Either way, this was strictly business.
Hawes wished, however, that Marie wouldn't keep touching him quite so often.
The lady was very definitely a toucher, and although Hawes didn't necessarily buy the psychological premise that insisted casual body contact was an absolute prerequisite to outright seduction, he had to admit that her frequent touching of his arm or his shoulder or his hand was a bit unsettling. True enough, the touching was only to emphasize a conversational point mdash;as when she told him again how grateful she was that he was taking her to dinner mdash;or to indicate this or that possible restaurant along the Stem. He had parked the car on North Fifth, and they were walking westward now, heading downtown, looking for a place to eat. At seven thirty-five on a Friday night there were still a lot of restaurants open, but Marie had told him she felt like pizza and so he chose a little place just south of the avenue, on Fourth. Red-checkered tablecloths, candles in Chianti bottles, people waiting in line for tables. Hawes rarely pulled rank, but now he casually mentioned to the hostess that he was a detective working out of the Eight-Seven and he hadn't had anything to eat since he came on at four o'clock.
"This way, officer," the hostess said at once, and led them to a table near the window.
As soon as the hostess was gone, Marie said, "Does that happen all the time?"
"Does what happen?"
"The royal treatment."
"Sometimes," Hawes said. "You sure you only want pizza? There's plenty other stuff on the menu."
"No, that's what I really feel like. Cheese and anchovies."
"Would you like a drink?" he asked. "I'm on duty, but hellip;"
"Do you really honor that?"
"Oh, sure."
"I'll just have beer with the pizza."
Hawes signaled to the waiter, and then ordered a large pizza with cheese and anchovies.
"Anything to drink?" the waiter asked.
"A draft for the lady, a Coke for me."
"Miller's or Michelob?"
"Miller's," Marie said.
The waiter went off again.
"This is really very nice of you," Marie said, and reached across the table to touch his hand briefly. A whisper touch. There, and then gone.
"As soon as we get back to the squadroom," Hawes said, "I'll call Auto again, see if they turned up anything on either of the vehicles."
He had made a call to Auto Theft from the custodian's office at the high school, reporting both the Citation and the Econoline, but he knew what the chances were of finding either vehicle tonight. He didn't want to tell her that.
"That would be a start," she said. "If they found the cars."
"Oh, sure."
A pained look crossed her face.
"I'm sure he's okay," Hawes said.
"I hope so."
"I'm sure."
He wasn't at all sure.
"I just keep thinking something terrible has happened to him. I keep thinking whoever stole the car hellip;"
"Well, you don't know that for a fact," Hawes said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, that the car was stolen."
"It's gone, isn't it?"
"Yes, but hellip;"
He didn't want to tell her that maybe her husband had driven off on his own, heading for the wild blue yonder. Let the lady enjoy her pizza and her beer. If her husband had in fact abandoned her, she'd learn it soon enough. If he was lying dead in an alley someplace, she'd learn that even sooner.
He didn't bring up Jimmy Brayne again until after they'd been served.
She was digging into the pizza as if she hadn't eaten for a week. She ate the way that woman in theTom Jones movie ate. Licked her lips, rolled her eyes, thrust pizza into her mouth as if she were making love to it. Come on, he thought. Strictly business here.
"He's normally reliable, is that right?" he said.
"Who?"
"Jimmy Brayne."
"Oh, yes. Completely."
"How long has he been working for you?"
"Three months."
"Started this July?"
"Yes. We did the act at a big Republican picnic on the Fourth. That was the first time Jimmy helped us."
"Carrying the stuff over in the van hellip;"
"Yes."
"Picking it up later."
"Yes."
"Did he know where he was supposed to pick you up tonight?"
"Oh, sure. He dropped the stuff off at the school, of course he knew."
"Helped you unload it?"