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"A loner" (that is, has very few, or no friends). Living alone.
Neat and orderly, possibly to an excessive degree, and dresses conservativ
ely.
Of ordinary, or slightly less than ordinary, physical appearance. A chess player, not a football player.
Self-assured, possibly to an excessive degree. (That is, tends to become annoyed, even angry, with anyone who disagrees with him.)
An Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Methodist, (less likely, a Roman Catholic) but not an active member of any church group.
Works in an office. A nondrinker.
Either a nonsmoker or a chain cigarette smoker.
This individual is possibly:
An engineer, either civil or electronic, or an accountant, or someone who works with figures.
A veteran, possibly discharged for medical (including psychological) reasons. Possibly a former junior officer.
Someone who has come to the attention of the authorities as the result of a complaint he has made when he has felt he has been wronged. (For example, complaining about neighbor's loud party, or loud radio, damage to his lawn, et cetera, by neighborhood children.)
As O'Mara read it, Matt glanced up at the silent TV mounted on a hospital-room shelf over the door. O'Mara had been watching an old cops-and-robbers movie.
I wonder how he can tell the good guys from the bad guys? They all look like 1930s-era gangsters.
"Your sister was able to come up with all this just from that nutty note that screwball wrote?" O'Mara asked, visibly awed.
"My sister is a genius. It runs in the family."
"Shit!" O'Mara said.
After a pause, Matt thought, while he decided I was not serious.
"Well, I'd better run this out to the brass," O'Mara said, and finally pushed himself upright and got off the bed.
At the head of the stairs, O'Mara stopped. "How do I get out?" Matt recalled that O'Mara had parked Wohl's car in front of the building. Despite the NO PARKING signs, no white hat was going to ticket what was obviously the unmarked car of a senior white shirt. He had unlocked the plate-glass door to the lobby with his key, and then locked it again after them. It would now be necessary to repeat the process to let O'Mara out.
"I'll let you out," Matt said, and went down the stairs ahead of him.
****
Matt went into the kitchen and took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and went into the living room, slumped in his chair and picked up a copyof Playboy. He looked at his answering machine. The red,You Have Messages light was flashing.
I really don't want to hear my messages. But on the other hand, Wohl may be wondering what the hell took me so long.
He reached over and pushed the PLAY button.
There were six calls, five of them from people People, hell, Evelyn is at it again!
– who had not chosen to leave a message, and one from Jack Matthews, who wanted him to call the first chance he got.
And I know what you want, Jack Matthews. The FBI wants to know what the hell the Keystone Cops are doing with the Secret Service big shot from Washington. Fuck you!
As the tape was rewinding, the doorbell, the one from the third floor, at the foot of his stairs, buzzed.
Now what, O'Mara? Did you forget something?
