“I’ll be there.”
“Fine.”
Next, Fred Harwell, who was in his office. Engel said, “Fred, has Nick told you the latest development?”
“Which latest development is that?”
“About Charlie Brody’s suit.”
“The last I heard about that was at the meeting, when Nick told you go dig it up. About which, Al, you know you could do me a big favor if you’d talk to Nick about that, how it wasn’t really my fault about not remembering the suit. I mean, nobody—”
“Fred, I—”
“Wait a second, Al, this is important. Because nobody remembered that suit, Al, not just me, nobody. Al, if you could—”
“Fred, will you—?”
“You’re closer to him than anybody, Al. If you could just put in a good word for me, explain about how—”
“I will,” Engel said, just to shut him up.
“It could have happened to anybody,” said Fred, who apparently hadn’t heard him, or couldn’t adapt to Engel’s having agreed so easily.
“Right,” Engel said. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You will?”
“I will. If you’ll shut—”
“I appreciate that, Al.”
“Yeah. If you’ll shut up and let me talk to you, I’ll talk to him. If not, the hell with you.”
“Al, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to monopolize the conversation.”
“Yeah, well—”
“It’s just been preying on my mind, that’s all. Nick hasn’t said anything to me since then, but I know—”
“Shut up, Fred.”
“What?”
“I said shut up, Fred.”
Engel really didn’t believe the silence that followed, and it stretched for maybe ten seconds before he understood that Fred had shut up and it was now possible to talk. When he got that straight he said, “I want to ask you about Charlie, Fred, because we don’t have the suit yet, and we don’t have the suit yet because we buried an empty coffin yesterday.”
“We bur — Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Now, Nick’s given me the job of finding out where the suit is now, which means find out where the body is now, which means find out who took him, and how they took him, and why they took him. But mostly who. I found out how, because the undertaker was bumped off today and—”
“Bump—! Oops, sorry. I’ll keep quiet.”
“Yeah. The way I figure it, the undertaker was in on the snatch, and whoever did it with him killed him to keep him from talking, or something like that. So that’s how it was done, but that still leaves who and why. Now, you knew Charlie Brody, so maybe you can tell me who’d steal his dead body and why.”
“What? Why would I—? Uhh, are you done?”
“I’m done.”
“Okay. So how would I know — I mean, why would anybody want to steal a dead body? Except the heroin, maybe.”
“You’d have to know the heroin was in the suit, and you’d have to know the suit was on the body. Who’d know both of those things?”
“I really don’t know, Al. I guess the wife knew he was wearing the suit — isn’t she the one gave it to the undertaker?”
“It wouldn’t have been her,” said Engel. “She wouldn’t have to—”
“I’m not suggesting it was.”
“Yeah. She wouldn’t have to steal the body to get the suit back. All she’d have to do was bury him in some other suit.”
“Well,” said Fred, “there’s no reason to take the whole body if all you want’s the suit. I mean, what are you going to do with the body later? After you get the snow out of the suit?”
Engel said, “You know, I been thinking something like that. Maybe whoever swiped Charlie didn’t have anything to do with the heroin in the suit, maybe he didn’t even know it was there.”
“That makes a lot more sense,” said Fred.
“Nothing makes sense,” Engel told him. “Maybe I’ll call you back.”
“You won’t forget to talk to Nick.”
“I won’t forget,” Engel promised, and hung up, and forgot.
His drink was gone, so he went over and made another, and stayed leaning against the bar, trying to figure things out.
Why steal a dead body?
Not to experiment on, they didn’t do that kind of thing any more. People gave themselves to science in their wills and like that.
And not to get the heroin in the suit the dead body was wearing either — which was the mistaken assumption Engel’d been making all along — because it would be simpler just to take the suit.
No, whoever had stolen Charlie Brody had done it because he wanted Charlie Brody. Or at least Charlie Brody’s body.
Why would anybody want Charlie Brody’s body?
Engel looked in his glass and saw to his surprise that somehow or other it had become empty again. He corrected that, and while he was doing so the phone rang. He went over, carrying the fresh drink, picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”
“Aloysius, I’m sorry to disturb you, and I won’t keep you long, and I wouldn’t have called at all if it wasn’t important, you know I wouldn’t.”
“What?”
“I know you can’t come to dinner tonight, Aloysius,” she said, “but what I want to know is, can you come tomorrow night? I have to know before I go to the store. I wouldn’t bother you—”
“That’s why you called?”
“I don’t want to take up your—”
“The answer is no,” said Engel, and hung up. He stood there a minute or two, next to the phone, and contemplated the fact that sooner or later he was going to have to be unkind to his mother. There was no getting around it, no getting around it. Sooner, or later. Sooner, or later.
The phone rang.
Sooner.
He picked up the receiver. Into it he said, “California.”
A young female voice said, “Impossible. I didn’t dial the area code.”
“What?”
“You can’t get California unless you dial the area code. Every place has an area code, and the only way to get that place is dial the area code. Since I didn’t dial the area code you can’t possibly be California. You must be New York.”
A little dazed, Engel said, “That’s right. I’m New York.”
“Are you Mr. Engel New York?”
“I think so.”
“Well, this is Margo Kane again. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“No, no. Not a thing.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about all the inconvenience I caused you today, and really my conscience is bothering me something awful.”
“Think nothing of it,” Engel told her.
“No, really, I mean it. If you aren’t doing anything, I’d like very much to buy you a dinner tonight. May I?”
“You don’t need to,” Engel said. “We’re square.”
“No, I insist. It’s the least I can do. What time should I pick you up?”
Engel was getting glimmers. He said, “Well, I have an appointment at six, I ought to be back by seven, then I’ll have to change.”
“This isn’t crowding your evening too much, is it? We can make it just as late as you like.”
“Eight,” Engel said.
“You’re sure of that? That’s not rushing you too much?”
“No, that’s fine.”
“It really does have to be tonight, or not for days and days. Tomorrow night is poor Murray’s wake, and then the next day the funeral and all, and I probably won’t eat a thing all day after that. So, if it isn’t too much, tonight’s by far the best for me.”
“It’s fine with me, too.”
“Besides, I am looking forward to seeing you again. And that delicious apartment of yours.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“At eight, then.”