"Then let me get it absolutely correct," Marie said. "He put on a pair of blue slacks, and a blue sports shirt, no pattern on it, just the solid blue, and blue socks, and black shoes, and a… what do you call it? Houndstooth, is that the weave? A sort of jagged little black and blue weave. A houndstooth sports jacket. No tie."
Hawes was writing now.
"How old is your husband?" he asked.
"Thirty-four."
"How tall is he?"
"Five-eleven."
"Weight?"
"One-seventy."
"Color of his hair?"
"Black."
"Eyes?"
"Blue."
"Does he wear glasses?"
"No."
"Is he white?"
"Well, of
"Any identifying marks, scars or tattoos?"
"Yes, he has an appendectomy scar. And also a meniscectomy scar."
"What's that?" Hawes asked.
"He had a skiing accident. Tore the cartilage in his left knee. They removed the cartilage—what they call the meniscus. There's a scar there. On his left knee."
"How do you spell that?" Hawes asked. "Meniscectomy?"
"I don't know," Marie said.
"On the phone, you told me you live in the next state…"
"Yes, I do."
"Where?"
"Collinsworth."
"The address?"
"604 Eden Lane."
"Apartment number?"
"It's a private house."
"Telephone number, area code first?"
"Well, I'll give you Frank's card," she said, and dug into her shoulder bag and came up with a sheaf of cards. She took one from the stack and handed it to Hawes. He scanned it quickly, wrote both the home and office phone numbers onto his pad, and then tucked the card into the pad's flap.
"Did you try calling home?" he asked.
"No. Why would I do that?"
"Are you sure he didn't go home without you? Maybe he figured this Jimmy would pick you up."
"No, we were planning on eating dinner here in the city."
"So he wouldn't have gone home without you."
"He never has."
"This Jimmy… what's his last name?"
"Brayne."
"Brain? Like in somebody's head?"
"Yes, but with a Y."
"B-R-A-
"With an E on the end."
"B-R-A-Y-N-E?"
"Yes."
"James Brayne."
"Yes."
"And his address?"
"He lives with us."
"Same house?"
"A little apartment over the garage."
"And
"Oh, gee," she said, "I'm not sure I remember it."
"Well, try to remember," Hawes said, "because I think we ought to call back home, see if either of them maybe went back there."
"They wouldn't do that," Marie said.
"Maybe they got their signals crossed," Hawes said. "Maybe Jimmy thought your husband was going to take the stuff in the car…"
"No, the big stuff won't fit in the car. That's why we have the van."
"Or maybe your husband thought you were getting a ride back with Jimmy…"
"I'm sure he didn't."
"What kind of a car was your husband driving?"
"A 1984 Citation. A two-door coupe."
"Color?"
"Blue."
"License-plate number?"
"DL 74-3681."
"And the van?"
"A '79 Ford Econoline."
"Color?"
"Tan, sort of."
"Would you know the license-plate number on that one?"
"RL 68-7210."
"In whose name are the vehicles registered?"
"My husband's."
"Both registered across the river?"
"Yes."
"Let's find a phone, okay?" Hawes said.
"There's one inside," she said, "but calling them won't do any good."
"How do you know?"
"Because Frank wouldn't have dumped his tricks all over the driveway this way. These tricks cost money."
"Let's try calling them, anyway."
"It won't do any good," Marie said. "I'm telling you."
He dialed Sebastiani's home and office numbers, and got no answer at either. Marie at last remembered the number in the room over the garage, and he dialed that one, too. Nothing.
"Well," he said, "let me get to work on this. I'll call you as soon as…"
"How am I going to get home?" Marie asked.
They always asked how they were going to get home.
"There are trains running out to Collinsworth, aren't there?"
"Yes, but…"
"I'll drop you off at the station."
"What about all those tricks outside in the driveway?"
"Maybe we can get the school custodian to lock them up someplace. Till your husband shows up."
"What makes you think he'll show up?"
"Well, I'm sure he's okay. Just some crossed signals, that's all."
"I'm not sure I want to go home tonight," Marie said.
"Well, ma'am…"
"I think I may want to… could I come to the police station with you? Could I wait there till you hear anything about Frank?"
"That's entirely up to you, ma'am. But it may take a while before we…"
"And can you lend me some money?" she asked.
He looked at her.
"For dinner?"
He kept looking at her.
"I'll pay you back as soon as… as soon as we find Frank. I'm sorry, but I've only got a few dollars on me. Frank was the one they paid, he's the one who's got all the money."
"How
"Well, just enough for a hamburger or something."
"I meant how much money does your husband have on him?"
"Oh. Well, we got a hundred for the job. And he probably had a little something in his wallet, I don't know how much."
Which lets out robbery, Hawes thought. Although in this city, there were people who'd slit your throat for a nickel. He suddenly wondered how much money he himself was carrying. This was the first time in his entire life that a victim had asked him for a loan.
