so was Cotton.
But where?
He had not been working with Hawes for too long a time, but he felt certain the man would not have pulled a stunt so childish as walking out on his date. Still, he’d been pretty angry back there a little while ago. And Christine, as cute as she was, had certainly been asking for trouble. She’d wanted Cotton to do a burn, and he had, but she’d stumbled onto a corpse in the bargain, which proves you shouldn’t play with fire, girls.
But would Cotton have walked out on her?
It was possible. Carella had to concede that it was definitely possible. There was no second-guessing the ways of maids and men. He’d handled many a suicide where a seemingly levelheaded young man had thrown himself out the nearest hotel window because a sweet young thing in a skirt had refused a date. Why, take his own Teddy. Annoyed because he’d been dancing with that wench from Flemington. God, that had been a long time ago, he could remember every detail of that night as if it were happening now. Faye, grrrr, she’d been a wonderful, wonderful—
Hey now.
Steady, lad.
He saw Teddy sitting near his father. He grinned and began walking toward her.
From the woods behind him, he heard someone scream, “Help! Help!”
He whirled and broke into a trot, crashing into the bushes. His service revolver was in his fist before he’d covered three feet.
The boys had been standing on the corner watching all the girls go by. They had been standing there all afternoon, they said. They had been standing right under that same lamppost near the el structure. Just standing. Just watching the girls. June was a good time for watching the girls, the boys said.
“Did you happen to notice the people who came down off the train?” Meyer asked.
“Yeah, we noticed the girls,” the boys said.
“Did you notice anybody else?”
“Yeah,” the boys said, “but mostly we noticed the girls.”
“Did you happen to see a man carrying a trombone case?”
“What does a trombone case look like?”
“You know,” O’Brien said. “A trombone case. Black leather. Long. With a sort of a flaring bell on one end.”
“Gee,” the boys said. “You’d better ask Charlie.”
“Which one of you is Charlie?”
“Charlie’s in the candy store. Hey, Charlie! Charlie, come on out here!”
“Is Charlie a musician?” Meyer asked.
“No, but his sister is taking piano lessons. She’s eight years old.”
“How old is Charlie?” Meyer asked skeptically.
“Oh, he’s a grown man,” the boys said. “He’s sixteen.”
Charlie came out of the candy store. He was a thin boy with a crew cut. He wore khaki trousers and a white tee shirt, and he ambled over to the boys under the lamppost with a curious expression on his face.
“Yeah!” he said.
“These guys have some questions.”
“Yeah!” He delivered the word as a cross between a question and an exclamation, as if surprised by his own query.
“Do you know what a trombone case looks like, Charlie?”
“Yeah!” he said, and again it was both a question and an exclamation.
“Did you see anyone come down those steps carrying one?”
“A trombone case?” This time it was purely a question.
“Yes,” Meyer said.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Down those steps?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah!” he said, the exclamation preceding the question.
“Which way did he go?”
“How do I know?” Charlie said.
“You saw him, didn’t you?”
“Yeah! Why? You need a trombone player? Does it have to be a trombone player? My kid sister plays piano.”
“Think, Charlie. Which way did he go?”
“Who remembers? You think I followed him or something?”
“He came down those steps?”
“Yeah!”
“Did he turn right or left?”
Charlie thought for a moment. “Neither,” he said at last. “He walked straight up the avenue.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he turn at the corner?”
“I don’t know.”
“You lost him after he walked past that corner?”
“I don’t know whether he walked past that corner or not. Who lost him? I wasn’t even trying to find him. Who was interested in him?”
“Do you think he passed that corner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think he turned at the corner?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could he have crossed the street?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know.” He paused. “Listen, why don’t you ask the guy in the deli on the next corner. Maybe he seen him.”
“Thanks, son,” Meyer said, “we’ll do that.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “Does it have to be a trombone player?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“‘Cause my kid sister plays some gone piano, I mean it.” Meyer looked at Charlie sadly. Charlie shrugged. “So some guys go for horns,” he said resignedly, and he went back into the candy store.
Meyer and O’Brien started up the avenue.
“What do