"You won't be-able to breathe."
"You'll go down with them, Dolly."
"A cop's father, Dolly!"
"You want that on your back for the rest of your life?"
"I. . ."
They both shut up.
Waiting.
She was staring down at the melting ice cream.
They kept waiting.
"I don't know anything about them," she said.
"Okay," Wade said, nodding.
"That's the only time I ever saw them, Thursday night."
"Uh-huh."
"I haven't seen them since. I don't know any …"
"Honey, you want big trouble, don't you?" Wade said.
"But I'm telling you the truthl"
"No, you're shitting us!" Bent said. "We know you're living with them …"
"I'm not!"
"Okay, have it your way," Bent said, and shoved back his chair. "Let's go, Randy."
"Expect heat, baby," Wade said, and got up. "Lots of heat. From every cop walkin' this city. Heat till you die. This is cop business you're messin' with, this is a cop's father."
"Sleep tight," Bent said, and they started walking out.
"Hold it," she said.
They stopped, turned to her again.
"Could I have some more ice cream?" she said.
They were waiting for her when she got back to the shop that night. They were standing near a tankful of tropical fish. Water bubbling behind them. Fish gliding. They were talking about a James Bond movie where a tank of fish explodes or something. They were trying to remember the name of the movie.
They'd called first and spoken to Pauline Weed's assistant, a young girl who'd told them she was out getting something to eat, expected her back in half an hour or so. They'd driven directly downtown to Bide-A-Wee Pets on Jefferson, where they'd learned that the girl's name was Hannah Kemp, that she was sixteen years old and wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up, and that she worked here after school every Tuesday and Friday, when the shop was open till eight o'clock. She was with a customer up front when Pauline walked in some five minutes later. She pointed to where the detectives were standing near the gliding tropical fish, and said something they couldn't hear. Pauline looked up the aisle at them in surprise, and then walked to where they stood trying to remember the name of that movie.
"Hey, hi," she said.
"Hello, Miss Weed," Carella said.
"Can I sell you some fish?" she asked, and smiled.
Blonde and beautiful and blue-eyed, the type the man favored. Smile a bit wavering, though.
"Miss Weed," Carella said, "when we called here earlier tonight, your assistant…"
"Hannah," she said. "Great girl."
"Yes, she told us you were out getting something to eat . . ."
"Uh-huh."
"And you'd be back in half an hour or so."
"And here I am," she said, and grinned.
"Miss Weed, have you ever been married?" Brown asked.
"No, I haven't," she said, looking surprised.
"I thought the middle name might be …"
"Oh. No, that was my mother's maiden name. It's where I got the name of the shop, actually. The Bide and the Wee. From my middle name and my last name."
"Byerly and Weed," Brown said.
"Yes. Bide-A-Wee."
"Miss Weed," Carella said, "when we called here, we asked to speak to you, and Hannah said …"
"Great girl," she said again.
But she looked nervous now.
"She said . . . these are her exact words . . . she said, 'Bye's out getting something to eat.'"
"Uh-huh."
"She called you Bye."
"Uh-huh."
"Do a lot of people call you that?"
"Fair amount, I guess."
"Short for Byerly, is that it?"
"Well, my first name's Pauline, that's not such great shakes, is it?"
"Do you call yourself Bye?"
"Yes."
"How do you sign yourself?"
"Pauline Byerly Weed."
"You sign all your . . .?"
"I sign everything Pauline Byerly Weed, yes."
"How about personal correspondence?" Brown asked.
She turned to him.
"Yes," she said. "That, too. Everything."
"You call yourself Bye, but you sign yourself Pauline Byerly Weed."
"Yes."
"Miss Weed," Carella said, "do you own a typewriter?"
Her eyes flashed. Danger. Careful. That's what her eyes were saying.
"We can get a search warrant," Brown said.
"I own a typewriter," she said, "yes."
"Did you own this same typewriter in June of last year?"
"Yes."
"July of last year?"
"Yes."
"May we see it, please?"
"Why?"
"Because we think you wrote some letters to Arthur Schumacher," Brown said.
"I may very well have written …"
"Erotic letters," Carella said.
"Can we see that typewriter, please?" Brown said.
"I didn't kill him," she said.
"What it was," Dolly said, "they started out as tricks, you know? I was working Casper . . . you know Casper and the Fields, up there near the old cemetery? St Augustus Cemetery? Where there used to be like this little stone building got knocked down? Just inside the gates? Well, a lot of girls line up there at night because cars come through to pick up the Expressway, the Casper Avenue entrance, you know where I mean? Anyway, that's where I met them, they came walkin' up the street, lookin' over the merchandise, there's lot of girls along that cemetery stretch, well, I guess I don't have to tell you. I'm tryin' to explain I don't want to take a rap for a cop's old man got killed. I hardly know these guys, they started out as tricks."
"When was this?" Wade asked.
