“Let me get this straight,” Farmer said. “I’m having trouble keeping this damn thing straight. Your man Abbas...”
“Messenger to the Eternal Prince,” Zahir said with dignity.
“... is carrying a timetable with him when he gets off the plane at La Guardia. But he gets shot, and the timetable disappears, and it turns up in Dodge’s apartment?” He looked at his detectives. “Is that what you guys get?” He turned to Zahir again. “How’d this timetable end up in Dodge’s hands?”
“A man named Ralph D’Annunzio gave it to him,” Zahir said.
“What?” Hoffman said.
Reardon nodded. It was beginning to fall into place.
“He gave it to Dodge at lunch that day,” Zahir said. “This is what Dodge told us. He took possession of the timetable in D’Annunzio’s restaurant. The Luna Mare.”
Silence.
Reardon was putting it all together.
Or at least trying to.
“So you had to kill D’Annunzio, too,” Reardon said, nodding.
“Yes,” Zahir said.
“Because he’d seen the timetable.”
“Yes.”
“Important fuckin’ timetable,” Hoffman said.
“What were you doing on Sutton Place?” Ruiz asked. “Somebody there see this timetable?”
“We were sent there,” Zahir said.
“Who the fuck keeps sending you to these places?” Hoffman said.
“We received a call.”
“From your pal again?” Farmer asked. “The one who you know his voice but you don’t know his name and you don’t know who calls him and tells him to give you these fuckin’ mysterious messages, is that the one?”
“Yes,” Zahir said, exactly as if Farmer had just spoken a simple English sentence.
“And?”
“I was told only that a man named Joseph Phelps had stolen some negotiable securities, and that I was to get to him before the police did.”
“What kind of negotiable securities?” Reardon asked.
“I have no idea,” Zahir said.
“This guy on the phone just gives you orders, huh?” Farmer said. “And you run out and do whatever the fuck...”
“Sounds like the police department,” Gianelli said.
“We do it for our country,” Zahir said.
Reardon, who’d been quiet for several moments, suddenly said, “You didn’t know what was on this timetable, huh?”
Zahir shook his head.
“Then how’d you know what you were looking for?”
Silence.
“You tore up Dodge’s apartment, what the hell were you looking for?”
Silence.
Zahir looked at the others.
None of them said a word.
“What’s on that timetable?” Reardon said.
Silence.
“Who’s gonna tell us what’s on that timetable?” Farmer asked.
Stone faces.
End of the road.
“All right, get them out of here,” Farmer said.
12
Sandy’s office at Forbes was about the size of the interrogation room back at the Fifth. She sat behind a desk cluttered with clippings from magazines and newspapers, photocopies of pages from books, a jar of paste, a pair of scissors, a roll of transparent tape, pencils in assorted sizes and colors, and an ashtray brimming with cigarette stubs. The room smelled of stale tobacco smoke.
“I quit two weeks ago,” she said. “The ashtray is to remind me what a rotten habit it is.”
Reardon nodded.
“I know a man, he took fifty or sixty butts, put them in a jar of water, and shook it up like a cocktail,” Sandy said. “Whenever he’s tempted to have a smoke again, he takes the lid off the jar and sniffs at what’s inside. One whiff is enough to make him swear off again.”
Reardon wondered if this was the same man she’d been in bed with last Saturday night.
“I’ve quit at least three times already,” he said.
“Never stuck, huh?”
“The last time was the longest.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“And you went back?” Sandy said, astonished.
“Yeah.”
“When was this?”
“Last July.”
“How come?”
“My wife told me she wanted a divorce.”
“Oh,” Sandy said.
“Yeah.”
“That’ll do it every time.”
“Yeah.”
The room went silent.
“Is it okay if I smoke now?” Reardon asked.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“You’re sure it won’t bother you?”
“It’ll kill me, but go ahead.”
He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, looked at her, and changed his mind.
“No, that’s okay, really,” she said.
“No. no.”
“Go ahead, you’re making me feel guilty.”
“No,” he said, “I can wait, really.”
“Okay,” she said, and smiled.
He really wanted that cigarette. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He scratched his jawline with his right hand.
“The reason I stopped by...” he said, and shrugged. “I feel stupid as hell about this, I really do, but you’re the only one I could think of.”
“Concerning what?”
“This homicide victim.”
“The old man you were telling me about? On Mulberry Street?”
“Well, no. Well, yes. Well, they’re related, but I can’t figure out how. I mean, I know how, but I don’t know why. Or... I know why, but the why doesn’t make any sense. Would you mind terribly if I smoked?” he asked.
“Please do,” she said, and shoved the butt-filled ashtray toward him.
“Thank you,” he said, and immediately shook a cigarette from the package and lighted it. “I’m sorry,” he said, blowing out a stream of smoke.
“No problem,” she said.
“You see, this other victim, this related victim, was a lawyer...”
“Uh-huh...”
“Who went to see a stockbroker...”
“Ah,” she said.
“Yeah, which is why I’m here. Or partially why I’m here.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what you need,” Sandy said, and looked at his mouth as he drew in on the cigarette.
“Okay,” he said, “this is it. A lawyer named Peter Dodge sees an important timetable...”
“What kind of timetable?”
“Well, that’s just it. Hold on a minute, okay? He sees this timetable, and he runs right out to buy silver contracts from a firm called Rothstein-Phelps.”
“Uh-huh,” Sandy said.
“You know them?”
“Biggest commodity dealers in the city.”
“Okay. Some Arabs kill Dodge that night and the timetable is taken from him. Recovered from him, actually, since it shouldn’t have been in his hands to begin with. But a man named Ralph D’Annunzio... the one I was telling you about... also saw the timetable, and he was killed an hour later, more or less.”
“Phew,” Sandy said. “Important timetable, huh?”
“So it would seem.”
“Again... what kind of timetable?”
“That’s what I want to know from you.”
“Me? Do I look like a train conductor?” She watched him as he stubbed out the cigarette. Then she said, “You say Dodge bought silver after he saw it?”
“Heavily and long,” Reardon said, nodding.
“Well, was that accidental? I mean, his rushing out to buy silver? Or was it a direct consequence of his having seen this timetable?”
“I have no idea.”