Лоуренс Блок - Ariel

“Probably not.”

“Anyway, she made the call. You know my mother. God help anybody who tries to tell her it’s against policy to give out information, blah blah blah. She got his name and address and a description of the car, and it was the same car, a maroon and black Buick Electra. Then she said she’d drive me out there so I could return the hubcap.”

“Did you go?”

“She couldn’t take me right away, and I said maybe I’d go by bus instead. I think she was afraid I would get lost, but she didn’t come right out and say so, and she just told me to call first.”

“So you called them?”

“I pretended to. I looked up the number in the phone book, and that’s when I saw the office listing on Meeting Street. Then I went out and walked past the office, just to be doing something, and I kept walking and wound up seeing a movie at the theater on King near George. The Olympia. They really ought to call it the King George. There were two science fiction movies and I got there in the middle of one and walked out in the middle of the other. I left the hubcap under my seat.”

“Clever.”

“Well, I had to ditch it somewhere. I wasn’t going to try putting it back on the car on Savage Street.”

“He’ll be missing a hubcap and never know it played a part in a larger drama.”

“It’s a shame we can’t tell him. Anyway, I came home and later that night she asked me if Mr. Channing gave me a reward. I said no, and she said didn’t he even reimburse me for my busfare, and I said no because I wasn’t thinking too fast, and she said that was terrible and she had a good notion to give him a piece of her mind.”

“Did she call him?”

“She was getting ready to. Then I managed to tell her that a kid answered the door and took the hubcap, and of course the kid didn’t think to give me money, and I didn’t really want any money anyway. And she said why didn’t I say so in the first place, and of course I would have if I’d thought of it, but I just mumbled something and went upstairs.”

“That’s amazing,” she said. She thought for a moment. “There were other things you said before. About him being a lawyer.”

“It said so in the phone book.”

“And his wife’s name, and his kids.”

“Elaine and Greta and Deborah. I got that over the phone yesterday afternoon.”

“What did you do, pretend you were taking a survey?”

“No. I called up and asked to speak to Margaret Channing.”

“And?”

“And the woman who answered said there was no Margaret there, and she didn’t know of any Margaret Channing in the Charleston area, that her name was Elaine Channing. Then I said Margaret was a kid, and she said her daughters were named Greta and Deborah. For the hell of it I asked her if she had a son and she said she didn’t. I thought of asking her if her husband was a pervert but I decided against it.”

“Probably wise of you.”

“That’s what I figured.”

She got up, turned on Erskine’s short-wave radio, waited for the tubes to warm up. “Jeffrey Channing,” she said. “Who is he? Why is he following me around?”

“He wasn’t exactly following you. It’s more like lurking in ambush.”

“Terrific. How old are his kids?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Maybe I used to know them. I think I remember where Fontenoy Drive is. It’s not far from our old house. Maybe I went to school with Greta and Deborah.”

“We could find out.”

“How?”

“We could take the bus out there tomorrow after school. Or we could wait for the weekend.”

“I suppose so.”

“Or there’s a faster way. C’mon.”

He used the phone in his mother’s room on the second floor, dialing the number rapidly, asking to speak to Greta. ”This is Graham Littlefield, Mrs. Channing. I’m in Greta’s class in school.... Hi, Greta. It’s Graham. Sure you do. Look, I’m having a party and I wanted to check how old you are. Uh-huh. When’s your birthday? And you’ll be ten then? Thanks. Oh, by the way, how old is Deborah? Your sister. Right, Debbie. Okay, thanks a lot, Greta. See you tomorrow.”

He replaced the receiver and looked up in triumph. “Greta’s nine. She’ll be ten the eleventh of February. Don’t forget to send her a card.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I know. Debbie’s the younger one. That’s what they call her, not Deborah, and when I called her Deborah Greta giggled. She does that a lot. Debbie’s six and a half, going on seven. Why do people say that, do you suppose? Everybody who’s six and a half is going on seven.”

“I guess I didn’t know them. They’re a lot younger.”

“I guess not.”

“How come you said Graham Littlefield?”

“Well, I had to say something. Now she’ll spend the next few days trying to figure out which kid is Graham. And waiting for an invitation to his party.”

“Then she’ll read in the paper when you kill Graham and she’ll get suspicious.”

“When I kill Graham — oh, right, I forgot that conversation. Maybe that’s why I used his name. It’s easier than killing him. We could still go look at Channing’s house tomorrow or Saturday. If you want.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. Same reason the bear went over the mountain, I suppose. To see what he could see.”

“Maybe.” She was impressed with what he’d found out, and she decided to let him know it. “You’re a good detective,” she said. “You’re really great over the phone. And I never would have thought of that business with the hubcap.”

He flushed, pleased. “I have my methods,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get back upstairs. The radio’s on.”

He led the way, taking the attic stairs at top speed...

A little later she said, “Erskine? I was just thinking.”

“It’s a nasty habit.”

“So’s picking your nose.”

“I wasn’t picking my nose.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, did you ever stop and think that people say it’s disgusting if you pick your nose, but suppose you never picked your nose and you just sort of let all that crud collect in there. Wouldn’t that be even more disgusting?”

“That’s the grossest and most revolting thing you’ve said in weeks.”

“But if you think about it—”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Anyway, you’re the one who brought up nosepicking.”

“I’ll never do it again.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Oh. About you being a detective and all. It was just a thought, actually.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe a detective could find out who my real parents were. That’s all.” She looked away. “It was just a thought that came to me.”

The Child Placement Service of Greater Charleston occupied a suite of offices on the top floor of a three-story suburban office building on Sam Rittenberg Boulevard. The corporate motto, painted on the frosted glass outer door, was “Bringing Parent and Child Together.” Jeff read it and thought of alternatives. “Caveat Adoptor” had a nice classical ring to it, he thought. Or Roberta’s phrase — “You Never Know What You’re Getting.”

In the sparsely furnished waiting room he leafed through a National Geographic. Instead of paying any mind to the pictures of Cecropia moths and Trobriand Islanders, he kept seeing Ariel’s pale face as he’d seen it Friday from his car. That moment when she turned and met his eyes with her own was engraved firmly in his memory. If he closed his eyes he could see her as he’d seen her then, could recall in all its flavor the sense of déjà vu he’d experienced at the time. As if this were a face he’d known before, in dreams or in another lifetime.