"Blue."
"License-plate number?"
"DL 74-3681."
"And the van?"
"A '79 Ford Econoline."
"Color?"
"Tan, sort of."
"Would you know the license-plate number on that one?"
"RL 68-7210."
"In whose name are the vehicles registered?"
"My husband's."
"Both registered across the river?"
"Yes."
"Let's find a phone, okay?" Hawes said.
"There's one inside," she said, "but calling them won't do any good."
"How do you know?"
"Because Frank wouldn't have dumped his tricks all over the driveway this way. These tricks cost money."
"Let's try calling them, anyway."
"It won't do any good," Marie said. "I'm telling you."
He dialed Sebastiani's home and office numbers, and got no answer at either. Marie at last remembered the number in the room over the garage, and he dialed that one, too. Nothing.
"Well," he said, "let me get to work on this. I'll call you as soon as hellip;"
"How am I going to get home?" Marie asked.
They always asked how they were going to get home.
"There are trains running out to Collinsworth, aren't there?"
"Yes, but hellip;"
"I'll drop you off at the station."
"What about all those tricks outside in the driveway?"
"Maybe we can get the school custodian to lock them up someplace. Till your husband shows up."
"What makes you think he'll show up?"
"Well, I'm sure he's okay. Just some crossed signals, that's all."
"I'm not sure I want to go home tonight," Marie said.
"Well, ma'am hellip;"
"I think I may want to hellip; could I come to the police station with you? Could I wait there till you hear anything about Frank?"
"That's entirely up to you, ma'am. But it may take a while before we hellip;"
"And can you lend me some money?" she asked.
He looked at her.
"For dinner?"
He kept looking at her.
"I'll pay you back as soon as hellip; as soon as we find Frank. I'm sorry, but I've only got a few dollars on me. Frank was the one they paid, he's the one who's got all the money."
"Howmuch money, ma'am?"
"Well, just enough for a hamburger or something."
"I meant how much money does your husband have on him?"
"Oh. Well, we got a hundred for the job. And he probably had a little something in his wallet, I don't know how much."
Which lets out robbery, Hawes thought. Although in this city, there were people who'd slit your throat for a nickel. He suddenly wondered how much money he himself was carrying. This was the first time in his entire life that a victim had asked him for a loan.
"I'm sort of hungry myself," he said. "Let's find the custodian and then go get something to eat."
Monroe looked bereft without Monoghan.
The clock on the liquor-store wall read 6:10 p.m.
He was standing behind the cash register, where the owner of the store had been shot dead a bit more than an hour earlier. The body was already gone. There was only blood and a chalked outline on the floor behind the counter. The cash register was empty.
"There was four of them," the man talking to Meyer said.
Meyer had been cruising the area when Sergeant Murchison raised him on the radio. He had got here maybe ten minutes after it was all over, and had immediately radioed back with a confirmed D.O.A. Murchison had informed Homicide, so here was Monroe, all alone, and looking as if he'd lost his twin brother. He was wearing a black homburg, a black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. His hands were in his jacket pockets, only the thumbs showing. He looked like a sad, neat undertaker. Meyer wondered where Monoghan was. Wherever he was, Meyer figured he'd be dressed exactly like Monroe. Even if he was home sick in bed, he'd be dressed like Monroe.
Meyer himself was wearing brown slacks, a brown cotton turtleneck, and a tan sports jacket. He thought he looked very dapper tonight. With his bald head and his burly build, he figured he looked like Kojak, except more handsome. He was sorry Kojak was off the air now. He'd always felt Kojak gave bald cops a good name.
"Little kids," the man said.
This was the third time he'd told Meyer that four little kids had held up the liquor store and shot the owner.