"Manflex-is that an all-American firm?"
She was obviously starting to think that she was stuck with a headcase. "Haven't you heard of Manny Flexner? He was a legend in the pharmaceuticals business. Very dynamic. His son just became Chairman."
"What's he like?"
"Nobody knows yet. He only took over a few weeks back. He's keeping his head down right now."
"If this rumor is true, he's off to a good start."
"He needs it. There was a big loss of confidence after Manny jumped."
"Jumped?"
"Out of bis office on the twenty-first floor."
Diamond stared upwards.
"He fell on the other side," the reporter informed him. "A small executive parking lot"
Diamond thanked her and took a walk along Broadway, working out what to do next He'd heard enough about the seesawing fortunes of Manflex to justify more inquiries, but he doubted whether he'd be able to convince Lieutenant Easdand that something should be done. For the present he preferred to pursue this tenuous line of inquiry independently. However, he wasn't going to be able to bluff his way past the security guards. Some different strategy was wanted.
He found a stationery store and went in to buy a notepad and envelope. Then he wrote a letter to David Flexner, die Chairman of Manflex, introducing himself as a detective from England conducting an inquiry involving murder and the abduction of a child. As a matter of extreme urgency, he went on, he needed an interview with the Manflex management to discuss the mother of the child, Dr. Yuko Masuda, who had carried out research sponsored by Manflex at Yokohama University in the early 1980s. He gave the address and phone number of bis hotel and added the words "Detective Superintendent" below his signature. He addressed the envelope to Flexner, marking it "Personal-Extremely Urgent" Then he returned to the Manflex Building and handed the letter to one of the security guards, stressing that it was vital that it was delivered to the Chairman immediately. And once again his old police identity card came in useful; security staff are invariably ex-policemen themselves.
Before returning to the hotel he called at a bank and used his credit card to get more cash to patronize a deli he'd just passed. Later, he thought, he'd be able to tell Steph that for lunch he'd restricted himself to a sandwich. She'd never seen the size of an American sandwich garnished with dill pickles.
It wasn't surprising that he took a postprandial nap in his room.
The phone woke him.
"Hello."
"Superintendent, er, Diamond?"
He sat up in bed. The digital clock beside it said 3:36. "Yes."
"David Flexner. You wanted to speak to me about this Japanese lady."
"Correct."
"There isn't much I can tell you at this point in time, and you'll understand that things are pretty busy here."
"I appreciate that, but the child's life-"
"Sure." There was a pause. "I can meet you, but it would be easier someplace else, not in this building. Let me think a moment You know the Staten Island Ferry?"
"I can find it."
"Battery Park. Anyone in New York will tell you. I'll see you in the ticket office around seven-fifteen. That's the earliest I can do. How will I know you?"
"I wear a fawn-colored raincoat."
"Like Columbo?"
"Like five Columbos. I'm well fed. I'm also bald, but you won't be able to tell, because I wear a brown trilby."
"A what?"
"I believe it's called a derby here."
"Fine. Look out for a stringbean with long, blond hair and a red windbreaker. We shouldn't have much trouble, Super."
He got up and took a shower. Super. No one had ever called him mat before. Flexner had sounded like a sixteen-year-old. If he had anything to be ashamed of, it hadn't come through in the voice. When this comes to nothing, Diamond thought, where do I go next? No messages had been left by the police, so they hadn't made any progress. These intervals of inactivity were the devil to endure. In his days on the force, he'd have spent this time chivvying the murder squad, or-as they would put it-making their lives a misery. Here, in this godforsaken hotel room, he had only himself to goad.
He went out and took a walk in Central Park that didn't deserve to be called a walk when compared with the gait of the exercise-minded fanatics who continuously strode past. When he rested on a bench he was immediately accosted by someone who wanted to compose a poem in his honor for five bucks. He said grouchily that he'd already heard enough poetry for one day and the poet spat on his shoe.
He tried some creative work of his own, devising scenarios in which Naomi's mother had given up her research as a result of getting disillusioned with the drugs industry; or that she had become a whistle-blower on malpractices in Man-flex; or even a victim of some drug experiment that had failed. He still couldn't work out why she had been parted from her child if she was still alive.
About six, no further on in his conclusions, he took the subway south and found his way to Battery Park. The Statue of Liberty was already a blue silhouette fading in the evening light. A ferryboat came in and he watched the procedure as the iron trellis snapped back and the passengers disembarked. With a strong breeze blowing, he was glad of his raincoat-which he'd never thought of as anything like Lieutenant Columbo's. It was a trenchcoat really, well lined and with flaps that could button across the chest With the hat, it was definitely more Bogart than Peter Falk.
He watched the ferry fill up and depart and then strolled across to the ticket office. Just after seven, too soon to be looking out for Flexner. The benches were fast filling up with passengers for the next ferry. Guessing that he might face a wait of twenty minutes or more, he claimed a seat.
Ten minutes passed. A mother brought her fractious toddler to the place beside Diamond and waged a noisy battle of wills over some chocolate that was certain, the mother said, to make the child very sick indeed after all he'd eaten. When junior had screamed enough to get his way, Diamond decided maybe the mother had not been bluffing. To safeguard the trenchcoat-which in his size wouldn't be easy to replace- he got up and moved away.
Nobody matching young Flexner's description was in sight
"Are you Mr. Peter Diamond, by any chance?"
He turned. Someone he must have seen and mentally dismissed had stepped over to talk to him, a pretty, dark-haired young woman in a cherry-colored bomber jacket and jeans.
"That's my name."
"Mr. Flexner sends his apologies. He had a problem escaping from the press, so the meeting-place had to be changed. I'm Joan. I'm going to drive you there."
"Drive me where, exactly?"
"I'm sorry but I can't tell you yet There's a phone in the car. He's going to let us know."
"You want me to come with you now?" What was being suggested sounded reasonable enough. He checked his watch and saw that it was already past the time Flexner had suggested that they meet
"It must be such a burden for him, all this pressure from the media," she remarked, leading Diamond across the park towards a place where several cars were parked.
"I appreciate that," he said. "Are you his PA or something?" She smiled. "Or something-I've no idea what you could possibly mean by that."
"So you're on the payroll?"
"I drive a car. That's all."
It was a smart car, a long, black limousine, the sort that would cause heads to turn in England but make no impression in New York. From some distance away, Joan used a remote control to disengage the security system. The indicator lights flashed briefly and the locks clicked. Just as automatically, Diamond went towards the left side.
Shes-said quickly, "I'm driving."
He came to his senses. "My mistake."
Inside, she picked up the phone and pressed out a number. "This won't take a minute," she told him.
He sat back casually, trying to listen without appearing interested, but the voice on the end of the line was inaudible.