Karen was just finishing breakfast, but she cordially invited them into the apartment batting her lashes at Georgie, Priscilla noticed and told them she had to leave soon, but she'd be happy to answer questions until then. Although, really, she'd already told the police everything she knew.
Priscilla suggested that perhaps the police hadn't asked her the same questions they were about to ask. Karen looked puzzled.
"For example," Priscilla said, "did you ever happen to notice a tall blond man visiting my grandmother's apartment?"
"No," Karen said. "In fact, I did not."
"How well did you know the old lady?" Georgie asked kindly.
Karen looked at the clock.
Then she gave them much the same she'd given the police, telling all about her sitting with Svetlana sipping tea together in the late afternoon listening to her old 78s… "It reminded me of T. S. Eliot somehow," she said and smiled at Georgie, who didn't know who T. S. Eliot was.
She told them, too, about accompanying Svetlana to her internist's office one day… "She had terrible arthritis, you know…" and another time to an ear doctor who told her she ought to see a neurologist. Because of the ringing in her ears, you know.
"When was this?" Priscilla asked.
"Oh, before Thanksgiving. It was awful. She was crying so hard in the taxi, I thought her heart would break."
"And you're sure you never saw her with a blond man?"
"Positive."
"Never, huh?"
"Never. Well, not with her."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't think he went inside."
"Inside?"
"Her apartment. But one morning, when she was sick…"
"Yes?" Priscilla said.
"He brought fish for the cat."
"Who did?" Tony asked.
"A tall blond person."
"His name wouldn't have been Eliot, would it?" Georgie asked shrewdly.
"I have no idea what his name was."
"But he brought fish to her apartment?" Tony said. "Fish. Yes."
"But didn't go in?"
"Well, actually, I don't really know. I was leaving for work when he knocked on her door. Svetlana answered, and he said.." mm, yeah, that's right, wait a minute. He did give her his name, but I don't remember it. It was something very foreign. He had a foreign accent."
"Russian?" Priscilla asked.
"I really don't know. He said he was here with the fish for Irina."
"For Irina. So he knew the cat's name. Which means he knew my grandmother, too. But he didn't go in? When she opened the door?"
"Well, in fact I really can't say. I was already starting down the stairs."
"What kind of fish?" Georgie asked. "I have no idea."
"Where'd he get this fish?"
"Well, I would guess at the fish market, wouldn't you?"
"What fish market?" Priscilla asked.
"Where Svetlana went for the cat every morning."
"And where's that?" Priscilla asked, and held her breath.
"Let's try a timetable on this thing, okay?" Byrnes said. He was getting exasperated. He didn't like little old ladies in faded mink coats smelling of fish shot with a gun stolen from a limo that had transfered: a fighting rooster uptown. He didn't like period. Turtles, canaries, dogs, cats, fish, cockroaches, whatever.
"Where do you want us to start, Pete?" Carella asked.
"The gun."
"Belongs to a man named Rodney Pratt. He Keeps it in the glove compartment of his limo. breaks down Thursday night, he takes it to the garage off the Majesta Bridge. Place called Texaco. Forgets the gun in the glove box."
"Okay, next."
"How do you know he's not the murderer?" Byrnes asked.
"We know," Hawes said, dismissing the very "Gee, excuse me for fucking breathing!" Parker said.
"Next," Carella said, "they work on the car all Friday. One of the mechanics, guy named Santiago, borrows the car, quote unquote, to drive prize rooster uptown that night to a cockfight at Riverhead."
"Excuse me while I puke," Parker said. "Puke," Kling suggested.
"A fuckin bird in the backseat of a limo?"
"So puke," Kling suggested again. "Santiago's bird loses. He finds the gun in the box, decides to shoot the winning bird, changes mind when the Four-Eight raids the place. He goes nearby after-hours joint called The Juice Bar…"
"I know that place," Brown said."… where this tall blond son of a bitch we're trying to find is meeting with a bookie named Bernie Himmel who tells him he's gonna be swimming with the fishes unless he pays him by Sunday morning the twenty grand he lost on the Cowboys-Steelers game."
"Swimming with the fishes," Hawes corrected. "What?"
"He stressed the word 'swimming'. "
"I don't know what you mean."
"He told Schiavinato he'd be swimming with the fishes."
"As opposed to what?" Meyer said. "Dancing with them?"
"I'm only telling you what I heard."
"Let me hear the rest of the timetable," Byrnes said. "Okay. Saturday night, a quarter to twelve, we get a DOA at 1217 Lincoln Street, old lady named Svetlana Helder, turns out to be Svetlana Dyalovich, the famous concert pianist."
"I never heard of her," Parker said. "Two to the heart," Hawes said.
"I saw that picture," Kling said. "Was that the name?"
"I'm pretty sure."
"Next morning, around seven, we get a dead hooker in an alley on St. Sab's."
"Any connection?"
"None."
