join her. He could see Cordiss becoming a new woman. He allowed himself to wonder whether Cordiss’s new money, new attitude, and tastes would mean she would soon be seeking a new man as well. He sulked as he got back into the limo, slightly consoled by the fact that at least he’d be able to listen to the rest of the Mets game.
When Cordiss arrived at Verna Fontaine’s apartment, she and Carlos Wallace were greeted by Verna’s broad smile. “Come in,” Verna said, holding the door open for them. She trailed her guests across the living room into the alcove where Rothman introduced Cordiss to the others. Bob Wildenmiller directed Cordiss to an empty chair at their table while Carlos sat on the couch.
“Miss Krinkle, we understand you have information that would lend clarity and credence to the story Mr. Rothman has been telling us,” Wildenmiller began.
“I hope I can help you,” replied Cordiss.
“And what information might that be, my dear?”
Cordiss smiled at the condescension. “I would say that’s the wrong question, Mr. Wildenmiller,” she said.
“How so?”
“If you’ve read those documents, what you now know about the story is already very clear. What isn’t clear to you, however, is what’s going to happen next. That’s the question you should be asking me.”
“Because you can foretell the future?”
“Not all of it, certainly; but what I do know is vitally important.”
“So,” Wildenmiller began, “one thing you know is the name of the young woman in whose hand the coin was originally found. True?”
“That’s true,” Cordiss said.
“And the name of her husband, whose birth produced the second coin?”
“That’s also true.”
“Well,” said Wildenmiller, “beyond that, we fail to see what other essential information may or may not be in your possession that might have escaped our attention. Please enlighten us.”
“The whereabouts of the young couple in question, for one thing.”
“And?” asked Wildenmiller.
“The fact that she may or may not be pregnant and preparing to give birth soon,” responded Cordiss.
“That about it?” Wildenmiller asked.
“What more would you want?” asked Cordiss.
“You will have to do better than that, my dear. Your burden is to present us with reasons why any of this should interest us at all.”
“The birth of that child will be an event,” said Cordiss. “I know who the parents are, where they are, when the child is due, and, above all, what most likely will happen when that baby is born. We can control the circumstances of that birth; and, by doing so, we will be there at the right moment when an amazingly remunerative miracle might well occur. Do you need more information, Mr. Wildenmiler? Or,” she concluded, parroting his own words back to him, “is that about it?”
There was silence in the room before Wildenmiller asked, “Who else knows about the pregnancy and the due date of the child?”
“Dr. Mozelle and possibly Caine,” answered Cordiss.
“What about Fritzbrauner and Gabler?” asked Bolton.
“No.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I haven’t told them and there is no one else who would.”
“Who else knows the whereabouts of the couple?”
“Just me and Victor,” said Cordiss.
The conversation fell into another pause, leaving the humming of the air conditioner to dominate the uneasy quiet in the room until Richard C. Davis finally spoke.
“Miss Krinkle, how do you envision controlling the circumstances of that birth, as you put it, without stepping into legal, and possibly ethical, quicksand? I would like to hear you translate what you are proposing into concrete detail. Take me through the specifics—steps one, two, three.”
Though the name Richard Davis meant nothing to Cordiss, the way he took command impressed her. Well, well, Mr. Davis, Cordiss thought, so you’re the boss here.
“I’m of course prepared to do that, but what I’m proposing is a sure thing. What’s not sure yet is whether or not we’re going to have an arrangement,” said Cordiss. “May I have some Perrier, please?”
Victor had been telling her that she had come back from Europe with new tastes, and designer water was one of them.
“Of course,” said Verna Fontaine, rising.
Cordiss waited for the water to arrive, then took several sips before she spoke. “O.K.,” she said. “Here’s how I think we should proceed.”
Downstairs, the Mets game was over. Victor had fallen asleep during the eighth inning and was dozing in the back of the limousine when Cordiss woke him, shouting playfully, “Wake up, wake up, sleepyhead.”
Victor shook the sleep from his head and looked at Cordiss’s wide grin. “Are we in business?” he asked.
“We are,” said Cordiss.
“Yeah?”
“Honey,” chuckled Cordiss. “Are we