crime.”
“Or create it. One thing Alice said is true: It just keeps getting worse and worse.”
“That’s your fault?”
“I’m not helping.”
“You don’t know that.”
“May I point out I just got us into a situation where bullets were flying all over a public park? My best friend lost a collar she’d have looked good making. The jewelry I was hired to trace hasn’t turned up, and some innocent old men might be about to get caught in a dangerous sting dreamed up by a client I’ve lost track of, who’s admitted to being involved with someone who’s admitted to being a killer. The killer, let me also point out, of the man I was working with.”
“For.”
“What?”
“You were working for Joel. He got you involved in this case.”
I stopped and eyed him accusingly. “Are you trying to tell me I’m not the center of the universe?”
“Of course you are. But things also happen on the periphery of the universe that have nothing to do with the center.”
“You,” I pronounced, “are full of baloney.”
“No argument from me.” Bill checked his watch and fished his phone from his pocket.
“It’s one A.M. Who’re you calling?”
He was busy identifying himself to whoever he was calling, so he didn’t answer. He listened. He said, “Are you sure?” and “Thank you.” He clicked off and turned to me. “Bingo.”
“Bingo what?”
“I told you I was doing legwork. That was payoff.”
“For?”
“Well, I got to wondering: If Wong Pan killed Joel, how did he get past security and up to Joel’s office?”
“In that building it’s not hard.”
“No, but it might be worth knowing. So I hit the Chinese restaurants around there and showed his photo. Nothing. But one’s open all night. They told me to call back when the night manager was in. He just had a look at the photo. He says that guy got a takeout order of General Tso’s chicken a few mornings ago. He remembers because the guy didn’t seem to care what he ordered. And he didn’t seem to care what it cost. And he ordered in Shanghai-accented English.”
I called Mary. “I have a peace offering.”
“What? A Trojan horse?”
I told her anyway. “He pretended to be a deliveryman,” I finished. “I bet no one in the building even registered they saw him.”
“How did Bill get this?” Mary wasn’t done being mad yet. “He didn’t throw around words like ‘government’ and ‘INS,’ did he?”
“More likely words like ‘fifty bucks.’ But Mary, this is something Mulgrew should have thought of. You can give it to Captain Mentzinger.”
“Why? So he’ll think you guys are smart?”
“No. So he’ll think you are.”
By the time we hung up, she was on her way to being mollified, though she wasn’t about to admit it.
“So are you good like this all the time, or what?” I asked Bill as we headed down a sweltering and silent Elizabeth Street.
“Modesty forbids the truth.”
“I’m annoyed at myself, though. I should have thought of this.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t. If you thought of everything, what would you need me for?”
I was a little surprised when I came up with a couple of answers to that. But not when I kept them to myself.
Then I did go home. Which turned out to be odd in its own way.
My mother keeps three of the five locks on our door locked at any given time, changing the formula weekly, on the theory that the bad guys will lock the unlocked ones as they pick them. Pulling my key gently out of the last one, which rattles, I stepped in, slipped off my shoes, and tiptoed into the living room. I was halfway across before I remembered there was no need: My mother wasn’t here. “Oh,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything smarter. I flipped the light on. Everything looked the same as when we’d left. And why shouldn’t it? I got ready for bed, trying to think if I’d ever spent the night alone in this apartment. When I was a kid and Ted and Elliot were in high school, my parents would visit cousins, leaving us alone for a night or two, but there were five of us. In college I had my own apartment in Queens for two years, and I’ve stayed in hotels, and house-sat and pet-sat for friends lots of times, so I’ve spent the night alone in a lot of places. None of that ever seemed weird.
But this did.
* * *
I woke later than usual, after a night of uneasy dreams: shifting images of