I didn't want to get on the wrong side of Fat Tarbell. "Don't think I don't understand," I said. "My life is your business."
He laughed. "You're okay, George." He showed me down the long hallway to the door. "Come back soon."
Francine was sitting in the driver's seat. She unlocked the door and slid over when she saw me coming.
"Sorry it took so long," I said. "Some of the stuff I had to read on the premises."
"What's he got on Brady?"
"I'd just as soon not talk about it. It might put me off sex for a week."
I had meant to phone my service from Tarbell's. I guess reading that junk had distracted me. I pulled up at a public phone and called.
"A Dr. Koch called. Sounded very upset. Asked you to call soonest." She gave me Koch's number. I wondered what was up. I looked over at Francine in the parked car. She seemed restless. I decided I'd return Koch's call when we got home.
When we reached my place, I took my jacket off, lowered the knot of my tie, and sat down to read the Brady pages in Anna Banana's affidavit once more before putting them somewhere Francine wouldn't come upon them accidentally. I guess she'd say I had an old-fashioned point of view as to what a woman should and should not be exposed to. A double standard for kinkiness.
Francine got the ice, made the drinks as if it was her place. The whole thing had a domestic feeling about it. Was I bothered by that? I didn't want a woman to wait on me. Some guys get married for the service. A bachelor gets used to doing his own.
Jesus, I nearly forgot about old Koch. I stashed the Brady stuff away in the other room, then dialed Koch's number. "Oh," said the lady in the answering service as if she was waiting for my call. "He's very anxious to talk to you. As soon as possible." She gave me an unfamiliar number. I wrote it down, thanked her, and redialed.
"Sergeant Heller." It was a police station. A wave of thoughts skittered through my head. Koch'd been mugged. Couldn't be too bad or the old man'd be in the hospital.
I identified myself and told the sergeant I was trying to reach Dr. Gunther Koch. Francine had come into the room. She pointed at my glass. I must have gulped my drink without thinking. She was wanting to know if I needed another. I shook my head. Meanwhile, the sergeant had passed my call upstairs to the detectives. "Just a minute," somebody said, and I could hear the telephone clatter onto a desk top at the other end. It took forever till somebody else picked up, another voice, saying, "You the doctor's lawyer?"
"What happened?" I asked. "Did he get mugged?"
"No," said the rough voice. "The doctor's the perpetrator."
God, police use words like that every chance they get.
"What did he do for Christ's sake?" I couldn't believe that mild-mannered man would do anything harmful to anybody.
"He hit a guy in the eye with a dart."
I looked up at Francine.
"Could I speak to the doctor, please?" I asked.
"Hold on, I'll get him." Again, the receiver clunking on a desk top.
When Dr. Koch got on, he talked so fast in that accent of his I could barely make out what he was saying.
"Slow down," I said to him.
I could hear him take a deep breath. "It is unbelievable," he said. "They have taken my picture. They have taken my fingerprints. I am booked as if I am the criminal. Please help me."
"Tell me what happened. Slowly."
"This man, he had a gun."
"Start at the beginning," I said.
Then he told me about coming home from the movies, finding the door open, seeing the man at the file cabinet, the man forcing him to sit behind his desk. "I offered him fifty dollars to go," he said. "He took the fifty dollars and was taking Miss Widmer's file anyway. On my desk I have these three darts…"
"You threw one at him. He could have shot you."
"I didn't think, really. It just happened."
"You hit him,"
"Yes."
I thought of a guy getting a dart in the eye. Jesus!
"Is he hurt bad?"
"Quite bad, I'm afraid. Please help."
He sounded like a child, this doctor of the child in us, suddenly at sea.
"Who do you normally use for a lawyer?" I asked.
"An old friend from Vienna, who makes out my will. He will not know what to do in this… police station. Can you help me? We are…" He hesitated. "In this together, are we not?"
I was very tired. Manhattan was a long way away.
"Get the address from the cop," I said. "I'll be down."
Francine wanted to know what was going on. I buttoned my collar and shoved my tie back up in place and put my jacket on. "Mind the house while I'm gone," I said. "I'll probably be half the night."
"I'll come with you."
"You don't want to see your shrink in the lockup. It won't help your analysis. I've got to get going."
"Please let me come with you."
"It would embarrass him. He's embarrassed enough."
"What happened?"
"You happened." I didn't realize how awful that was until I said it. "An intruder in his apartment was after your file. Koch hit him in the eye with a dart."
As I raced the car down to Manhattan for the second time that day, I tried not to think of Francine or what she might be thinking. I read the road signs out loud. I pushed the station buttons on the radio. Nothing, nothing, and nothing. I had to stay awake. Just keep driving, I told myself, drive.
Thirty-five
Brady
I don't give a fuck for Harry Koslak's freedom. I got him out on bail so that I can prepare him for trial. Jail is no environment for rehearsals. Because the incident took place in the apartment directly below Koslak's, I suggested we meet in his apartment so he could walk me around the incident, so to speak. His wife seemed scared of me. I told her to take a long walk with the kids. As for the story Koslak then told me, I'm sure I didn't get it as it happened exactly. Koslak makes it sound as if he controls his cock like a light cord. That man I have yet to meet.
So when he finished what he called his explanation, I sat him down in his living room in one of those armchairs with plastic covers, next to the fake fireplace that never fooled anybody.
"Harry," I said, "let's handle the rest of this conversation in the following way. If I ask a question, you answer truthfully. If a question makes you uncomfortable, instead of giving in to the temptation to lie a little, just say you'd rather not answer that one, okay?"
"I'll tell you the truth," he said. "Ain't I been telling you the truth?"
"How did the Widmer girl first come to your attention?"
"You mean when'd I notice her?"
"Sure."
"On the stairs. Going up and down. You know, I'm going to work, I'm coming home from work, she's going someplace, she's coming from someplace."
"Did she say hello to you?"
"Not so's I remember."
"Did she nod the way people do when you live in the same building?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Did you nod back?"
"Probably."
"Did you ever nod first at her?"
"I don't do that kind of thing."
"You mean she made the first overture, she nodded first."
"You might say so."
"Was there anything provocative in her manner?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did she act sexy in any way?"
"Well, when I come up the stairs after her, you know, she's got one ass going up while the other's going down, back and forth. That's sexy."
"Would you say she walked that way on purpose?"
"What do you mean?"
"Harry, you know damn well what I mean. Some women just walk as if it's transportation and some roll their melons when there's someone to watch."