answered.
"He's a jerk."
"Maybe," I said. "But he's your jerk, and from his point of view you're no prize package either."
"I know," she said.
"However," I said, "let's think about what I'm supposed to do here. Tell me more about the manuscript and the professor and anything else you can remember beyond what you told Quirk last night."
"That's all there is," she said. "I told the police everything I know."
"Let's run through it again anyway," I said. "Have you talked with Quirk again since last night?"
"Yes, I saw him this morning before Daddy's people got me out."
"Okay, tell me what he asked you and what you said."
"He started by asking me why I thought two big white men in hats would come to our apartment and kill Dennis and frame me."
That was Quirk, starting right where he left off, no rephrasing, no new approach, less sleep than I had and there in the morning when the big cheeses passed the word along to let her out, getting all his questions answered before he released her.
"And what did you answer?" I said.
"I said the only thing I could think of was the manuscript. That Dennis was involved somehow in that theft, and he was upset about it."
"Can you give me more than that? How was he involved? Why was he involved? What makes you think he was involved? Why do you think he was upset? What did he do to show you he was upset? Answer any or all, one at a time."
"It was a phone call he made from the apartment. The way he was talking I could tell he was upset, and I could tell he wasn't talking to another kid. I mean, you can tell that from the way people talk. The way his voice sounded."
"What did he say?" I said.
"I couldn't hear most of it. He talked low, and I knew he didn't want me to hear, you know, cupping his hand and everything. So I tried not to hear. But he did say something about hiding it… like `Don't worry, no one will find it. I was careful.'"
"When was this?" I asked.
"About a week ago. Lemme see, I was up early for my Chaucer course, so it would have been Monday, that's five days ago. Last Monday."
The manuscript had been stolen Sunday night.
"Okay, so he was upset. About what?"
"I don't know, but I can tell when he's mad. At one point I think he threatened someone."
"Why do you think so? What did he say that makes you think so?"
"He said, 'If you don't…' No… No… he said, `I will, I really will…' Yeah. That's what it was . `I really will.' But very threateny, you know."
"Good. Now why do you think it was a professor? I know the voice tone told you it was someone older, but why a professor? What did he say? What were the words?"
"Well, oh, I don't know, it was just a feeling. I wasn't all that interested; I was running the water for a bath, anyway."
"No, Terry, I want to know. The words, what were his words?"
She was silent, her eyes squeezed almost shut, as if the sun were shining in them, her upper teeth exposed, her lower lip sucked in.
"Dennis said, 'I don't care'… 'I don't care, if you do.'… He said, 'I don't care if you do. Cut the goddamn thing.' That's it. He was talking to an older person and he said cut the class if the other person had to. That's why I figured it must be a professor."
"How do you know he wasn't talking about cutting a piece of rope, or a salami?"
"Because he mentioned class or school a little before. And what could they be talking about angrily that had to do with salami?"
"Okay. Good. What else?"
There wasn't anything else. I worked on her for maybe half an hour more and nothing else surfaced. All I got was the name of a SCACE official close to Powell, someone named Mark Tabor, whose title was political counselor.
"If you think of anything else, anything at all, call me. You still have my card?"
"Yes. I… my father will pay you for what you did last night.
"No. he won't. He'll pay me for what I may do. But last night was a free introductory offer."
"It was a very nice thing to do," she said.
"Aw, hell," I said.
"What you should
"He's a jerk."
"Maybe," I said. "But he's your jerk, and from his point of view you're no prize package either."
"I know," she said.
"However," I said, "let's think about what I'm supposed to do here. Tell me more about the manuscript and the professor and anything else you can remember beyond what you told Quirk last night."
"That's all there is," she said. "I told the police everything I know."
"Let's run through it again anyway," I said. "Have you talked with Quirk again since last night?"
"Yes, I saw him this morning before Daddy's people got me out."
"Okay, tell me what he asked you and what you said."
"He started by asking me why I thought two big white men in hats would come to our apartment and kill Dennis and frame me."
That was Quirk, starting right where he left off, no rephrasing, no new approach, less sleep than I had and there in the morning when the big cheeses passed the word along to let her out, getting all his questions answered before he released her.
"And what did you answer?" I said.
"I said the only thing I could think of was the manuscript. That Dennis was involved somehow in that theft, and he was upset about it."
"Can you give me more than that? How was he involved? Why was he involved? What makes you think he was involved? Why do you think he was upset? What did he do to show you he was upset? Answer any or all, one at a time."
"It was a phone call he made from the apartment. The way he was talking I could tell he was upset, and I could tell he wasn't talking to another kid. I mean, you can tell that from the way people talk. The way his voice sounded."
"What did he say?" I said.
"I couldn't hear most of it. He talked low, and I knew he didn't want me to hear, you know, cupping his hand and everything. So I tried not to hear. But he did say something about hiding it… like `Don't worry, no one will find it. I was careful.'"
"When was this?" I asked.
"About a week ago. Lemme see, I was up early for my Chaucer course, so it would have been Monday, that's five days ago. Last Monday."
The manuscript had been stolen Sunday night.
"Okay, so he was upset. About what?"
"I don't know, but I can tell when he's mad. At one point I think he threatened someone."
"Why do you think so? What did he say that makes you think so?"
"He said, 'If you don't…' No… No… he said, `I will, I really will…' Yeah. That's what it was . `I really will.' But very threateny, you know."
"Good. Now why do you think it was a professor? I know the voice tone told you it was someone older, but why a professor? What did he say? What were the words?"
"Well, oh, I don't know, it was just a feeling. I wasn't all that interested; I was running the water for a bath, anyway."
"No, Terry, I want to know. The words, what were his words?"
She was silent, her eyes squeezed almost shut, as if the sun were shining in them, her upper teeth exposed, her lower lip sucked in.
"Dennis said, 'I don't care'… 'I don't care, if you do.'… He said, 'I don't care if you do. Cut the goddamn thing.' That's it. He was talking to an older person and he said cut the class if the other person had to. That's why I figured it must be a professor."
"How do you know he wasn't talking about cutting a piece of rope, or a salami?"
"Because he mentioned class or school a little before. And what could they be talking about angrily that had to do with salami?"
"Okay. Good. What else?"
There wasn't anything else. I worked on her for maybe half an hour more and nothing else surfaced. All I got was the name of a SCACE official close to Powell, someone named Mark Tabor, whose title was political counselor.
"If you think of anything else, anything at all, call me. You still have my card?"
"Yes. I… my father will pay you for what you did last night.
"No. he won't. He'll pay me for what I may do. But last night was a free introductory offer."
"It was a very nice thing to do," she said.
"Aw, hell," I said.
"What you should
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