ever notice Rosette’s license plate number?” I asked, doubting that she had.
“Well, you know, it’s not the sort of thing I ever look at, but hers had three Bs in a row, so when I heard a honk and turned around and saw the Bs, I knew it was Rosette.”
“That’s very helpful, Gladys. I think the police will be able to find the vehicle with that information.”
“Why don’t they just look up her name?”
I realized I’d gotten myself in a corner. “She may have used more than one name.”
“No. Why would she do that?”
“Nobody seems to know. Did she call her husband by name?”
“Let me think.” She sipped, then sipped again. “Not that I recall. And he only called her hon. I thought that was cute.”
“So do I. Tell me, did she ever say where she was going those mornings she picked you up? Work? A particular place?”
“She could’ve said White Plains. I think she did once. Oh yes, there was one other thing. On the seat where I sat or on the floor on the side where I sat there was always a very handsome briefcase. Black, good leather—you know? Usually it was facedown, but one morning I saw initials on it in gold. But they weren’t hers. I knew her name by then.”
“Do you remember what they were?”
“There could’ve been an M, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”
Mitchell, I thought. Maybe they used Mitchell in the building where they lived and also where they worked, but not in any of the places they frequented nearby. Then no one they ran into could connect them to their apartment, send them a letter, or find them if they were being sought by someone potentially dangerous. I thought again that there must be a PO box somewhere where they picked up their mail, or perhaps they rented a box at one of those private places that have sprung up in the last ten years.
“Good tea,” I said.
“My daughter brought it from London for me. You ever been to London?”
“I’ve been out of the country only once and I was nowhere near London, but it’s on my long-term list.”
“You’ll love it when you get there. I used to go with my husband when we were both healthy. That’s a long time ago now.” She looked sad for a moment. “You have children?”
“A little boy in kindergarten.”
“Aren’t you lucky.” She smiled. “Anything else, dear? It was so nice of you to take me home. I hope you’ll call and tell me about Rosette when you know something.”
“I will.”
She wrote down her phone number and address in my notebook. “There. Don’t forget now.”
“You’ll hear from me.” I gave her my phone number in case she remembered anything else, but I assured her she had been more helpful than anyone else I’d talked to. “The Bs in the license plate will probably give us the name of the owner of the vehicle.”
“Big car,” Gladys said. “Dark red. Hate ’em but everybody needs one these days. You know what?”
“What?”
“The last time I saw Rosette, she didn’t have any polish on her nails. She must have been getting ready for a new manicure.”
“I see.” That meant Gladys had seen Rosette close to the end of her life.
We shook hands and she walked to the front door with me, then stood at the living room window so she could wave as I backed out of the driveway and turned down the block.
6
“We should be able to find the registration with that,” Jack said. “Can’t be more than a thousand, can there? And they won’t all be SUVs.”
“I haven’t called Joe about it. Do you think I should?” I knew the answer to that. What I wanted was for Jack to find the registration, but I knew what my duty was. I had to turn my information over to the county police.
“You want a short answer or a long answer?”
“OK. I’ll do what’s right. But then I think I should give this investigation up. If I have to give Joe Fox everything I dig up, I may as well let his people dig it up for themselves.”
“If they can.”
“Well, Gladys French was a
“Well, you know, it’s not the sort of thing I ever look at, but hers had three Bs in a row, so when I heard a honk and turned around and saw the Bs, I knew it was Rosette.”
“That’s very helpful, Gladys. I think the police will be able to find the vehicle with that information.”
“Why don’t they just look up her name?”
I realized I’d gotten myself in a corner. “She may have used more than one name.”
“No. Why would she do that?”
“Nobody seems to know. Did she call her husband by name?”
“Let me think.” She sipped, then sipped again. “Not that I recall. And he only called her hon. I thought that was cute.”
“So do I. Tell me, did she ever say where she was going those mornings she picked you up? Work? A particular place?”
“She could’ve said White Plains. I think she did once. Oh yes, there was one other thing. On the seat where I sat or on the floor on the side where I sat there was always a very handsome briefcase. Black, good leather—you know? Usually it was facedown, but one morning I saw initials on it in gold. But they weren’t hers. I knew her name by then.”
“Do you remember what they were?”
“There could’ve been an M, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”
Mitchell, I thought. Maybe they used Mitchell in the building where they lived and also where they worked, but not in any of the places they frequented nearby. Then no one they ran into could connect them to their apartment, send them a letter, or find them if they were being sought by someone potentially dangerous. I thought again that there must be a PO box somewhere where they picked up their mail, or perhaps they rented a box at one of those private places that have sprung up in the last ten years.
“Good tea,” I said.
“My daughter brought it from London for me. You ever been to London?”
“I’ve been out of the country only once and I was nowhere near London, but it’s on my long-term list.”
“You’ll love it when you get there. I used to go with my husband when we were both healthy. That’s a long time ago now.” She looked sad for a moment. “You have children?”
“A little boy in kindergarten.”
“Aren’t you lucky.” She smiled. “Anything else, dear? It was so nice of you to take me home. I hope you’ll call and tell me about Rosette when you know something.”
“I will.”
She wrote down her phone number and address in my notebook. “There. Don’t forget now.”
“You’ll hear from me.” I gave her my phone number in case she remembered anything else, but I assured her she had been more helpful than anyone else I’d talked to. “The Bs in the license plate will probably give us the name of the owner of the vehicle.”
“Big car,” Gladys said. “Dark red. Hate ’em but everybody needs one these days. You know what?”
“What?”
“The last time I saw Rosette, she didn’t have any polish on her nails. She must have been getting ready for a new manicure.”
“I see.” That meant Gladys had seen Rosette close to the end of her life.
We shook hands and she walked to the front door with me, then stood at the living room window so she could wave as I backed out of the driveway and turned down the block.
6
“We should be able to find the registration with that,” Jack said. “Can’t be more than a thousand, can there? And they won’t all be SUVs.”
“I haven’t called Joe about it. Do you think I should?” I knew the answer to that. What I wanted was for Jack to find the registration, but I knew what my duty was. I had to turn my information over to the county police.
“You want a short answer or a long answer?”
“OK. I’ll do what’s right. But then I think I should give this investigation up. If I have to give Joe Fox everything I dig up, I may as well let his people dig it up for themselves.”
“If they can.”
“Well, Gladys French was a
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