back at her with the sort of wonder that I always feel when I realize that the girl sitting across from me, the girl with whom I'm about to share not only a bed but a history -a portion of my life and my past- has a life and a past of her own. I imagine that people who have lived together for decades must feel it, too. Must look up, now and then, and see a stranger sitting across from them-another person who will never quite fit the history that the two of them have created together. I suppose if you ever lose that sense of mystery -because that's what it is, folks the relationship dies. I didn't know how long she'd stay interested in me, but I had the feeling that even a detective could spend a long while finding Kate Davis out.
I think we might have held hands across the tabletop, if Ringold hadn't ambled up with his famous list.
"Here it is," he said, eyeing us suspiciously. "Kate and Jessie have culled it thoroughly and they've come up with four possible male suspects and six female ... what shall I say? Victims?" He slapped the list on the table between us like a gavel. "I did what you asked and called the police. I've also contacted the other branches about the possible mutilation of their art books. Now what have you got to report to me?"
"Good news," I said. "I think we've got a description of the Ripper."
I thought he might swoon. He rocked on his heels and his eyes got very large; then he broke into a big, sheepish grin.
"That is good news," he said with genuine cheer. "My gosh, how did you do it?"
"A little detective work," I said and winked at Kate. "And some very good luck. Twyla Belton was not only an art student, she was a very good artist. And she may have left one sketch of the Ripper behind her."
"What does he look like?" he said curiously.
"I don't know."
Ringold made a confused face, as if he weren't quite sure I wasn't twitting him again.
"What I've got, Leon," I said. "Is a sketch of a tattoo on the Ripper's forearm. But if it is him, it's distinctive enough to be used to make a positive I.D. All we have to do is find which one of the four people on our list has that tattoo on his arm and we'll have our killer."
"Wonderful!" Ringold said and clapped his hands. Then he looked confused again. "What if he's not on our list?"
"According to Dr. Howell, the man we want is likely to have a history of violent behavior. I've already contacted Al Foster at Central Station, and he's going to run our description through C.I.D. They'll cross-check their records and come up with a tidy list of felons who have this kind of tattoo on their forearms. There won't be a lot of them I guarantee you, because it's a distinctive design."
"Spare me," Ringold said.
He turned to go, whirled back around on his heels, cleared his throat, pinched the knot in his tie as if it were a tiny microphone, and said, "You've done a very good job." He nodded to Kate and added, "Both of you."
He walked briskly away, back to his office, leaving Kate staring after him with her mouth ajar.
"You'll catch flies," I said to her.
She shook her head and said, "I just never expected to hear that." She beamed at me. "Thanks. I'll pay you back sometime."
"How 'bout tonight?"
She pulled at her frilly white blouse and said, "How 'bout right now?"
I grinned at her. "Woman, you keep surprising me."
"You're still too hung up, Harry," she said with grave authority. "You're not impetuous enough. You're not allowing
your natural child to have a good time."
I shook my head and she laughed. "Tonight will be fine," Kate Davis said.
We went through the list name by name, Kate, Miss Moselle and I. Sitting about the little desk behind the circulation counter. With Miss Moselle's box of index cards at her side. the application forms didn't really tell us much more than names, addresses, and birthdates. But Miss Moselle had "a little something," as she put it, on most of the library's patrons. Who took what from where. Who was habitually
I think we might have held hands across the tabletop, if Ringold hadn't ambled up with his famous list.
"Here it is," he said, eyeing us suspiciously. "Kate and Jessie have culled it thoroughly and they've come up with four possible male suspects and six female ... what shall I say? Victims?" He slapped the list on the table between us like a gavel. "I did what you asked and called the police. I've also contacted the other branches about the possible mutilation of their art books. Now what have you got to report to me?"
"Good news," I said. "I think we've got a description of the Ripper."
I thought he might swoon. He rocked on his heels and his eyes got very large; then he broke into a big, sheepish grin.
"That is good news," he said with genuine cheer. "My gosh, how did you do it?"
"A little detective work," I said and winked at Kate. "And some very good luck. Twyla Belton was not only an art student, she was a very good artist. And she may have left one sketch of the Ripper behind her."
"What does he look like?" he said curiously.
"I don't know."
Ringold made a confused face, as if he weren't quite sure I wasn't twitting him again.
"What I've got, Leon," I said. "Is a sketch of a tattoo on the Ripper's forearm. But if it is him, it's distinctive enough to be used to make a positive I.D. All we have to do is find which one of the four people on our list has that tattoo on his arm and we'll have our killer."
"Wonderful!" Ringold said and clapped his hands. Then he looked confused again. "What if he's not on our list?"
"According to Dr. Howell, the man we want is likely to have a history of violent behavior. I've already contacted Al Foster at Central Station, and he's going to run our description through C.I.D. They'll cross-check their records and come up with a tidy list of felons who have this kind of tattoo on their forearms. There won't be a lot of them I guarantee you, because it's a distinctive design."
"Spare me," Ringold said.
He turned to go, whirled back around on his heels, cleared his throat, pinched the knot in his tie as if it were a tiny microphone, and said, "You've done a very good job." He nodded to Kate and added, "Both of you."
He walked briskly away, back to his office, leaving Kate staring after him with her mouth ajar.
"You'll catch flies," I said to her.
She shook her head and said, "I just never expected to hear that." She beamed at me. "Thanks. I'll pay you back sometime."
"How 'bout tonight?"
She pulled at her frilly white blouse and said, "How 'bout right now?"
I grinned at her. "Woman, you keep surprising me."
"You're still too hung up, Harry," she said with grave authority. "You're not impetuous enough. You're not allowing
your natural child to have a good time."
I shook my head and she laughed. "Tonight will be fine," Kate Davis said.
We went through the list name by name, Kate, Miss Moselle and I. Sitting about the little desk behind the circulation counter. With Miss Moselle's box of index cards at her side. the application forms didn't really tell us much more than names, addresses, and birthdates. But Miss Moselle had "a little something," as she put it, on most of the library's patrons. Who took what from where. Who was habitually
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