Kid's death. Bryan was firm but gentle and he knew what he was doing. It only took Jack a few minutes to relax and trust him. At the end of the session, Jack realized that Bryan had been right. He wasn't Kid, didn't have that special quality, that intangible inspirational skill that Kid had, but Bryan was good. Very good. Jack was more than satisfied and told him so.
As soon as he paid Bryan the compliment, Bryan got a slightly pained expression on his face. He did not do well with compliments and changed the subject immediately.
'How'd it go at the Saddle?' he asked. 'You find Kim?'
'I found him,' Jack said. 'And I also found the Entertainer.'
Bryan looked stunned. 'Come on,' he said. 'How'd you do that?'
So Jack told him, even the part about going to her apartment and having her draw the knife, and Bryan shook his head admiringly. 'You're like a regular Columbo,' he said. 'So what now?'
'I don't know, exactly,' Jack admitted. 'Try to find the next one, I guess. Or see if I can find out anything more about Leslee. The Entertainer.'
'You think she might have killed Kid?'
'I don't know. I think she's certainly capable of it.'
'Wow. I wonder if I know who she is,' Bryan said. 'I used to go to a couple of those clubs with Kid. And I think I know which one you mean. Goddamn, I just never figured out, when you said 'the Entertainer,' that it would be one of those girls.' He looked at his watch and frowned. 'I gotta go. Workin' at Hanson's today. But like I said before, Mr. Keller, I'd really like to help. So if you need me, just call.' And as he waited for the elevator he looked at Jack again and again, shook his head, saying, 'I think I'm gonna have to call you Columbo from now on.'
– '-'-'AT FOUR IN the afternoon, Jack's phone rang. When he picked it up, after the third ring, he heard a woman's voice say, 'Hi.' He was surprised that he immediately recognized the voice, but he definitely did. He didn't respond. Just held the receiver up to his ear.
'It's Leslee,' the voice said now. And with a little giggle: 'The Entertainer.'
'What do you want?' Jack asked.
'Look,' she said, 'I know what I did was incredibly stupid. I don't know what happened and I'm really and truly sorry.'
'How'd you get my number?' he asked.
'I'm a great detective, too,' she said. 'You're listed.' And after a pause: 'I know you're not going to want to do this, but I'd like you to come over to my apartment tonight. I don't have to work. I can make you dinner. Well, actually I can't, I'm the world's worst cook unless you like frijoles, but I can order in Chinese food. My treat.'
'Why?' he said.
'Because after you left, I started thinking. I remembered a few things about Kid. Stuff I heard, stuff he said.'
'Like what?'
'There's just some weird stuff that you might find helpful. I'm not sure what any of it means but I'd rather tell you in person.' When he didn't say anything, she added, 'I'll tell you what. I'll wear something really unsexy and won't play any music and won't drink. And I'll leave my little knife outside my door so you can see it when you come up. What more could you want?'
What more could I want? he thought. But what he said was 'What time?' And when she told him eight o'clock he also said, 'And I'll bring the Chinese food.'
– '-'-'SHE DIDN'T ANSWER the buzzer at first and Jack's immediate reaction was to get annoyed as hell because he thought she wasn't home, that he was wasting his time. He gave a yank on the door to the building but, as expected, it was locked. Just for the hell of it, not hoping for much, he pressed the buzzer again, and this time she buzzed back, a very quick one, and Jack pushed the front door to the brownstone open and started up the wine-colored carpeted staircase.
When he got to the third-floor landing, he took two steps toward her front door and saw her switchblade. It was lying on the carpet, on top of a piece of lined yellow legal paper. He picked up the knife, fingered it, held the note a little closer so he could read it. He noticed that at the top right-hand corner the paper was wet. A few drops of water had wrinkled it and blurred one of the lines. All the note said, in very precise handwriting, was It's open. Come in.
Jack put one foot inside the apartment, called out, 'Hello?' but didn't get a response. He took another step forward, closed the door behind him. 'Leslee?' he said. She still didn't answer but then he heard the rush of running bathwater.
In the tub, he thought. She must have rushed out to leave the note and that's how the paper got wet. Then rushed back in. He saw a few drops of water leading back to the bathroom.
He went into the kitchen, put the Chinese food he was carrying on the counter. She had plates and silverware already laid out. And a round platter, a piece of rough-hewn, handmade pottery.
Jack went back out into the living room, walked over to the bathroom door, and knocked once. 'I'm hungry,' he said but didn't get a reply.
Now he went back into the kitchen, searched for a moment, found a large serving spoon, and began opening the white food containers. Everything was still hot so he began dishing it out onto the large platter. 'Time to get out,' he called. 'It's hot and I'm starving.'
He didn't know where she wanted to eat, there was no dining room, so he figured they'd eat in the living room, on the sofas. He carried the platter out and put it on a small, painted-pine trunk that appeared to serve as her coffee table. Okay, he thought, enough's enough.
Jack walked to the bathroom. Knocked on the door, hard this time, and said, 'You're clean enough! Let's eat!' Again, no answer, and now he felt something, heard it, too, and he looked down at his shoes. A stream of water was coming out from under the bathroom door, moving faster even as he stared down at it. It swirled into the entryway, making its way toward the front door. 'Leslee?' he said. And then he opened the bathroom door.
Water rushed out now, it was an inch deep on the bathroom floor. The throw rug on the floor was sopping wet. The shower curtain was closed but bunched together and being pulled where it was touching the water. The faucet was on and water was running into the tub, but the tub was full, and the water was pouring over the top, spilling onto the floor, running now along the length of the apartment.
Jack took a deep breath, pulled the shower curtain open.
Leslee was stretched out naked under the water. The back of her head was half in the water, half propped up on the tub's porcelain rim. Her hair was wet and stringy. Her left arm was folded over her stomach. Her right arm was floating by her side. A long syringe was still embedded in the front of her elbow joint. Jack could see the needle, shiny and silvery under the water.
Her mouth was open slightly, giving her face that familiar lopsided appearance. But there was no grin visible. Her eyes were wide open and he thought what he saw in them was pure terror.
He stepped gingerly out of the small bathroom, went into the living room, past the platter of spring rolls and garlic chicken and noodles with sesame sauce and spicy shrimp and scallions. He walked straight to the phone, asked the operator to connect him to the Eighth Precinct, spoke to the sergeant on desk duty, and then was put through to Sergeant Patience McCoy, who was just on her way out, once again, to meet her husband Elmore for dinner.
'I told you you'd better have a good reason for pestering me, Jack,' she said.
He told her that he did.
He told her he thought that murder was a pretty good reason.
FORTY
What was he doing?
Playing policeman? Looking for clues? Talking to Kid's friends? Finding the Team?
He was crazy, Jack Keller was. Trying to find a murderer. What sense did that make? What goddamn sense?
None.
