They'd pick up a little when they got home. They might clean on the weekend. They'd put everything in order before they had company. They were not expecting a burglar. I had broken and entered often enough in my life to be used to it. But I never liked it. I always felt sort of voyeuristic, peeping in on the personal clutter of people's privacy.
I went back downstairs and looked around in the family room again. There was a pale green plastic hair roller on the floor under the rollaway bed. There was an empty bottle of nail polish remover on top of the television set and a highball glass with a little water in the bottom. I smelled it. It smelled like bourbon. The water was probably melted ice. Someone, presumably a woman, had been staying in the room. But there were no clothes, no luggage. I went back up to the master bedroom and looked more carefully through the closet and the bureau. All the woman's clothes were size 12.
They all seemed consistent in style. Susan would have been helpful here, but she had always had some kind of hang-up on breaking into people's homes and snooping in their closets.
I walked around the house again and saw nothing else that would help me so I went back out the front door, hung the key up behind the shutter, and walked toward my car. The rain was still coming down, making the still suburban street shine a glossy black. I turned up my collar as I walked.
In my car I started the motor and turned on the wipers, set the heater on low, and sat some more, looking at the house across the street. The houseguest could have been Bibi and she could have scooted when Abbey's mother told her a detective was looking for her. Perfect. Trying to find her may have made her harder to find.
The universe was a recalcitrant bastard.
I had a west suburban directory in the car with me and I started calling banks on the car phone until I found one that employed Abigail Becker. She worked close to home, at a branch of DePaul Federal right here in Needham, downtown, maybe a mile from her house. I found her there, behind a desk on the customer side of the counter. The sign on the desk said she was Branch Manager. She was a biggish woman, but attractive enough with neat brown hair and blue eyes, and nice smile lines at the corner of her mouth. She didn't look like a lousy housekeeper. She had on a tan tweed suit which fit her well, and a dark brown blouse. That's why she hadn't worn the white panty hose. She would want tan to go with her outfit. She stood as I approached her desk. She would be about Bibi's age, which if they graduated '77, would make her thirty-six.
"May I help you, sir?"
"Ycu Mrs. Becker?" I said.
"Yes, I'm the branch manager. How can I help."
I took out my wallet and showed her my license.
"My name is Spenser," I said.
"I talked with your mother yesterday. I'm looking for Bibi Anaheim, formerly Bibi Costa."
"Mother told me you'd called her. I didn't realize she'd told you how to reach me."
"She didn't," I said.
"Intentionally. But she mentioned your name and said you lived in Needham, and…" I shrugged modestly.
"Elementary."
"Yes, of course, won't you sit down."
I sat.
"You and Bibi were high school friends."
"Yes, earlier than that. We were friends all through school."
"Do you still hear from her?"
"Not very much, I'm afraid. We exchange Christmas cards, really, very little more than that."
"You know where she is now?"
"Well, I gather she's not at home, in Medford?"
"No, would you have any idea where she might be?"
"No, I'm sorry. I don't."
"You've not heard from her?"
"No. Not in ages."
She shifted in her chair and crossed her legs. I was right. The panty hose were dark tan. The legs were good, too.
"And you have no thoughts where I might find her?"
"No, I'm very sorry, but I really don't."
"Names of any friends she might have contacted?"
She shook her head slowly.
I stood and took one of my business cards out and gave it to her.
"Well, if you do hear from her, or you think of anything that might be useful in finding her, please give me a call."
"Of course," she said and stood and shook hands with me.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful."
"Me too," I said and went back out into the rain with the collar of my trench coat turned up. In uniform. Driving back to Boston I thought about how she had not once asked why I was looking for Bibi or if she might be in trouble, or any of the questions she might have asked if she really hadn't talked with Bibi. Maybe if I laid low in the weeds for a while and didn't bother Abigail any more, the houseguest, whoever she was, might assume the risk was over and come back.
CHAPTER 34
Hawk and I were in Bay Village, on the south end of Charles Street, approaching a couple of hookers.
"This is a pretty long end run ain't it?" Hawk said.
"You got a better idea?" I said.
"Could talk with Julius again."
"We can do that," I said.
"But let's see if we can find out a little about what's going on down here in the trenches."
"That where we are?" Hawk said.
"Right here where the cash is earned," I said.
"Good evenin'," one of the hookers said.
"I'm Wanda."
"Aren't you cold?" I said.
She had on a red sleeveless top and a white miniskirt and three inch white heels.
"Got a sweater over in the doorway," she said.
"You cops?"
"You ever see a cop dressed as good as me?" Hawk said.
"Some of the undercover Vice guys looking pretty fresh," Wanda said.
"We're not cops," I said.
"We're looking for a missing woman."
"You think she hooking?" Wanda's friend asked. She had on black toreador pants and a huge blonde wig.
"No, but it's a place to start," I said.
"Who runs you?"
"We got us a pimp," Wanda said.
"Bet he don't think of it that way," Hawk said.
"What's his name?" I said.
"Chuckie. Either you gentlemen going to fuck one of us?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"
"Cause if you ain't you best be moving along. Chuckie don't like us, you know, ah, wasting time with people ain't customers."
"Where is Chuckie?"
"Around. Keeping an eye on things."
"So if we stay here for a while, Chuckie will show up and tell us to move along."
"That what he usually do," the blonde said.
"But you two looking kind of big and quick."
"You think we'd scare him off?"
"Chuckie bad," the blonde said.
"But there two of you…"
I nodded.
"Hawk," I said.
"Why don't you sort of even the odds for Chuckie."
Hawk nodded.
"Ladies," he said, and started walking toward Park Square.
"You want Chuckie to hassle you?" Wanda said.
"I want to meet him," I said.
"Chuckie's pretty mean," Wanda said.
The blonde reached over and felt my bicep.
"Oh!" she said.
"Maybe this be something."
Wanda felt my bicep too. The two women giggled.
"You know who Chuckie works for?" I said.
"Chuckie don't work," Wanda said.
"We work."
"You know who Chuckie pays off?"
"Naw, man, don't know nothing 'bout that stuff."
A dark Pontiac Bonneville drove slowly along Charles Street, and slid into the curb beside us. A tall high-shouldered black man got out and walked around behind the car and stopped beside me.
He had on a black and red leather warm-up jacket and a red do rag on his head. First Deion, now the world. His arms were a little too long for the jacket and his wrists where they showed below the cuffs were thick.
"You a police officer?" he said.
"No."
"Then you looking to have yourself some fun?"
"Nope, just passing the time of night with these ladies," I said.
"Well, sir, these ladies are mine, you know what I mean, and they working, so they don't really have no time to be passing."