by Ed McBain
"Usually," Peaches said.
"Yes," Parker said.
"Because he has my address, you see."
"Um," Parker said.
"And my name is on the mailbox downstairs. With the apartment number."
"I know. I saw it when I rang the bell. But that says P. Muldoon."
"Sure, but that's what's in the phone book, too. P. Muldoon."
"Well, I doubt he'll be coming around here. He may not even call again. What I'd do, though, if I was you, I'd change that message on your answering machine. Lots of single girls, they do these fancy messages, music going in the background, they try to sound sexy, it makes the caller think he's got some kind of swinger here. Better to just put a businesslike message on the machine. Something like, 'You've reached 123-4567,' and then, 'Please leave a message when you hear the beep.' Strictly business. You don't have to explain that you can't come to the phone because everybodyknows they caught the machine. And of course you shouldn't say, 'I'm out just now,' or anything like that, because that's an invitation to burglars."
"Yes, I know."
"The point is most people today are familiar with answering machines, theyknow they're supposed to leave a message when they hear the beep, so you don't have to give them a whole list of instructions, and you don't have to sound cute, either. Your friends hear that cute little message a coupla hundred times, they want to shoot you. An obscene caller hears that cute little message, he figures he's got a live one, and he'll keep calling back till he can get you talking."
"I see," Peaches said.
"Yeah," Parker. "Do you have any male friends who can record a message for you?"
"Well hellip;"
"Because that's usually the best thing. That way any nut who's running his finger down the book for listings with only a first initial, he comes across P. Muldoon, he gets a man's voice on the answering machine, he figures he got a Peter Muldoon or a Paul Muldoon, but not a Peaches Muldoon. He won't call back. So that's a good way to go unless you're afraid it'll scare off any men who may be calling you legitimately. That's up to you."
"I see," Peaches said.
"Yeah," Parker said. "Now with this guy who called you tonight, he already knows there's a Peaches Muldoon living here, and he already got you going pretty far with his little routine, so he may call you back. What we'll do if he keeps calling you, we'll put a trap on the line hellip;"
"A trap?"
"Yeah, so we can trace the call even if he hangs up. You've got to let me know if he calls again."
"Oh, Iwill ," Peaches said.
"So that's about it," Parker said. "Though maybe he won't call again."
"Or come here."
"Well, like I said, I don't think he'll do that. But you know how to reach me if he does."
"I really appreciate this," Peaches said.
"Well, come on, I'm just doing my job."
"Are you on duty right now?" she asked.
"Not exactly," he said.
"Wanna come to party?" she said.
Marie Sebastiani was showing them another card trick.
"What we have is three cards here," she said. "The ace of spades, the ace of clubs, and the ace of diamonds." She fanned the cards out, the ace of diamonds under the ace of spades on the left and the ace of clubs on the right. "Now I'm going to put these three aces face down in different parts of the deck," she said, and started slipping them into the deck.
Five detectives were watching her.
Carella was on the phone to Ballistics, telling them he wanted a fast comeback on the bullets the techs had recovered at Famous Brands Wine Liquors. The guy at Ballistics was giving him a hard time. He told Carella this was almost a quarter to nine already, and he went off at midnight. The lab would be closed till eight tomorrow morning. He was telling Carella the report could wait till then. Carella was telling him he wanted it right away. Meanwhile, he was watching Marie's card trick at the same time.
The other four detectives were either standing around Carella's desk, or else sitting on parts of it. His desk resembled a convention center. Brown was standing just to the left of Carella, his arms folded across his chest. He knew this was going to be another good trick. She had done four card tricks since Hawes came back to the squadroom with her. This was after Hawes had called Brown from a little pizza joint on North Fourth to say one of the people there had found an arm in a garbage can out back. Brown had rushed on over with Genero. Now they had three pieces. Or rather the Medical Examiner had them. The upper torso and a pair of arms. Brown was hoping the M.E. would be able to tell him whether or not the parts belonged to each other. If the parts didn't match, then they were dealing with maybe three separate corpses. Like the three cards Marie Sebastiani now slipped face down into various places in the deck.
"The ace of spades," she said. "The ace of diamonds." Sliding it into the deck. "And the ace of clubs."
Genero was watching the cards carefully. He felt certain he'd be able to catch the secret here, though he hadn't been able to on the last four tricks. He wondered if they were breaking some kind of regulation, having a deck of cards here in the squadroom. He was hoping the M.E. would call to say they were dealing with a single corpse here. Somehow, the idea of a single chopped-up corpse was more appealing than three separate chopped-up corpses.
Meyer was standing beside him, watching Marie's hands. She had long slender fingers. The fingers slipped the cards into the deck as smoothly as a drug dealer running a knife into a competitor. Meyer was wondering why those little kids had changed their clothes before pulling the second stickup. He was also wondering whether there'd be a third stickup. Were they finished for the night? Nitey-nite, kiddies, beddy-bye time. Or were they just starting?
Hawes was standing closest to Marie. He could smell her perfume. He was hoping her husband had abandoned her and run off to Hawaii. He was hoping her husband would call her from Honolulu to say he had left her. This would leave a cold, empty space in Marie's bed. Her proximity now was stupefyingly intoxicating. Hawes guessed it was her perfume. He had not yet told her that the blues had located the van. No word on the Citation yet. Maybe hubby and his apprentice had flown off to Hawaii together. Maybe hubby was gay. Hawes glanced at Marie's pert little behind as she leaned over the desk to pick up the deck of cards. He was sorely tempted to put his hand on her behind.
"Who'd like to shuffle?" she asked.
"Me," Genero said. He was sure the secret of all her tricks had something to do with shuffling.
Marie handed the deck to him.
Meyer watched her hands.
Genero shuffled the cards and then handed the deck back to her.
"Okay, Detective Brown," she said. "Pick one of those three cards. Either the ace of clubs, the ace of diamonds, or the ace of spades."
"Clubs," Brown said.
She riffled through the deck, the cards face up, searching for it. When she found the ace of clubs, she pulled it out, and tossed it onto the desk. "Detective Meyer?" she said. "How about you?"
"The ace of spades," he said.
"I don't get it," Genero said.
Marie was looking through the deck again.
"Where's the trick?" Genero said. "If you're looking at the cards, ofcourse you're going to find them."
"Right you are," she said. "Here's the ace of spades."
She tossed it onto the desk.
"Which card doyou want?" she asked Genero.
"There's only one card left."
"And which one is that?"
"The ace of diamonds."
"Okay," she said, and handed him the deck. "Find it for me."
Genero started looking through the deck.
"Have you found it yet?" she asked.
"Just hold on a minute, okay?" he said.
He went through the entire deck. No ace of diamonds. He went through it a second time. Still no ace of diamonds.
"Have you got it?" she asked.
"It isn't here," he said.
"Are
you sure? Take another look."
He went through the deck a third time. Still no ace of diamonds.
"But I saw you put it back in the deck," he said, baffled.
"Yes, you did," she said. "So where is it?"
"I give up, where is it?"
"Right here," she said, grinning, and reached into her blouse, and pulled the ace of diamonds out of her bra.
"How'd you do that?" Hawes asked.
"Maybe I'll tell you sometime," Marie said, and winked at him.
The telephone rang. Carella was sitting closest to it. He picked up.
"Eighty-Seventh Squad, Carella," he said.
"Steve, this is Dave downstairs. Let me talk to either Brown or Genero, okay? Preferably Brown."
"Hold on a sec," Carella said, and extended the receiver to Brown. "Murchison," he said.
Brown took the receiver.
"Yeah, Dave?"
"I just got a call from Boy Two," Murchison said. "It looks like we maybe got an ID on that body been turning up in bits and pieces. A couple found the lower half in their building, in the elevator.If it's the same body. Wallet in the guy's hip pocket, driver's license in it. You better run on over there, I'll notify Homicide."
"What's the address?" Brown asked, and listened. "Got it," he said, writing. "And the couple's name?" He listened again. "Okay. And the name on the license? Okay," he said, "we're rolling." He put the receiver back on the cradle. "Let's go, Genero," he said, "the pieces are coming together. We just got ourselves the lower half. Name tag on it, this time."
"This trick is called The Mystic Prediction," Marie said, and began shuffling the cards.
"What do you mean, name tag?" Genero asked.
"The dead man's carrying a wallet," Brown said.
"How?"
"What do you meanhow? In hispocket is how."
"I'm going to ask any one of you to write down a three-figure number for me," Marie said.
"You mean he's wearing pants?" Genero said.
"Unless there's a pocket sewn on his ass," Brown said.
"You mean there'spants on the lower half of the body?"
"Whyn't we run on over and see for ourselves, okay?"
"Who wants to write down three numbers for me?" Marie asked. "Any three numbers?"
"And his name's in the wallet?" Genero said.
"On his driver's license," Brown said. "Let's go."
Both men started for the railing. Kling was coming back from the men's room down the hall. He opened the gate and made a low bow, sweeping his arm across his body, ushering them through.
"So what's his name?" Genero asked.
"Frank Sebastiani," Brown said.
And Marie fainted into Kling's arms.
Annie Rawles was already in place when Eileen pulled up outside Larry's. The clock behind the bar, a big ornate thing rimmed with orange neon, read five minutes to nine. Through the plate-glass window, Annie could see the white Cadillac edging into the curb. The bartender could see it, too. They both watched with casual interest as the driver cut the engine, Annie nursing a beer, the bartender polishing glasses. The man behind the wheel of the car was big and black and wearing pimp threads.
They both watched as Eileen got out of the car on the curb side, long legs flashing and signaling, little hidden pistol tucked into one of those soft sexy boots, high-stepping her way toward the entrance door now.
Mr. Pimp leaned across the seat, rolled down the window on the curb side.
Yelled something to Eileen.
Eileen sashayed back, bent over to look in the window.
Short skirt tight across her ass, flashing, advertising.
Started shaking her head, waving her arms around.
"She's givin' him sass," the bartender said.
Southern accent you could cut with a butter knife. Maybe this wasn't so far from Houston after all.
"An' he don't like it none," the bartender said.
Mr. Pimp came storming out of the car on the driver's side, walked around the car, stood yelling at her on the sidewalk.
Eileen kept shaking her head, hands on her hips.
"Won't stop sassin' him, will she?" the bartender said.
And suddenly Mr. Pimp slapped her.
"Whomp her good," the bartender said, nodding encouragement.
Eileen staggered back from the blow, her green eyes blazing. She bunched her fists and went at him as if she'd kill him, but he shoved her away, turned her toward the bar, shoved her again, toward the door of the bar this time, and then strutted back to the Caddy, lord of all he surveyed. Eileen was nursing her cheek. She glared at the Caddy as it pulled away from the curb.
Act One had begun.
Four pieces had become one piece.
Maybe.
They showed her the bundle of clothing first.
Black shoes, blue socks. Blue trousers. Black belt. White Jockey undershorts. Blood stains on the waistband of the trousers and the shorts.
"I hellip; I think those are Frank's clothes," Marie said.
Some coins in one of the pants pockets. A quarter, two dimes, and a penny.
No keys. Neither house keys nor car keys.
A handkerchief in another pocket.
And a wallet.
Black leather.
"Is this your husband's wallet?" Brown asked.
"Yes."
Her voice very soft. As if what they were showing her demanded reverence.
In the wallet, a driver's license issued to Frank Sebastiani of 604 Eden Lane, Collinsworth. No credit cards. Voters Registration card, same name, same address. A hundred and twenty dollars in twenties, fives, and singles. Tucked into one of the little pockets was a green slip of paper with the words MARIE'S SIZES hand-lettered onto it, and beneath that:
Hat:>
22>
Dress:>
8>
Bra:>
36B>
Belt:>
26>
Panties:>
5>
Ring:>
5>
Gloves:>
6 frac12;>
Stockings:>
9 frac12;(Medium)>