Evan Hunter - Candyland

"Michael," Morgan reminds her.

"Who remembers names?" Josie says. "You think any of these guys is different to me from any of the others?"

" This guy got beat up by Harry last night."

"Oh, him."

"Comes the dawn," Morgan says.

"Remember him now?" Emma asks.

"Yeah. Michael. From L.A."

"Did he give you a last name?"

"Even the first name wasn't his. He got it from a kid he knew when he was six."

"What'd he look like?"

"Dark hair, brown eyes, nothing special. None of these guys are anything special."

"How tall?"

"Five-ten, eleven, something like that."

"Fat, skinny, what?"

"Average. A buck-sixty, a buck-seventy, in there."

"What'd you talk about?"

"He told me he was an architect. These guys all say they're something they ain't. You don't know how many Johns come up the salon and tell me they're diplomats at the U.N. They're all full of shit."

"What else did you talk about?"

"Fucking young girls," Josie says. "He likes to fuck young girls."

"He must've really dug Cathy then, huh?" Morgan says.

"Should've, but he didn't. He had his choice, he didn't pick her."

"How come?"

"Who knows? When he first came in, I thought he was gonna choose me, in fact. Gave me the once-over, you know the way they do…"

"But he did choose you," Emma says, puzzled.

"Not right then. He asked for me later. But not when he first came in. He looked me straight in the eye, and then he turned away to where Cathy was standing in the doorway to the back…"

… the long leggy look of a thirteen-year-old about her, cupcake breasts under a short, sheer, white, baby doll nightgown… the image of a precocious teeny-bopper. She was wearing high-heeled, white satin slippers with puffy white pom-poms. No panties. Long blond hair on her head. Blond hair shaved close below. Single gold tooth in the corner of her mouth. Lounging in a doorway that led to the further reaches of the apartment, an amber light glowing somewhere behind her. She threw him a sultry look when she was introduced as Heidi.

"But you say he didn't choose her."

"Nope. He asked who Cindy was…"

" And you are?

" Cindy. See anything you like?

" Yes. You."

"… and settled on her. They went upstairs alone together."

"Which one is Cindy?" Morgan asks. "Refresh my memory."

"Tall busty blond with frizzy hair."

"Right. What's her real name?"

" That's her real name! Crazy, am I right? To use it up there?"

"How'd you happen to get in the act?" Emma asks.

"What do you mean?"

"The three-way."

"Oh. He told Cindy he wanted both of us. He sent her downstairs for me."

"Changed his mind about you, huh?"

"I guess so."

"How come?"

"I have this strange mysterious power over men," she says, and winks at Morgan. He winks back.

"What else did he say about himself?" Emma asks.

"Not much."

"Did he say he was married? Single? Div…"

"I don't know about the married part, but he's got a twenty-one-year-old daughter."

"Where? Here in the city?"

"He didn't say."

"Did he mention where he was staying?"

"No."

"Was it with his daughter?"

"I have no idea."

"Or a hotel? Did he mention a hotel?"

"Not to me."

"To Cindy maybe?"

"They were alone for a while, who knows what lovers' secrets they whispered in each other's ears," Josie says, and narrows her eyes like Fatima the spy, and then grins slyly, as if she has just made a secret joke only Saddam Hussein would understand.

"Guess we'll have to ask her," Morgan says.

"Guess so," Josie says, and flips the reflector back under her chin again.

"Is she on our list?" Emma asks.

Morgan checks it. "No," he says. "You know where she lives, Josie?"

"Nope."

"Got her phone number?"

"Nope."

"What's her last name, would you know that?"

"Gee, I can't remember."

"Know how we can get in touch with her?"

"Sure," Josie says. Her eyes are closed, sunlight bounces off the foil reflector, highlighting her cheekbones. "Wait outside the salon at six tonight."

As they walk to where he parked the car, Morgan dials his office and asks his partner to hit the computer for an XS girl named Cindy, no last name. He listens for a moment, and then says, "Never mind after lunch, do it now, Lou, you have my number," and breaks the connection. "Wanted to wait till after lunch," he tells Emma. "You know what it is, he thinks this is just a dead hooker here, we don't have to break our balls on it, that's his thinking, there's no rush. Meanwhile, our guy has a seven-hour lead." He unlocks the door to the car. Emma takes off her jacket, tosses it onto the back seat. The moment he starts the car, she slides the window down on her side.

"I need an hour," she tells him.

Morgan turns to look at her, puzzled.

"I have to go see my husband. I'm sorry."

"Nothing we can do, anyway," Morgan says. "Not till somebody gets back to us."

"I wish we could get to this other girl sooner."

"Maybe Lou'll find something on the computer."

"By six tonight he'll have a twelve-hour lead."

"Look at the bright side," Morgan says. "If our guy's still in the city, he doesn't know we've got anything yet. The minute we find out where he is…"

"Our guy? Who's our guy, Jimmy? So far, we've only got a couple of names."

"That puts us ahead of the game," Morgan says. "Where should I drop you?"

"Forty-eighth and Madison."

"Thing you have to remember is these guys all lead double lives," Morgan says. "I know these guys, believe me. Michael, Stanley, whoever he is, he's probably got a wife and two kids, he's an insurance salesman lives in Larchmont. Most of them were abused one way or another when they were kids, they got bad memories go back half a century, all of them sex-related. It's the same with the girls. In her other life, Cathy Frese was a virgin in a white baby doll nightie, no panties, a shaved pussy. Heidi, hm? They all got some kind of gimmick, these girls. They all try to look like anything but a whore."

Emma is thinking that Cathy Frese wasn't wearing a baby doll nightgown when she saw her sprawled in that misty alleyway early this morning. Cathy Frese hadn't looked like a virgin and she hadn't looked like a whore, either. She had merely looked like any young woman who'd been brutally raped and murdered. Emma suddenly wonders if Morgan has any daughters of his own.

"You mentioned a mother-in-law," she says. "Are you still married?"

"Divorced for six years now."

"Any children?"

"A thirteen-year-old daughter. Drop-dead gorgeous and smart as hell. Well, she goes to St Mary's on the Mount, you know the school? Nuns, uniforms, the whole bit. They're very strict, but boy, is she learning! I get her every other weekend and on alternate holidays. I just had her for Easter, I'm getting her again this weekend. I hope this fuckin case doesn't run over."

"What's her name?"

"Fiona. My wife chose it. They look exactly alike. Long blond hair, blue eyes. She's a good-lookin woman, my ex. A bitch, but good-lookin."

"You still get along with her?"

"She hates me."

"Why?"

"Who knows? My daughter adores me, she hates me. Maybe she resents I'm such a good father." He nods, pleased with himself. "Who's your money on?" he asks. "Michael or Stanley?"

"So far they're both just names," Emma says. "How about you?"

"Michael, I think. Guy starts complaining about being short-changed, hits on Heidi and Bianca right after he comes down from a three-way upstairs, causes some kind of disturbance that gets him kicked out of the place, what does that sound like to you?"