"The Cathedral of St. John the Divine?" Diamond read from the board in a disbelieving voice.
"I mean the Hungarian Pastry Shop on this side."
"Ah." Neither of them felt like smiling. The confusion was indicative of their helplessness. Nothing is so hard to accept as the knowledge that you have failed. They were floundering, trying to buoy each other up with words, but the words gave no real support.
"The Columbia campus comes up on this side in a block or two," she informed him.
"We ought to be checking these. Can you turn up the next one?"
It was 113th Street, and they drove as far as Broadway, then made two lefts onto 112th. Three white cars were parked there, not one a Buick. Almost ten minutes had passed since they had lost sight of the car, and ten grew to twenty while they continued to tour the streets without result
"I can transfer to a taxi," Diamond offered.
"I won't allow it," Ken said. "I'm as eager to find the damned car as you are."
"It could have left the area by now."
"We owe it to that little girl to keep looking."
He didn't need telling.
It took them just under an hour to find the Buick. It was parked near the Broadway end of 114th Street. They would have found it sooner if they hadn't chosen to start at 113th and work back as far as 108th, but the enormous relief at picking up the trail wiped out any regrets.
"What now?" Ken asked.
"I'm more grateful than I can say."
She frowned, not understanding his English avoidance of the direct statement.
"I can manage," he said.
"Hey, you don't think I'm quitting now? I want to see the kid for myself." Her eyes dispelled any doubt that she meant what she said.
"In that case, I'll tell you what we do next. We go door-stepping."
This section of the street was lined with apartment blocks and small hotels. They tried the hotels first. "I'm hoping to find a couple with a small girl who may have registered here an hour ago," was the disarming way he phrased his inquiry. "The lady is Japanese and so is the child." He was trying to project himself as the caring English gent, as if friends of his had left behind some lost property that he was anxious to reclaim for them.
After trying three hotels and getting suspicious looks and shakes of the head, but no verbal response, he changed his approach at the Firbank, a shabby brownstone with a sign in the window saying Vacancies. The window needed cleaning.
The door stood open and a man in a black singlet and jeans was behind a hinged table that passed for a reception desk.
"Is Mrs. Tanaka staying here?"
"Who the fuck are you?"
It was, by certain lights, an improvement on silence. Diamond said that he'd been sent by Immigration. "And who the fuck are you?" he added.
"George De Wint."
"Manager?"
"I have no illegals in my hotel," De Wint said defensively. For a beefy, tattooed man with a Cagney profile, he suddenly sounded pathetic.
"But you have Mrs. Tanaka, in this afternoon from England?" "From England?"
"Japanese, with a male partner, and a small girl."
"So what exactly is the problem?"
"Is she here, or not?"
"Sure, she's here. You want me to phone the room?"
Mentally, Diamond turned a back flip of triumph. "Could I see the register?"
George De Wint leaned to his left, placed a hand on a dog-eared exercise book, and slid it along the counter.
Diamond opened it at the latest entry, which was M. Tanaka. "There's only the one name here."
"So what? Kids don't have to register."
"How about the man?"
"The guy isn't staying here. He carried the suitcase."
"Has he left yet?"
"Not to my knowledge. What exactly is this about, mister? I don't want trouble."
"Which room?"
"Twelve."
"Upstairs?"
"Third floor. She wanted a twin with bathroom, so I gave her my biggest"
"Show us up."
The Firbank reeked of some cheap scented spray. It didn't run to a lift and the stairs creaked so mere was no point in trying to approach the room by stealth.
A "Do not disturb" notice was hanging from the handle of room twelve. Diamond knocked.
No one responded.
"Seems they went straight to bed," De Wint suggested.
"With a child in the room?" said Ken in disbelief.
"To sleep. They could be jetlagged if they came from England."
Diamond called out, "Anyone there?"
Still silence.
He rattled the handle. The manager unhooked a bunch of keys from his belt.
When the door was unlocked, there was still no word from inside. And the room was not in darkness.
Diamond stepped in.
A moderate-sized, cheaply furnished room. Twin beds, one with the bedding pulled back. On the other, an open suitcase.
"They went out, then," De Wint commented. "People are so dumb, leaving notices on the door like that. When are my staff supposed to make up the rooms?"
"You said they were up here."
"So I made a mistake. Mister, this is a hotel, not the city jail."
Diamond crossed to the bathroom door, tapped once and opened it. The light was on. A saturated towel lay on the floor. There was water in the bath to the level of the overflow. He stepped closer.
"Someone is in after all," he said.
The manager went closer. His reaction was less restrained. "Jesus-why in my hotel, of all places?"
Lying along the base of the bath under several inches of water was a body, facedown and dressed in a white blouse, gray trousers and shoes. The hair was short and dark.
Diamond warned Ken not to look.
Discovering a death is disturbing in any circumstances. What made this the more shocking was that the wrists were fastened behind the woman's back, bound with cord. Around the ankles a belt had been wound several times and fastened.
Diamond took off his jacket and handed it to De Wint, who was still carrying on about his misfortune. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and stooped over the bath in an attempt to turn the body face upwards. The New York Police Department wouldn't be too thrilled at having the corpse disturbed; however, he needed to confirm the victim's identity at once. Taking a grip of the clothes, he tugged, but his figure wasn't shaped for turning over bodies in baths and he had to ask for the manager's assistance. "Come on, man. I'm not talking to myself."
De Wint was backing out of the bathroom. "I can't touch it. No way."
Fortunately, Ken was less inhibited. She came forward and said, "Let me help. I'm not bothered."
Splashing themselves liberally in the process, they managed the maneuver at the second attempt
Without any doubt the body was that of the Japanese woman they'd followed from John F. Kennedy Airport, the woman who had brought Naomi from England.
He turned to De Wint, water dripping from his arms. "Is she the woman who occupied this room? Come forward, man. Now, do you recognize the lady, or don't you?"
"Oh my God, yes. She's the one."
Now the head could be lowered under the water again.
The question no one had spoken because it was so horrible to contemplate had to be faced, and quickly: where was Naomi?
Diamond felt some unsteadiness in his legs. He was literally shaking at the knees, and it wasn't brought on by what he had just discovered. He feared for what he might discover next. Without a word, he straightened, turned and moved back to the bedroom, leaving the manager bowed over the toilet bowl in the act of retching.
There weren't many places where a child's body could have been concealed. He could tell without pulling back the bedding that nothing was trapped beneath it And the space under the divan beds was far too narrow. He opened the wardrobe. It contained only a woman's jacket, gray, with the name Rohan embroidered on the front in yellow.
There remained the window to check. In truth, he didn't expect to find Naomi dead inside the room. Some combination of intuition and experience told him she wasn't here. He felt less secure about looking out of the window.