anyway I could see Detective Campbell in the front passenger seat. I watched through the blinds as Campbell and his partner, Detective Cole, made their way up the stoop. When I opened the door, Campbell looked at my cap and shook his head sadly.
“Mind if we come in?” he said, redundantly showing me his badge.
Today he had on an old gabardine suit the color of split-pea soup, a midnight-blue shirt, and a peach-colored tie. I wondered if color-blindness was an impediment to police work.
“I was hoping you’d be able to stop by,” I said. “Won’t you gentlemen make yourselves comfortable?”
“We’d rather stand,” Campbell said. “It’s the only exercise we get. But you don’t mind if I light up, do you, Novalis? Prairie Flower is my brand these days. It’s herbal. You’ll find the aroma quite agreeable. It’s not dissimilar to some of the exotic blends I’m told you and your friends enjoy.”
I reminded him that I’d already had the pleasure.
“Detective Cole and I dropped by,” said Campbell, “to ask a few questions about the young lady who was here last night—Miss Smollett.”
My first thought was that someone had reported the dead man.
“Why would the Special Affairs Bureau be interested in Miss Smollett?”
“That’s privileged information,” said Campbell.
“I’ve had a lot of that thrown at me lately,” I said. “It doesn’t stick.”
“My question is,” Campbell continued, “how long have you known Miss Smollett, Novalis?”
“Since Tuesday afternoon.”
“And how did you come to know her?”
“I met her on the street.”
“You picked her up?”
“The other way around, if anything.”
“Wonders, as they say, will never cease. And where exactly was this?”
That was one I didn’t want to answer too precisely.
“In Little Italy. I don’t remember exactly where.”
“Little Italy? One of my favorite neighborhoods. Are we talking about Mulberry Street, perchance? Where there was an altercation in a delicatessen Tuesday afternoon? A deli which, as it happens, I often patronize. I’m especially fond of their mortadella.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. As I recall, I saw Miss Smollett somewhere just north of Canal and she asked the way to the Staten Island Ferry. I gave her very precise directions, but then we got sidetracked into a conversation about hemlines—how many inches above the knee is considered appropriate this season. You probably didn’t realize I’m an aficionado of women’s fashion. We found ourselves in a bar—the name escapes me. The World Series was on the television and we placed a friendly wager on the likelihood of Boog Powell striking out the next time he was at the plate. It seems Miss Smollett is a Baltimore fan, whereas of course I favored the Mets.”
“Which explains why you are now wearing a Yankees cap?”
“A gift from my ex-wife.”
“I used to root for the Giants,” said Campbell, gloomily.
I offered condolences.
“And how much time,” he continued, pulling himself together, “have you spent with Miss Smollett since this illegal wager?”
“As I think you know, she slept over Tuesday night. Last night too.”
“Does that mean she lost the bet?”
I passed on that one.
“And when did you last see her?” Campbell asked.
“This morning. She left fairly early—I don’t know quite when, and I don’t know where she was going, or if or when she’ll be back.”
“She was still headed for Staten Island, perhaps?”
“Possibly.”
“And am I to presume that this colorful suitcase is yours? And the fetching dress draped over the chair? Not to mention the dainty lingerie . . .”
“I guess she’ll be back for that stuff.”
“But you don’t know when?”
“I’m not a mind reader. I imagine she’s at work.”
“It seems she’s not going to the Alibi today.”
“Then you know more than I do. I have no idea where she is.”
“At her apartment, maybe?”
“I’ve never been to her
“Mind if we come in?” he said, redundantly showing me his badge.
Today he had on an old gabardine suit the color of split-pea soup, a midnight-blue shirt, and a peach-colored tie. I wondered if color-blindness was an impediment to police work.
“I was hoping you’d be able to stop by,” I said. “Won’t you gentlemen make yourselves comfortable?”
“We’d rather stand,” Campbell said. “It’s the only exercise we get. But you don’t mind if I light up, do you, Novalis? Prairie Flower is my brand these days. It’s herbal. You’ll find the aroma quite agreeable. It’s not dissimilar to some of the exotic blends I’m told you and your friends enjoy.”
I reminded him that I’d already had the pleasure.
“Detective Cole and I dropped by,” said Campbell, “to ask a few questions about the young lady who was here last night—Miss Smollett.”
My first thought was that someone had reported the dead man.
“Why would the Special Affairs Bureau be interested in Miss Smollett?”
“That’s privileged information,” said Campbell.
“I’ve had a lot of that thrown at me lately,” I said. “It doesn’t stick.”
“My question is,” Campbell continued, “how long have you known Miss Smollett, Novalis?”
“Since Tuesday afternoon.”
“And how did you come to know her?”
“I met her on the street.”
“You picked her up?”
“The other way around, if anything.”
“Wonders, as they say, will never cease. And where exactly was this?”
That was one I didn’t want to answer too precisely.
“In Little Italy. I don’t remember exactly where.”
“Little Italy? One of my favorite neighborhoods. Are we talking about Mulberry Street, perchance? Where there was an altercation in a delicatessen Tuesday afternoon? A deli which, as it happens, I often patronize. I’m especially fond of their mortadella.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. As I recall, I saw Miss Smollett somewhere just north of Canal and she asked the way to the Staten Island Ferry. I gave her very precise directions, but then we got sidetracked into a conversation about hemlines—how many inches above the knee is considered appropriate this season. You probably didn’t realize I’m an aficionado of women’s fashion. We found ourselves in a bar—the name escapes me. The World Series was on the television and we placed a friendly wager on the likelihood of Boog Powell striking out the next time he was at the plate. It seems Miss Smollett is a Baltimore fan, whereas of course I favored the Mets.”
“Which explains why you are now wearing a Yankees cap?”
“A gift from my ex-wife.”
“I used to root for the Giants,” said Campbell, gloomily.
I offered condolences.
“And how much time,” he continued, pulling himself together, “have you spent with Miss Smollett since this illegal wager?”
“As I think you know, she slept over Tuesday night. Last night too.”
“Does that mean she lost the bet?”
I passed on that one.
“And when did you last see her?” Campbell asked.
“This morning. She left fairly early—I don’t know quite when, and I don’t know where she was going, or if or when she’ll be back.”
“She was still headed for Staten Island, perhaps?”
“Possibly.”
“And am I to presume that this colorful suitcase is yours? And the fetching dress draped over the chair? Not to mention the dainty lingerie . . .”
“I guess she’ll be back for that stuff.”
“But you don’t know when?”
“I’m not a mind reader. I imagine she’s at work.”
“It seems she’s not going to the Alibi today.”
“Then you know more than I do. I have no idea where she is.”
“At her apartment, maybe?”
“I’ve never been to her
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