me blankly. 'Confess what?' one of them said. He had long curly sideburns.
'Anything you want, just no more of the cold shoulder.'
Sideburns said to his partner, 'Hey, Al, ain't he a funny guy? Right before you go off duty after working all night it's really great to have a funny guy like him around so you can go home happy. Don't you feel that way, Al?'
Al said, 'Aw, screw him.'
More silence. I got up and walked to the window. There was a heavy wire mesh across it so suspects wouldn't jump out, drop three stories to the ground, and run off. The windows were grimy, with a kind of ancient grime that seemed to have sunk into the glass. Three floors below a thin Puerto Rican kid with pointed shoes came out of the back of the coffee shop with a bucket and poured hot dirty water into the street. It steamed in the cold briefly. I looked at my watch. 6:40. The kid had got up awful early to come in and mop the floor. I wondered how late tonight he'd be there.
Belson came out of Quirk's office with Terry, through the squad room, and out. Haller came out too, and walked over to me.
'They've gone down to the lab. I think they'll book her,' he said. I didn't say anything.
He said, 'Quickly, I wanted to check her story with you. She was asleep with her boyfriend in their apartment. Two men apparently known to Powell entered. Shot Powell, forced her to shoot Powell's body, drugged her, and left. She called you. You came. Sobered her up, got her story. Called the cops.'
'That's it,' I said.
'She knows you because the university employed you to find a missing rare book.'
'Manuscript,' I said.
'Okay, manuscript… You got in touch with her because the campus security man suggested that an organization she was part of might have taken it. She had your card. In trouble, she called you.'
'Right again,' I said.
'As stories go it's not a winner,' Haller said.
'I know,' I said.
'She's convincing when she tells it, though,' said Haller.
'What's its effect on Quirk?' I asked.
'Hard to say. He doesn't show much, but I don't think he's easy about it. I think he'll book her, but I don't think he's sure she's guilty.'
'What do you think?' I asked.
'All my clients are innocent.'
'Yeah,' I said, 'of something, anyway.'
While we waited, the shift changed. Al and Sideburns left. The black cop with the phone departed. The day people came in. Faces shaved, wind-reddened. Smelling of cologne. Some of them had coffee in paper cups they'd bought on the way in. It smelled good. No one offered me any. Belson came back into the office with Terry. They went back into Quirk's office. Haller with them. Quirk yelled from inside.
'Spenser, come in. You might as well hear the rest.'
I went in. It was crowded in there. Quirk was behind his desk. Terry in a straight chair beside it. Belson, Haller, and I standing against the wall. Quirk's desk was absolutely bare except for a tape recorder and a transparent plastic cube that on all sides contained pictures of a woman, children, and an English setter.
Quirk turned the recorder on. 'All right, Miss Orchard, your story and Spenser's match. But that proves nothing much. You had plenty of time to arrange it before we were called. Can you think of any reason why two men would wish to come and kill Dennis Powell?'
'No, I don't know?maybe.' Terry spoke barely above a whisper, and she seemed to sway slightly in the chair as she spoke.
'Which is it, Miss Orchard?' Quirk's voice was almost entirely without inflection and his thick, pockmarked face was entirely impassive. Terry shook her head.
Haller said, 'Really, Lieutenant, Miss Orchard is about to fall from the chair.' When Haller talked, the orange level light on the recorder flared brightly.
'Which is it, Miss Orchard?' Quirk said again, as if Haller hadn't spoken.
'Well, I think he was involved in the manuscript.' 'Which manuscript?'
'The one that Mr. Spenser is looking for, the whatchamacallit manuscript.'
I said, 'Godwulf,' and Quirk said, 'Is it the Godwulf Manuscript, Miss Orchard?' She nodded.
Quirk said, 'Say yes or no, Miss Orchard; the recorder can't pick up signs.' 'Yes,' she said. 'How was he involved?'
'I don't know, just that he was, and some faculty member was. I heard him talking on the phone one day.'
'What did they say?'
'I can't remember.'
'Then why do you think it involved the theft of a manuscript?'
'I just know. You know how you remember having an idea from a conversation but don't remember the conversation itself, you know?'
'Why do you think a faculty member is involved, Miss Orchard?' She shook her head again.
'Same reason,' she said.
'Do you think one of the men who you say killed Powell was a professor?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'I don't know. They didn't look like professors.'
'What did they look like?'
'It's hard to remember. It was so fast. They were both big and had on dark topcoats and hats, regular felt hats, like businessmen wear. The one who shot Dennis had big sideburns, like Prince Albert, you know, along his jaw. He was sort of fat.'
'Black or white?'
She looked startled. 'White,' she said.
'Why would the theft of a manuscript cause two big white men in hats and topcoats to come to your apartment at two thirty A.M. and kill Powell and frame you?'
'I don't know.'
'Why?' Quirk stopped. Tears were running down Terry Orchard's face. She made no sound. She sat still with her eyes closed and the tears coming down her face.
I said, 'Quirk, for crissake… '
He nodded, turned to Belson.
'Frank, get a matron and book her.'
Belson took her arm. She stood up.
There was no sign that she heard him, or that she heard anything.
Belson took her out. Haller went with her.
