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“I’ll go with you!” she said, getting excited. “I’m a really good judge of character, you know. And I’d love to take a stroll around the Actors Studio, get an up-close and personal look at James Dean. I think he’s in town now. And he’s my fave new screen boy. He’s so hot it hurts!”
I didn’t say a word. I had no intention of taking Abby with me, but I didn’t tell her that. I knew she’d have a complete fit. Then she’d dig in her heels and torment me until I surrendered and let her come-a consequence I simply could not allow to happen. Abby’s presence at my meeting with Binky would rattle my concentration, play havoc with my cover, and lead Binky to question my “true” motives for contacting him (i.e., wreck the whole darn operation!). Better to keep my mouth shut, keep the peace, and wait until Tuesday to crush Abby’s hopes of meeting her fave new screen boy.
I glanced at the clock on Abby’s kitchen wall. It was nine thirty-five. “Holy moley, would you look at the time?!” I cried. “I’ve got to run home and change my clothes. If Fla
“Then you’d better scurry, Murray,” Abby said. “From what I’ve heard, It ain’t too cool in the cooler.”
THE SIXTH PRECINCT STATION WAS JUST a few blocks away on West 10th Street. Abby and I walked there as fast as we could-which wasn’t very fast since the heat, humidity, and our dangerously high heels slowed us down to a stroll. I bought a newspaper on the way over, but didn’t take the time to look for any articles about the murder. We were late enough as it was. Entering the busy station through the streetlevel double glass doors, we headed straight for the main desk to our right, stilettos clicking across the scuffed brown linoleum.
A tall, well-built young man with an exceptionally long, narrow face was standing like a sentry behind the counterlike partition. He was wearing the standard summer uniform (same as the winter but with short sleeves)-no jacket or hat. A badge was pi
“We’re here to see Detective Fla
“Then I’ll have to take you into custody,” he teased.
“I can think of worse punishment,” Abby said, batting her lashes so hard and fast I felt a breeze.
Oh, brother! She was flirting with him. She was flaunting her so-called charms all over the place. You’d have thought our horrific reason for being at the station (or, at the very least, her randy reunion with Jimmy last night) would have stifled her seductive ways-but noooo. There she stood, one hand propped suggestively on her jutting hip, making eyes at a horse-faced policeman as if she were a filly in heat and he were the last stallion on earth.
Luckily, I found my voice before they galloped off to the nearest stable together.
“Detective Fla
“Oh, uh… sure,” the young officer said, reluctantly turning his attention from Abby to me. “I’ll just give them a call upstairs. They’ll send somebody down to get you.”
“Can’t you show us the way yourself?” Abby said, batting her damn lashes again. “That would give us a little more time together.”
His rectangular face turned as pink as a primrose. “Oh, no, ma’am,” he said. “I couldn’t do that. I’m not allowed to leave my post. But hang on for a second, I’ll get you another guide right away.”
While he was dialing and then talking on the intercom, I gave Abby my sternest look. “Cut it out!” I whispered. “We’re here to help the cops find a killer, for God’s sake! Your search for a new lover can wait!”
“That’s not fair!” she hissed. “I’m looking for a new model, not a lover!”
“Same difference,” I said.
“IT’S SEVENTEEN MINUTES AFTER TEN,” Fla
“Please forgive us, Detective Fla
“Yeah, well, your ‘bit of a late start’ has thrown my whole damn schedule off track,” he griped, looking at his watch again. “I have to be somewhere else at eleven, so we don’t have much time.”
“Oh, what a shame!” Abby cried, putting on a big sarcastic show of contrition. “I could just kill myself for taking so long to eat that extra bagel.”
Her jeering tone was making me squirm. Would Fla
“Let’s get started,” Fla
We did as we were told. (I don’t know about Abby, but I was glad to get off my feet.)
Fla
Fla
me, which you probably don’t).
Fla
“What?!” we cried, in unison.
“The names of your doctors,” he repeated.
“Why?!” we harmonized.
“Because I told you to,” he said, sticking out his jaw and crossing his arms over his chest. He not only looked like a little boy, but he was acting like one, too. He was the bully of the playground-the one who would push you off the seesaw and steal your lunch money.
“But may I ask
why you want our doctors’ names?” I said, jumping to take the lead in the conversation before Abby could cause a scene. (One glance at her rigid posture and clenched fists, and I knew she was about to blow her stack.) “It seems such an odd request, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir. I’m sure I’m a complete dunce, but I can’t help wondering what our doctors have to do with the murder of Gray Gordon.”