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“They didn’t send for you?” Louise asked, surprised. “Then why did you come?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Why did you ask for me?”
“I’m scared, and a little drunk,” she said.
“So’m I,” he said. “A little drunk, I mean. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Bullshit! Have you been downstairs? Did you see what those . . . maniacs . . . did to that poor, pathetic little man?”
“There’s nothing for you to be afraid of,” Peter said.
“The cops are here, right? My knight in shining armor has just ridden up in his prowl car?”
“Actually, I came in my Jaguar,” Peter said. “My department car was in the garage and I wasn’t sure I was sober enough to back it out.”
“A Jaguar?” she asked, starting to giggle. “To go with that ridiculous turtleneck? I’ll bet you even have got one of those silly little caps with the buttons in the front.”
“I had one, but it blew off on the Schuylkill Expressway,” he said.
She snorted, and then suddenly stopped. She looked at him, and bit her lower lip, and then she walked to him.
“Goddamn, I’m glad you’re here,” she said, and put her hand to his cheek. “Thank you.”
And then, without either of them knowing exactly how it happened, he had his arms around her, and she was sobbing against his chest. He heard himself soothing her, and became aware that he was stroking her head, and that her arms were around him, holding him.
He could not remember, later, how long they had stayed like that. What he was to remember was that as he became aware of the warmth of her body against him, the pressure of her breasts against his abdomen, he had felt himself stirring. And when what had happened to him became evident to her, she pushed herself away from him.
“Well,” she said, looking into his eyes, “this has been a bitch of a day, Peter Wohl, hasn’t it? For both of us.”
“I’ve had better,” he said.
“What happens now?” Louise asked.
“There’s a car waiting downstairs,” Peter said. “It’ll take you down to the Roundhouse, where you can make your statement, and then they’ll type it up, and you can sign it, and then they’ll bring you back here.”
She looked at him, on the verge, he decided, of saying something, but not speaking.
“I’ll go with you, if you’d like me to.”
“I told that faded matinee idol everything I know,” she said.
He chuckled, and she smiled back at him.
“I did the ‘Nine’s News’ at eleven,” Louise said. “And then I went with the producer for a drink. Okay, drinks. Thr
ee or four. Then I came home. I went into the lobby to check the mailbox. Jerome’s door was open. I went in. I ... saw what was in the bedroom. So I called the cops. That’s all I know, Peter. And I told him.”
“There’s a procedure that has to be followed,” Peter said. “The police department is a bureaucracy, Miss Dutton.”
“ ‘Miss Dutton’?” she quoted mockingly. “A moment ago, I thought we were at least on a first-name basis.”
“Louise,” Peter said, aware that his face was flushing.
“I’ll be damned,” she said. “A blushing cop!”
“Jesus Christ!” Peter said. “Do you always think out loud?”
“No,” she said. “For some mysterious reason, I seem to be a little upset right now. But thinking out loud, I don’t seem to be the only one around here who’s a little off balance. Do you always calm down hysterical witnesses that way, Inspector?”
