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“Dead end,” said Henry. “Nothing upstairs, nothing down. Clues to somebody gone. But where?”
As if in answer, a most ungodly cry came from the dark hole in the cold floor. We all jumped.
“Jesus!” Fritz cried.
“Christ!” I yelled.
“Lord!” said Henry. “That can’t be Molly, Dolly, Holly, can it?”
I repeated that rosary in silence.
Fritz read my lips and cursed.
The cry came again, farther away, being carried downstream. Tears exploded from my eyes. I jumped forward to sway over the manhole. Fritz grabbed my elbow.
“Did you hear?” I cried.
“Nothing!” said Fritz.
“That scream!”
“That’s just the water,” Fritz said.
“Fritz!”
“You calling me a liar?”
“Fritz!”
“The way you say Fritz, I lie. No lie. You don’t really want to, hell, go down there! Godammit!”
“Let me go!”
“If your wife was here, she’d push you in, dummkopf!”
I stared at the open manhole. Far away there was another cry. Fritz cursed.
“You come with me,” I said.
“No, no.”
“You afraid?”
“Afraid?” Fritz plucked the monocle from his eye. It was like pulling the spigot on his blood. His suntan paled. His eye watered. “Afraid? Of a damn dark stupid underground cave, Fritz Wong?”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry for the greatest UFA director in cinema history.” He planted his fiery monocle back in its groove.
“Well, what now?” he demanded. “I find a phone and call Crumley to drag you out of this black hole? You goddamn teenage death-wisher!”
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“I’m no teenager.”
“No? Then why do I see crouched by that damn hole an Olympic chump high-diving into a tide half an inch deep? Go on, break your neck, drown in garbage!”
“Tell Crumley to drive into the storm drain and meet me halfway from the sea. If he sees Constance, grab her. If he finds me, grab even quicker.”
