“Well, they made a special concession because it was police business.”
“Yeah, well, suppose the cops called and asked for Marlon Brando’s number? You think they’d give it out? Like hell they would. I don’t like that. No, sir, I don’t like it one damn bit.”
“What do you do, Mr. Oblinsky? Is there a reason for the unlisted number?”
“I drive a cab is what I do. Sure there’s a reason. It’s classy to have an unlisted number. Didn’t you know that?”
Carella smiled. “No, I didn’t.”
“Sure, it is.”
“Why did Claudia Davis give you this check?” Carella asked.
“Well, I work for a cab company here in this city, you see. But usually on weekends or on my day off I use my own car and I take people on long trips, you know what I mean? Like to the country, or the mountains, or the beach, wherever they want to go. I don’t care. I’ll take them wherever they want to go.”
“I see.”
“Sure. So in June sometime, the beginning of June it was, I get a call from this guy I know up at Triangle Lake, he tells me there’s a rich broad there who needs somebody to drive her Caddy back to the city for her. He said it was worth thirty bucks if I was willing to take the train up and the heap back. I told him, no sir, I wanted forty-five or it was no deal. I knew I had him over a barrel, you understand? He’d already told me he checked with the local hicks and none of them felt like making the ride. So he said he would talk it over with her and get back to me. Well, he called again ... you know, it burns me up about the phone company. They ain’t suppose to give out my number like that. Suppose it was Marilyn Monroe? You think they’d give out her number? I’m gonna raise a stink about this, believe me.”
“What happened when he called you back.”
“Well, he said she was willing to pay forty-five, but like could I wait until July sometime when she would send me a check because she was a little short right at the moment. So I figured what the hell, am I going to get stiffed by a dame who’s driving a 1960 Caddy? I figured I could trust her until July. But I also told him, if that was the case, then I also wanted her to pay the tolls on the way back, which I don’t ordinarily ask my customers to do. That’s what the seventy-five cents was for. The tolls.”
“So you took the train up there and then drove Miss Davis and the Cadillac back to the city, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“I suppose she was pretty distraught on the trip home.”
“Huh?”
“You, know. Not too coherent.”
“Huh?”
“Broken up. Crying. Hysterical,” Carella said.
“No. No, she was okay.”
“Well, what I mean is ...” Carella hesitated. “I assumed she wasn’t capable of driving the car back herself.”
“Yeah, that’s right. That’s why she hired me.”
“Well, then ...”
“But not because she was broken up or anything.”
“Then why?” Carella frowned. “Was there a lot of luggage? Did she need your help with that?”
“Yeah, sure. Both hers and her cousin’s. Her cousin drowned, you know.”
“Yes. I know that.”
“But anybody coulda helped her with her luggage,” Oblinsky said. “No, that wasn’t why she hired me. She really needed me, mister.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because she don’t know how to drive, that’s why.”
Carella stared at him. “You’re wrong,” he said.
“Oh, no,” Oblinsky said. “She can’t drive, believe me. While I was putting the luggage in the trunk, I asked her to start the car, and she didn’t even know how to do that. Hey, you think I ought to raise a fuss with the phone company?”
“I don’t know,” Carella said, rising suddenly. All at once the check made out to Claudia Davis’ hairdresser seemed terribly important to him. He had almost run out of checks, but all at once he had an idea.
13
The hairdresser’s salon was on South Twenty-third, just off Jefferson Avenue. A green canopy covered the sidewalk outside the salon. The words ARTURO MANFREDI, INC., were lettered discreetly in white on the canopy. A glass plaque in the window repeated the name of the establishment and added, for the benefit of those who did not read either Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar that there were two branches of the shop, one here in Isola and another in “Nassau, the Bahamas.” Beneath that, in smaller, more modest letters, were the words “Internationally Renowned.” Carella and Hawes went into the shop at four-thirty in the afternoon. Two meticulously coifed and manicured women were sitting in the small reception room, their expensively sleek legs crossed, apparently awaiting either their chauffeurs, their husbands, or their lovers. They both looked up expectantly when the detectives entered, expressed mild disappointment by only slightly raising newly plucked eyebrows, and went back to reading their fashion magazines. Carella and Hawes walked to the desk. The girl behind the desk was a blonde with a brilliant shellacked look and an English finishing school voice.
“Yes?” she said. “May I help you?”
She lost a tiny trace of her poise when Carella flashed his buzzer. She read the raised lettering on the shield, glanced at the photo on the plastic-encased I.D. card, quickly regained her polished calm, and said coolly and unemotionally, “Yes, what can I do for you?”
“We wonder if you can tell us anything about the girl who wrote this check?” Carella said. He reached into his jacket pocket, took out a folded photostat of the check, unfolded it, and put it on the desk before the blonde. The blonde looked at it casually.
“What is the name?” she asked. “I can’t make it out.”
“Claudia Davis.”
“D-A-V-I-S.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t recognize the name,” the blonde said. “She’s not one of our regular customers.”
“But she did make out a check to your salon,” Carella said. “She wrote this on July seventh. Would you please check your records and find out why she was here and who took care of her?”
“I’m sorry,” the blonde said.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, but we close at five o’clock, and this is the busiest time of the day for us. I’m sure you can understand that. If you’d care to come back a little later ...”
“No, we wouldn’t care to come back a little later,” Carella said. “Because if we came back a little later, it would be with a search warrant and possibly a warrant for the seizure of your books, and sometimes that can cause a little commotion among the gossip columnists, and that kind of commotion might add to your international renown a little bit. We’ve had a long day, miss, and this is important, so how about it?”
“Of course. We’re always delighted to cooperate with the police,” the blonde said frigidly. “Especially when they’re so well mannered.”
“Yes, we’re all of that,” Carella answered.
“Yes. July seventh, did you say?”
“July seventh.”
The blonde left the desk and went into the back of the salon. A brunette came out front and said, “Has Miss Marie left for the evening?”
“Who’s Miss Marie?” Hawes asked.
“The blond girl.”
“No. She’s getting something for us.”
“That white streak is very attractive,” the brunette said. “I’m Miss Olga.”
“How do you do.”
“Fine, thank you,” Miss Olga said. “When she comes back, would you tell her there’s something wrong with one of the dryers on the third floor?”
“Yes, I will,” Hawes said.
Miss Olga smiled, waved, and vanished into the rear of the salon again. Miss Marie reappeared not a moment later. She looked at Carella and said, “A Miss Claudia Davis was here on July seventh. Mr. Sam worked on her. Would you like to talk to him?”