"What does he wear on stage?"
"Black tie and tails. And a top hat."
"And he changed into?"
"Is this important?"
"Very," Hawes said.
"Then let me get it absolutely correct," Marie said. "He put on a pair of blue slacks, and a blue sports shirt, no pattern on it, just the solid blue, and blue socks, and black shoes, and a hellip; what do you call it? Houndstooth, is that the weave? A sort of jagged little black and blue weave. A houndstooth sports jacket. No tie."
Hawes was writing now.
"How old is your husband?" he asked.
"Thirty-four."
"How tall is he?"
"Five-eleven."
"Weight?"
"One-seventy."
"Color of his hair?"
"Black."
"Eyes?"
"Blue."
"Does he wear glasses?"
"No."
"Is he white?"
"Well, ofcourse ," Marie said.
"Any identifying marks, scars or tattoos?"
"Yes, he has an appendectomy scar. And also a meniscectomy scar."
"What's that?" Hawes asked.
"He had a skiing accident. Tore the cartilage in his left knee. They removed the cartilage mdash;what they call the meniscus. There's a scar there. On his left knee."
"How do you spell that?" Hawes asked. "Meniscectomy?"
"I don't know," Marie said.
"On the phone, you told me you live in the next state hellip;"
"Yes, I do."
"Where?"
"Collinsworth."
"The address?"
"604 Eden Lane."
"Apartment number?"
"It's a private house."
"Telephone number, area code first?"
"Well, I'll give you Frank's card," she said, and dug into her shoulder bag and came up with a sheaf of cards. She took one from the stack and handed it to Hawes. He scanned it quickly, wrote both the home and office phone numbers onto his pad, and then tucked the card into the pad's flap.
"Did you try calling home?" he asked.
"No. Why would I do that?"
"Are you sure he didn't go home without you? Maybe he figured this Jimmy would pick you up."
"No, we were planning on eating dinner here in the city."
"So he wouldn't have gone home without you."
"He never has."
"This Jimmy hellip; what's his last name?"
"Brayne."
"Brain? Like in somebody's head?"
"Yes, but with a Y."
"B-R-A-Y-N?"
"With an E on the end."
"B-R-A-Y-N-E?"
"Yes."
"James Brayne."
"Yes."
"And his address?"
"He lives with us."
"Same house?"
"A little apartment over the garage."
"Andhis phone number?"
"Oh, gee," she said, "I'm not sure I remember it."
"Well, try to remember," Hawes said, "because I think we ought to call back home, see if either of them maybe went back there."
"They wouldn't do that," Marie said.
"Maybe they got their signals crossed," Hawes said. "Maybe Jimmy thought your husband was going to take the stuff in the car hellip;"
"No, the big stuff won't fit in the car. That's why we have the van."
"Or maybe your husband thought you were getting a ride back with Jimmy hellip;"
"I'm sure he didn't."
"What kind of a car was your husband driving?"
"A 1984 Citation. A two-door coupe."
"Color?"