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I left everything else just the way I'd found it and went home. And tugged my hair. And stewed. And brooded. And ate half the stuff in the refrigerator, I kid you not.
At about one in the morning, it all made blinding, crystal-clear sense.
The next afternoon, at five-fifteen, I made sure I was the cabbie who picked up Marcia Heidegger in Harvard Square. Now cabstands have the most rigid protocol since Queen Victoria; you do not grab a fare out of turn or your fellow cabbies are definitely not amused. There was nothing for it but bribing the ranks. This bet with Mooney was costing me plenty.
I got her. She swung open the door and gave the Mason Terrace number. I grunted, kept my face turned front, and took off.
Some people really watch where you're going in a cab, scared to death you'll take them a block out of their way and squeeze them for an extra nickel. Others just lean back and dream. She was a dreamer, thank God. I was almost at District One Headquarters before she woke up.
"Excuse me," she said, polite as ever, "that's Mason Terrace in «Brookline."«
"Take the next right, pull over, and douse your lights," I said in a low Bogart voice. My imitation was not that good, but it got the point across. Her eyes widened and she made an instinctive grab for the door handle.
"Don't try it, lady," I Bogied on. "You think I'm dumb enough to take you in alone? There's a cop car behind us, just waiting for you to make a move."
Her hand froze. She was a sap for movie dialogue.
"Where's the cop?" was all she said on the way up to Mooney's office.
"What cop?"
"The one following us."
"You have touching faith in our law-enforcement system," I said.
She tried a bolt, I kid you not. I've had experience with ru
He actually stopped typing and raised an eyebrow, an expression of great shock for Mooney.
"Citizen's arrest," I said.
"Charges?"
"Petty theft. Commission of a felony using a firearm." I rattled off a few more charges, using the numbers I remembered from cop school.
"This woman is crazy," Marcia Heidegger said with all the dignity she could muster.
"Search her," I said. "Get a matron in here. I want my four dollars and eighty-two cents back."
Mooney looked like he agreed with Marcia's opinion of my mental state. He said, "Wait up, Carlotta. You'd have to be able to identify that four dollars and eighty-two cents as yours. Can you do that? Quarters are quarters. Dimes are dimes."
"One of the coins she took was quite unusual," I said. "I'm sure I'd be able to identify it."
"Do you have any objection to displaying the change in your purse?" Mooney said to Marcia. He got me mad the way he said it, like he was humouring an idiot.
"Of course not," old Marcia said, cool as a frozen daiquiri.
"That's because she's stashed it somewhere else, Mooney," I said patiently. "She used to keep it in her purse, see. But then she goofed. She handed it over to a cabbie in her change. She should have just let it go, but she panicked because it was worth a pile and she was just babysitting it for someone else. So when she got it back, she hid it somewhere. Like in her shoe. Didn't you ever carry your lucky pe
"No," Mooney said. "Now, Miss-"
"Heidegger," I said clearly. "Marcia Heidegger. She used to work at Harvard Law School." I wanted to see if Mooney picked up on it, but he didn't. He went on: "This can be taken care of with a minimum of fuss. If you'll agree to be searched by-"
"I want to see my lawyer," she said.
"For four dollars and eighty-two cents?" he said. "It'll cost you more than that to get your lawyer up here."
"Do I get my phone call or not?"
Mooney shrugged wearily and wrote up the charge sheet. Called a cop to take her to the phone.
He got Jo A
"You'll find it fifty well spent," I said to Mooney when we were alone.
Jo A
"Got it?" I said, "Good for you."
"What's going on?" Mooney said.
"She got real clumsy on the way to the pay phone," Jo A
She held it up. The coin could have been a dime, except the colour was off: warm, rosy gold instead of dead silver. How I missed it the first time around I'll never know.
"What the hell is that?" Mooney said.
"What kind of coins were in Justin Thayler's collection?" I asked. "Roman?"
Marcia jumped out of the chair, snapped her bag open, and drew out her little.22. I kid you not. She was closest to Mooney and she just stepped up to him and rested it above his left ear. He swallowed, didn't say a word. I never realised how prominent his Adam's apple was. Jo A
Good old reliable, methodical Marcia. Why, I said to myself, why pick today of all days to trot your gun out of the freezer? Did you read bad luck in your tarot cards? Then I had a truly rotten thought. What if she had two guns? What if the disarmed.22 was still staring down the mint chocolate-chip ice cream?
"Give it back," Marcia said. She held out one hand, made an impatient waving motion.
"Hey, you don't need it, Marcia," I said. "You've got plenty more. In all those safe deposit boxes."
"I'm going to count to five-" she began.
"Were you in on the murder from day one? You know, from the pla
"I want that coin," she said softly. "Then I want the two of you"-she motioned to Jo A
"Come on, Marcia," I said, "put it down. I mean, look at you. A week ago you just wanted Thayler's coin back. You didn't want to rob my cab, right? You just didn't know how else to get your good luck charm back with no questions asked. You didn't do it for money, right? You did it for love. You were so straight you threw away the cash. Now here you are with a gun pointed at a cop-"
"Shut up!"
I took a deep breath and said, "You haven't got the style, Marcia. Your gun's not even loaded."
Mooney didn't relax a hair. Sometimes I think the guy hasn't ever believed a word I've said to him. But Marcia got shook. She pulled the barrel away from Mooney's skull and peered at it with a puzzled frown. Jo A
I looked.
No bullets. My heart stopped fibrillating, and Mooney actually cracked a smile in my direction.
So that's all. I sure hope Mooney will spread the word around that I helped him nail Thayler. And I think he will; he's a fair kind of guy. Maybe it'll get me a case or two. Driving a cab is hard on the backside, you know?