money back we’ll give it to em.”
“We will?”
“Sure. Why should they have to wait?”
“Why will they?”
“I have a feelin this Turner case is gonna take up all my time.”
“Anything ya say.” She took the papers from me. “Your command is my word.”
Claire Turner was waiting for me in the coffee shop when I got there. I wasn’t crazy about that cause I always liked to be at a meeting first. She was sitting in a cherry-red leather booth at a Formica table, a Coke in front of her, the straw bent and unused, and a cigarette in the ashtray, the smoke rising in front of her kisser. I could see she was worried.
“You nervous?” I asked, sitting opposite her.
“Yeah.” She took a tiny sip of her drink. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if it’s Charlie.”
“Let’s cross that bridge later, okay?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Always a mistake.
“If it isn’t Charlie, where is he? And if it isn’t Charlie, why was a dead man in his closet?”
“Good questions.”
“No answers?”
“Not yet. Another one of those bridges. Can I have yer sister’s number and address now?”
“You mean you’re gonna go see her?”
“I might hafta.”
“Why?”
“Ya gotta let me do my job.”
“Oh, all right.”
I wrote down what she told me in my notepad. I didn’t like it at all. Lucille Turner lived in New Jersey. Not that far away from my folks, in Newark. Plus, to get there I’d hafta get a car somehow. I’d worry about that later.
“Can we go soon?”
“Sure. Right now.”
Her check was on the table. She put down some money and we left. Impossible, but outside felt hotter and stickier than when I’d gone into the coffee shop. At the corner of Twenty-seventh and First we waited for the light to change, then crossed.
The thing about Bellevue was it had a creepy rep. Everybody knew the squirrelly types landed there. They probably knew about the morgue. And even though the place was also a regular hospital, its look added to the sense of spookiness.
The redbrick building had big wrought-iron gates in front and bars on some of the windows. It loomed large, like a medieval dungeon.
The gates were open and we walked through to the main entrance and directly to the elevators. I knew how to get to the morgue.
“I don’t think I can do this, Miss Quick.”
I gently put my hand on her arm. “Sure ya can.”
“I wish Charlie was here.”
Maybe he was, I thought. Had she forgotten?
“Claire . . . can I call ya Claire?”
“Sure.”
“Claire, I know this is tough for ya, but I think yer made of strong stuff. I know ya can do this. And I’ll be right by your side.”
The elevator opened. The operator was one of those older guys and had a face like a turnip. We got on.
“Morgue, please.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “You sure, girly?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You two together?”
“That’s right. What of it?”
“
You
I can see going down there, but not her.” He pointed at Claire.
“Thanks, buster. Now get this thing rollin.”
He grabbed the stick and the doors closed. Under his breath he grumbled, but I didn’t try to hear him. I took Claire’s hand and squeezed. She gave me a smile that came and went like payday.
The elevator stopped. “Morgue,” the old guy said.
We got off to the grumbling of Handsome, and we turned right. I opened a big door and there was Powell, pacing in front of a girl sitting at a desk.
I introduced Claire and Powell, and I watched while the grizzled detective turned to jelly just meeting this babe. What was wrong with men?
I took it upon myself to tell the girl that we were there to see Glenn Madison. She buzzed him on one of those things I hadda get and in a few minutes he came out in his white coat.
When I introduced him to Claire, it was easy to see he was also keen on her right away. This was ridiculous. I didn’t think I wanted Johnny to meet this skirt. We all followed Madison back through a dark corridor and
“We will?”
“Sure. Why should they have to wait?”
“Why will they?”
“I have a feelin this Turner case is gonna take up all my time.”
“Anything ya say.” She took the papers from me. “Your command is my word.”
Claire Turner was waiting for me in the coffee shop when I got there. I wasn’t crazy about that cause I always liked to be at a meeting first. She was sitting in a cherry-red leather booth at a Formica table, a Coke in front of her, the straw bent and unused, and a cigarette in the ashtray, the smoke rising in front of her kisser. I could see she was worried.
“You nervous?” I asked, sitting opposite her.
“Yeah.” She took a tiny sip of her drink. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if it’s Charlie.”
“Let’s cross that bridge later, okay?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Always a mistake.
“If it isn’t Charlie, where is he? And if it isn’t Charlie, why was a dead man in his closet?”
“Good questions.”
“No answers?”
“Not yet. Another one of those bridges. Can I have yer sister’s number and address now?”
“You mean you’re gonna go see her?”
“I might hafta.”
“Why?”
“Ya gotta let me do my job.”
“Oh, all right.”
I wrote down what she told me in my notepad. I didn’t like it at all. Lucille Turner lived in New Jersey. Not that far away from my folks, in Newark. Plus, to get there I’d hafta get a car somehow. I’d worry about that later.
“Can we go soon?”
“Sure. Right now.”
Her check was on the table. She put down some money and we left. Impossible, but outside felt hotter and stickier than when I’d gone into the coffee shop. At the corner of Twenty-seventh and First we waited for the light to change, then crossed.
The thing about Bellevue was it had a creepy rep. Everybody knew the squirrelly types landed there. They probably knew about the morgue. And even though the place was also a regular hospital, its look added to the sense of spookiness.
The redbrick building had big wrought-iron gates in front and bars on some of the windows. It loomed large, like a medieval dungeon.
The gates were open and we walked through to the main entrance and directly to the elevators. I knew how to get to the morgue.
“I don’t think I can do this, Miss Quick.”
I gently put my hand on her arm. “Sure ya can.”
“I wish Charlie was here.”
Maybe he was, I thought. Had she forgotten?
“Claire . . . can I call ya Claire?”
“Sure.”
“Claire, I know this is tough for ya, but I think yer made of strong stuff. I know ya can do this. And I’ll be right by your side.”
The elevator opened. The operator was one of those older guys and had a face like a turnip. We got on.
“Morgue, please.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “You sure, girly?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You two together?”
“That’s right. What of it?”
“
You
I can see going down there, but not her.” He pointed at Claire.
“Thanks, buster. Now get this thing rollin.”
He grabbed the stick and the doors closed. Under his breath he grumbled, but I didn’t try to hear him. I took Claire’s hand and squeezed. She gave me a smile that came and went like payday.
The elevator stopped. “Morgue,” the old guy said.
We got off to the grumbling of Handsome, and we turned right. I opened a big door and there was Powell, pacing in front of a girl sitting at a desk.
I introduced Claire and Powell, and I watched while the grizzled detective turned to jelly just meeting this babe. What was wrong with men?
I took it upon myself to tell the girl that we were there to see Glenn Madison. She buzzed him on one of those things I hadda get and in a few minutes he came out in his white coat.
When I introduced him to Claire, it was easy to see he was also keen on her right away. This was ridiculous. I didn’t think I wanted Johnny to meet this skirt. We all followed Madison back through a dark corridor and
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