87th Precinct - The Frumious Bandersnatch Part 18

ah.e.l.lo?a Loomis said.

aHeas back,a she said.

aItas him,a Loomis told Endicott. He was already walking toward his isolation booth.

aWhenever youare ready,a Endicott said, putting on the ear phones. aKeep him talking.a Sitting in the booth, Loomis picked up the extension phone.

aLoomis,a he said.

aHave you got the money?a aIall have it by six tonight. Iave had to sellaa aSeven-fifty in new hundreds?a aYes.a aGood. Put Carella on.a aHeas not here.a There was a silence on the line.

aWhere is he?a aI donat know. I didnat realize youad need him again.a aI donat.a aFirst toweras on him,a Jones said.

aIs there another detective there?a Corcoran nodded.

aYes,a Loomis said.

aIs he listening to this?a Corcoran shook his head.

aNo,a Loomis said.

aYouare lying. Put him on.a aSecond toweras got him. Heas in a moving vehicle,a Feingold said.

Corcoran picked up his extension.

ah.e.l.lo?a he said.

aWhoas this?a aDetective-Lieutenant Charles Corcoran.a aMay I call you Charles?a aIs the girl still alive?a aIall ask the f.u.c.king questions, Charles!a Corcoranas mouth tightened. Endicott was scowling.

aGo down to the limo at sevenP.M. sharp,a the caller said. aYou, Mr. Loomis, and the money. Get on the River Dix Drive and head east. Rush hour should be over by then. Iall call again at seven-fifteen. Any tricks and the girl dies.This phone is stolen, too,a he said, and laughed.

There was a click on the line.

aSon of a G.o.dd.a.m.n rotten son of a b.i.t.c.h b.a.s.t.a.r.d mother-f.u.c.kingc.o.c.k sucker!a Jones yelled. aHe always gets off a second before we triangulate.a aYou want this printout?a Feingold asked.

aYou heard him, itas stolen,a Endicott said.

aWill you have the money by then?a Corcoran asked Loomis.

aIt should be here by six,a Loomis said.

aThis time we play it our way,a Corcoran said.

THEYaD BEEN WAITINGoutside the building since a quarter past one, but the landlady didnat show up until almost three-thirty. She was dressed for Marrakech.

No burkah covered her from head to toe, but instead she wore a modest black abayah that billowed out like the sail on a Sumerian galley, covering everything but her face and her slender hands. She had extraordinary brown eyes, almost as black as the abayah. With all that protective clothing, neither of the detectives could tell her exact age, but they guessed she was somewhere in her mid-forties. They also guessed the eyes were a bit flirtatious.

The apartment building was in a Calmas Point neighborhood with a large Arab population, mostly Egyptians, Moroccans, and other immigrants from North Africa. The streets here were lined with Turkish coffee houses, shops selling hummus and baklava, katayif and kibbi, mjddara and tabbouleh. And although there were only twelve mosques in the entire city, one of them was located two blocks from the furnished room Calvin Robert Wilkins supposedly rented at the end of last year.

aWeare looking for the man who was renting a furnished room here from just before Thanksgiving to shortly after Christmas,a Carella told the landlady.

The landlady nodded.

aKnow who we mean?a Hawes asked.

aYes, I know,a she said.

They followed her up to the third floor.

aRent was coming due on January one,a she told them. aGuess he was in a big hurry to leave, eh?a Kirby Strauss the parole officer was right: The room Wilkins had been renting before head absconded was aperfectly decent.a Small, neat, tidy, inexpensively appointed with thrift-shop furniture.

aWhen he rented it, did he say head be leaving in January?a Carella asked.

aNo. Said he wanted it on a month-to-month basis,a the woman said. aWhich was okey-dokey with me.a Showing off her American slang. Brown eyes flas.h.i.+ng. Left hand on her hip. Big silver ring on the thumb of that hand. Some kind of bright green stone set in it. Not jade, something else. Not emerald either, not in a silver setting.

aWhen did he first tell you head be leaving?a aJust after Christmas.a aDid he say where he was going?a aSure. Jamaica.a aNo kidding? Jamaica, huh?a aSure. You know Jamaica? I asked was he going with his friends, he said no, just himself.a aWhat friends?a Hawes asked at once.

aThe two who came here all the time. Man and a woman.a aWhen you say all the timea?a The woman shrugged under her voluminous garment. Ripples flowed down to her toes. He noticed she was barefoot. Ring on the big toe of her right foot, too. Red stone on this one.

aThree, four times. He had the room only a month, you know. Little more than a month.a aWould you know their names? These friends of his?a aI donat ask visitorsa names. Thereas no trouble, I donat ask visitorsa names.a aWhatad they look like?a Carella asked.

aThe man was something like your height. Brown eyes like yours, curly black hair, very nice build,a she said, and rolled her eyes. aThe girl was a redhead. Not like your red,a she said, turning to Hawes, amore brown in color, yes? With green eyes andawhat do you call them? When there are spots on the face?a aFreckles?a Hawes suggested.

aEnglish,a she said, shaking her head. aFreckles, yes. I donat think they were married, those two, but I think they were close, eh?a she said, and winked.

aYou mean, like engaged,a Hawes said, nodding.

aNo, I mean like sleeping together,a she said, and winked again.

aSo he was leaving for Jamaica, but he wasnat taking his friends with him, is that it?a Carella said.

aWell, not right that moment.a aWhat do you mean?a aHe wasnat going to Jamaica that very moment when he left the room here.a aThen whenwas he going to Jamaica?a aHe said in the spring.a aWhen in the spring?a aHe only said the spring. aIn the spring, Iall be on a beach in Jamaica.a Was what he said.a aSo he might be in Jamaica right this minute, is that what youare saying?a aThis is the spring, yes,a she said. aSo he could be there now, yes. Who knows? I donat even know where Jamaica is. Do you know where Jamaica is?a aYes.a aHave you ever been to Jamaica?a aNo, but I know where it is.a aWhere is it?a aIn the Caribbean.a aYes?a aYes.a aWhereas that, the Caribbean?a aItas where Mr. Wilkins might be right this minute,a Hawes said.

aMr.Who? a she asked.

aWilkins. Calvin Wilkins.a aThatas not the name he gave me,a she said.

Hawes looked at her.

aHe told me something else, not that.a aWhat did he tell you?a aI have to look,a she said.

They followed her downstairs to her apartment. There were beaded curtains and a double bed, and a calendar with Arabic lettering on it. She opened the top drawer of a small painted chest and took from it a ledger of some sort. She opened the book, trailed her forefinger down the page. Her fingernails were painted a green the color of the stone in the ring.

aHere,a she said, and tapped one of the names.

They looked at the page.

The name written there in a delicate feminine hand was: Richard Martin aRicky, thatas right,a the landlady said.

aRicky Martin,a Hawes said.

aYes. Thatas who his friends asked for, first time they came here.a aRicky Martin,a Hawes said again.

aYes.a aRicky Martin is a singer.a aThis man was asinger? a aNo, this man was a thief. RickyMartin is the singer.a aHe lived here more than a month, I never heard him sing,a the woman said, and shrugged again under the black garment.

aDid he say where he might be going? When he left here?a aI told you. Jamaica.a aI mean in January. When he moved out. Right then. Where was he going? Did he tell you?a aYes, he told me.a aWhere?a aTo stay with his friends. I think perhaps they had in mind amnage trois, eh? Perhaps thatas why he was in such a big hurry.a Hawes had once known a woman named Jeanette, or was it Annette, whoad called it a amnagedetrois. a For the longest time, he himself had called it that.

aAre you fellows in such a big hurry, too?a the landlady asked. aOr shall I brew the three of us some nice jasmine tea?a Laurette, Hawes guessed it was.

aThanks,a he said, ayouave been very helpful.a aYou think itas because of the record store?a she asked.

Neither of the detectives knew what she meant.

aThat he picked a singeras name?a They still didnat know what she meant.

aBecause he worked in a record store?a she said.

aWhich one?a Carella asked at once.

aLaura something,a she said. aIn the city. Someplace downtown.a SOMEPLACEdowntown could have been anywhere.

In this city, when you crossed any of the bridges from the outlying sectors, you were heading into aThe City.a And once you got into the city, you invariably headed adowntowna because thatas where all the action was.

They started with the yellow pages for Isola, a literal translation of the Italian wordaisola,a for aisland.a They looked first under RECORDS, TAPES & COMPACT DISCS, and found a sub-heading that readSee Compact Discs, Tapes & Recordsa"Retail. They turned back to the Cs, and found a listing for exactly one hundred and twelve record shops. None of them were named Laura Something or Laura Anything. Under the L listings, they found seventeen. They called Wilkinsa former landlady at once.

aDo any of these names ring a bell?a they asked, and started reeling them off. aL&M Records, Lane Books Music & Cafaa aNo,a she said.

aLark Music, Laurenceas Records, Lewis Music & Video, Lexington Entertainment, Lion Heart Record Shopaa aNo, none of those.a aLive Wire Compact Discs, Lone Star Records, Long Johnas Music, Lorelei Records, Lotusaa aWhat was that Laura one?a aMaaam?a aLauraLee, was that it?a aLorelei Records? Is that what you mean?a aThatas it,a she said. aLaura Lie.a Lorelei Records was a chain of shops similar to Sam Goodyas. There were six of them in Isola alone, but only two of them were located in what might have been considered adowntown,a one of them on St. Johnas Avenue in what was really amidtown,a the other one in the financial district at the very tip of the island. They struck paydirt on the first call they made.

aI THOUGHTyou said nothing fancy,a Patricia said.

aNah, this is just a little Italian joint,a Ollie said, and held open the door for her to enter before him.

aThis is fancy,a she said. aWeall make it Dutch tonight.a aNo, no, I invited you.a aYeah, but I picked the movie.a aMakes no difference. This is my treat. You want to take me out sometime, then you ask me.a Patricia grinned.

aOkay,a she said, aIall do that.a aHey, Detective Weeks,a a man sitting at the bar said, and immediately rose with his hand extended. aLong time no see, how you been?a aPatricia,a Ollie said, athis is Artie Di Domenico, owner and proprietor of this fine restaurant. Artie, meet Patricia Gomez, a fellow police officer.a aNice to meet you,a Di Domenico said, and took her hand and graciously kissed it. Patricia felt like the queen of England. aCome,a he said, aI have a nice table for you,a and led them across the room to a table near the windows. This was only five-thirty, the place was almost empty. They had walked here from the precinct, directly after the s.h.i.+ft changed. It was not yet dark outside.

aSomething to drink?a Di Domenico asked.

aSome wine, Patricia?a aI really canat let youaa aTut tut, madear,a Ollie said. aArtie, do you have any of that fine Simi chardonnay?a aMa, certo,aDi Domenico said, spreading his hands wide the way Patricia had seen Henry Armetta do in an old black-and-white movie on television. aSubito,Detective Weeks!a aThis is so nice of you, really,a Patricia said.

aBut we canat eat too much,a Ollie said. aBecause zee clock, she is ticking.a Patricia looked puzzled.

aThe movie starts at seven-forty-five,a he explained.

aAh,a she said. aWell, I donat eat much, anyway.a aAh, but I do,a Ollie said. aAnd this is very fine Italian food here.a aI should have dressed more elegantly,a she said, looking around at the neat little tables with their white tablecloths and the candles burning everywhere and the posters of Italian villages on the walls.

aYou are dressed to the nines,a Ollie said.

She was, in fact, wearing tailored brown slacks, and a pumpkin-colored cashmere sweater with a neat little tan jacket over it, and a string of pearls around her throat. Ollie thought she looked beautiful. He looked at his watch.

aFive-thirty-five,a he said.

aZee clock, she is ticking,a Patricia said.

aI learned that from the smartest man I ever met,a Ollie said.

aWhoas that?a aHenry Daggert. Though, actually, I never met him in person.a aIs he a cop?a aNo, heas an editor. Though maybe a spook, too.a aA spy, you mean?a aCIA, maybe,a Ollie said, nodding.

aGet out!a aIam serious. Being an editor might have been just a cover. But he certainly gave me some good advice. To use in my work.a aOn the job, you mean?a aNo. Writing books, I mean.a aI sure hope you catch that guy.a aOh, me, too.a aCause if for no other reason, Iad love to read your book.a aIad love you to read it. Itas calledReport to the Commissioner. This cross-dressing hooker named Emilio Herrera stole it, the little p.r.i.c.k, excuse my French. Iall get him, though. What he donat realize is zee clock, she is ticking.a aWhatas that supposed to mean, anyway?a Patricia asked. aI mean, as it pertains to writing books?a aWhat it means is that a vital element of all good suspense fiction is a ticking clock. Take a truly great master of literature like James Patterson, are you familiar with his uv?a aHis what?a aHis uv. Thatas French for abody of work,a anuv, they call it.a aI forgot you were learning languages.a aYes, I am.a aThatas so impressive, you have no idea.a aPatterson always has a ticking clock in his books. If I may quote Henry Daggert, fiction editor and master spy for all I know, aYou Must Introduce a Ticking Clock.a a aIntroduce it to who?a Patricia asked.

aIntroduce it into your story. aYou must give your protagonist only a limited amount of time to solve his problem,a quote unquote. And to quote once again, aThe reader should be regularly reminded of the urgency via Countdown Cues,a quote unquote.a aGee, I never realized it was so complicated,a Patricia said.

aAh yes, there are many tricks of the trade,a Ollie a.s.sured her, and looked at his watch again. aFive-forty-one,a he said. aShall I get menus?a Patricia waggled her eyebrows.

aZee clock, she is ticking,a she said.

A HUGE POSTERof Tamar Valparaiso standing spread-legged in her torn and tattered aBanders.n.a.t.c.ha costume was in each front window of Lorelei Records on St. Johnas Avenue. The poster did not show the actual beast attacking her, but its frumious shadow fell over her body, the jaws and claws threatening by implication. Scattered everywhere around each of the framed posters were stacks of the jewel-boxed CDs containing the t.i.tle song and the alb.u.m itself.

The manager was a black man named Angus Held.

Tall and narrow, he was wearing black jeans, a black sports s.h.i.+rt, and a gray sweater with a shawl collar when he came out of his office at the back of the shop. He knew why they were there; they had called ahead.

aIs Cal in some kind of trouble?a he asked at once.

Same thing head asked on the phone.

Same thing they always asked.

This time, they played it straight.

aHeas broken parole,a Carella said.

aDidnat even know he wason parole,a Held said, shaking his head.

aWhenas the last time you saw him?a Hawes asked.

aWhen he left the job. Middle of April, mustave been. Right around Easter time.a aDid he say he was going to Jamaica?a aNo. Is that where he went?a aWe donat know where he went,a Carella said. aWeare trying to find him.a aHow long did he work here?a Hawes asked.

aStarted just before Christmas. Comes and goes with the holidays, seems like. What was he in jail for?a aA bank holdup.a aWhoo,a Held said.

aDid he give you any trouble while he was here?a aNone at all. You say he was on parole, huh?a aThatas right.a aCanat understand why he broke it. Had himself a good job here.a aWhatad he do?a aWorked in the stock room. This is a good location, we do lots of volume here. Wonder why he broke parole.a Carella was wondering the same thing. Wilkins left a job as a dishwasher, got a better job here, youad think head run to his parole officer and ask for a medal. Instead, he absconds. To do what? Kidnap Tamar Valparaiso? Whose picture was now in both front windows?

aMind if we talk to some of the people in your stock room?a Hawes asked.

aIall take you back,a Held said.

THERE WEREthree people in the Lorelei stock room. One was Hispanic, one was Asian, one was black. Only the Asian guy had known Wilkins while he was still working here.