“And beds to buy.” He nodded. “How many women have stayed in your house since October?”
“Maybe twenty. Twenty-five.”
“Do you keep records?”
“Of what?”
“Well, like their full names and Social Security numbers.”
“I’m extraterrestrial, not anal.”
“And do you get a lot of men coming to the door?”
“A few. Husbands and boyfriends. A violent girlfriend once too. Not often.”
“So what happened when the four guys in terrorists’ masks demanded your money?”
“I wouldn’t give it to them.”
“Why not?”
He smiled. “Guess?”
I stood up and threatened his shoulder. But as he winced I put it together. “You keep your money in the same place as the handprint?”
“Yes.” A smile.
“So you got yourself cut to pieces because you were protecting that damned chunk of rock.”
“Whoever told them about the money might have told them how much the handprint means to me. I couldn’t bear to lose it.”
So he’d rather die. I guess I just don’t understand extraterrestrials... “They wanted money. You wouldn’t give it to them. What happened then?”
“They showed me the knives, but when I still wouldn’t do it the leader cut me — not deep, but enough to draw blood. There were a couple of women in the house and that set them off screaming and they ran. The men started cutting up mattresses and couches and everything they could see that might have money in it. But eventually the leader said they should take me with them, so they bundled me into a car.”
“Right there, in front of your house?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“Quite large. Quite old. Light green or maybe light blue.”
Not a description to conjure up a car with, but the kind of neighborhood Wolfgang lived in would probably provide the police plenty of witnesses.
“Where did they take you?”
“They just drove around.”
“And continued to cut you in the car?”
“They didn’t know what else to do. But then...”
“What?”
“They gave up. My shoulder was bleeding so much the driver complained about the car upholstery and how they’d never be able to clean the DNA off it. He said he didn’t want to burn his car and they started arguing with each other.”
“Obviously, a gang of master criminals.”
“So they dumped me out, behind the Murphy building, and I recognized it.”
The old Murphy five-and-dime was across Virginia Avenue from my office. That was one question answered.
“So you came to me,” I said.
“I didn’t have a phone. They took the stuff in my pockets.”
“What was in them?”
“The usual things. Keys, wallet, phone.”
“Much money?”
“A couple of hundred.”
“The police are going to want to hear in detail what these guys said, anything you can remember about the car, and maybe names of the women staying with you.”
“You don’t want those things?”
“Are you hiring me?”
“Well, no. But I thought...”
“The cops probably won’t have much trouble tracking down your assailants. And when they find them they’ll have the advantage of the power of arrest.”
“I see.”
Which made me wonder something. “Wolfgang, could the guys who attacked you have been neighbors of yours?”
“Neighbors?” A deep frown.
“From families who don’t like the idea of your opening your house to waifs and strays.”
“Well...” He thought about it. “I don’t know who they were.”
“Did they say anything about your moving somewhere else, say?”
He shook his head. “It seemed to be all about the money. I’ve had some problems with my neighbors, but I can’t imagine...”
“Okay,” I said. Though there seemed to be quite a lot he couldn’t imagine, at one time or another. Why people didn’t just accept him as an extraterrestrial, for instance. “I do want something else.”
“What?”
“I found a little girl in your house. She was hiding and must have been there for hours.”
“Who?”
“Nicole? She’s ten.”
He nodded. “Elaine’s little girl.”
“Elaine hasn’t come back.”
“That’s surprising. She’s a very attentive mother.”
“Nicole was surprised too...”
9.
I had no reason to think that Elaine was in the kind of trouble that led her to court. But a woman desperate enough to run with her child from a boyfriend was not going to leave that kid unattended if she could help it.
The police would get onto it eventually, no doubt. But as long as they could drop the kid into the welfare system they’d focus first on the wreckage and the stabbings. That’s how police prioritize. Even those related to me by blood. Unless given a little guidance.
I had no specific reason to connect Elaine’s absence to the attack on Wolfgang, but I don’t believe in coincidence much more than I believe in extraterrestrials. One way or another there was a connection. And the only person I knew who could tell me more about Elaine was Nicole.
I called Sam.
“Where are you, Daddy?” she asked.
“Funny thing. I was about to ask you the same question.”
“A detective named Saul Imberlain wants to talk to you.”
“I already talked to him, at the hospital.”
“He wants to talk to you again, so I gave him your address and phone number.”
“I haven’t been home. But look, sweetie, I need to talk some more with the little girl, Nicole. Do you know where she is?”
“She’s still here.”
“Wolfgang’s house?”
“I’m waiting with her till someone from the Department of Child Services shows up. Which won’t be long.”
“So her mother hasn’t appeared?”
“No.”
“Just don’t let Nicole go anywhere before I get there, okay?”
“Why not?” I could hear her not saying she wasn’t on duty.
“Because I’m trying to find her mother and if I can do that it’ll save the poor kid some grief.”
After a moment Sam said, “Okay.”
What a good girl.
10.
Wolfgang’s house looked lit up like a roaring fire now that the light was fading. The cops seemed to have turned on every light in the place.
Which is not to say there weren’t a few lights aglow elsewhere along the street. Dim ones, with just enough illumination for neighbors to find their cigarettes and lemonade without making a mess as they watched the goings-on from behind their curtained windows. The neighbors were curious, but were they hostile?
A carpenter was at work on a temporary repair to the front door as I went in. Sam sat with Nicole in the kitchen area. A tall guy with a brown and gray beard stood behind them. Sam got up when she saw me. The tall guy pulled out a notebook.
Sam said, “This is Whitney Moser of DCS. Department of Child Services.”
Moser offered a hand.
I shook it. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.
Sam said, “Mr. Moser is going to take Nicole to where she can sleep tonight.”
“I need to ask her a few questions,” I said.
“And she needs to get settled for the night so she can get some sleep,” Moser said. “You can’t treat a child the way you might treat an adult.”
I crouched to be on a level with Nicole. Admittedly, she looked sleepy. It wasn’t all that late, but she’d had a shocking day. “Hi,” I said.