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“At the risk of repeating myself, Tony, I’m really sorry I couldn’t do more. Maybe the FBI’ll be able to.”
“You’re sure nobody in the State Police could do us any good? Who’s taking Stecker’s place?”
“I met the gentleman,” Candelle said. “He left me with the impression he would have trouble finding his posterior with both hands.”
“Great!”
Harris drove his Crown Victoria to the rear door of the Roundhouse.
“You’re not coming in?” Candelle asked.
“No. I’m going to go somewhere to try to figure out what to tell the Black Buddha,” he said.
“I’ll do that for you, Tony,” Candelle said, “before I go home. I don’t want him calling me at the house to have one more shot at it.”
“ ‘Turn over the stone under the stone’?”
“We’re out of stones on this hat, Tony,” Candelle said. “And I think the Black Buddha’s more likely to accept that from me than you.”
“Good luck!” Harris said. He held out his hand to Candelle. “Thanks a lot, Dick. I really appreciate all the effort.”
“I’m just sorry it didn’t get us anywhere,” Candelle said, nodded, closed the car door, and walked toward the Roundhouse entrance.
Tony started to drive out of the parking lot, but at the last moment pulled into a vacant space, took out his cellular telephone, and punched the key that automatically dialed directory information.
“What city, please?”
“Fuck it,” Tony said, and punched the End key.
He backed out of the parking space, then left the parking lot, wondering what was the best way to get onto Interstate 76 this time of day.
“Jason,” he said, aloud, “if you want the last goddamn stone under the stone turned over, I’ll damned well turn the sonofabitch over.”
Ten minutes later, just as he turned onto I-76 West, his cellular buzzed.
“Harris.”
“Presumably you are aware of Professor Candelle’s-” Lieutenant Jason Washington’s unmistakable dulcet voice said.
“I was there.”
“And what are your plans now?”
“I’m thinking, Jason.”
“And may I inquire about what?”
“No. Not now.”
“May I dare to hope that when you feel comfortable in telling me, you will call?”
“Don’t hold your breath, Jason. This is probably one more blind alley.”
“Sometimes at the end of a blind alley, one finds a stone,” Washington began.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Lieutenant,” Tony interrupted. “I’ll write it down so that I won’t forget it.”
“Good afternoon, Detective Harris,” Washington said, and the hiss that followed told Harris Washington had hung up.
