thanks. Say, Jon? Just now Lee said something about
installing a lift on the stairs. Do you know anything about that?"
"Yes, well, I thought it might not be a bad idea."
"I agree. I suggested it three or four months ago and she nearly bit my head off."
"Did she? Well, times change. I admit I did bitch--a
small bitch, a gentle bitch--about the state of my knees on those
stairs. And, er, I also pointed out that she could probably deduct the
depreciated cost of it as a business expense, now she's working
again." Jon studied his fingernails for a moment and then looked
up through his eyelashes at her--difficult to do, as he was four
inches taller than she. Kate began reluctantly to grin, shaking her
head.
"By God, you're a sly one. And she fell for it.
I'd never have believed it." He laughed and whisked the
glasses off the counter. "Jon?" He turned in the doorway.
"Good work. Thanks." He nodded, then went to join Lee in
front of the television.
An hour later, Linda Ronstadt was bouncing around a moonlit garden
in her nightie, flirting with her pirate, when the phone rang. Kate
picked it up in the kitchen, where she had retreated with a stack of
unread newspapers.
"Martinelli."
"This is Professor Eve Whitlaw, returning your call." The voice was low, calm, and English.
"Yes, Dr. Whitlaw, thank you for phoning. I am the--"
"Is that pirates?"
"Sorry?"
"The music you're listening to. It is, yes. Not perhaps
their best, but it has a few delicious moments. You were saying."
"Er, yes. I am Inspector Kate Martinelli of the San Francisco
Police Department. We are investigating a murder that occurred recently
in Golden Gate Park. The reason I am calling you is that one of the
persons involved refers to himself as a 'fool," and I was
told by the dean of the Church Divinity School of the Pacific over in
Berkeley that you might be able to tell me exactly what this man means
when he uses that description." By the time Kate reached the end
of this convoluted request, she was feeling something of a fool
herself, and the sensation was reinforced by the long and ringing
silence on the other end of the line.
"Dr. Whit--"
"You've arrested a Fool for murder?" the English voice said incredulously.
"He is not under arrest. At most, he's a weak suspect.
However, he's a problem to us because it's very difficult
to understand what he's doing here. The interviews we've
held have been... unsatisfactory."
The deep voice chuckled. "I can imagine. He answers your
questions, but his answers are, shall we say, ambiguous. Even
enigmatic."
"Thank God," Kate burst out. "You do understand."
"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but I may be able
to throw a bit of light into your darkness. When may I meet this fool
of yours?"
"You want to meet him?"
"My dear young woman, would you ask a paleontologist if she
would care to meet a dinosaur? Of course I must meet him. Is he in
jail?"
"No, at the moment he's in Berkeley. He will be back in
San Francisco by Saturday, I think, and I could put my hands on him by
Sunday. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting on Monday?"
"Not until then? Ah well, it can't be helped, I suppose.
However, my dear, if you lose him, I shall find it very hard."
There was a thread of steel beneath the jovial words, and Kate had a
vivid picture of an elderly teacher she'd once had, a nun who
used to punish tardiness and forgotten homework with an astonishingly
painful rap on the skull with a thimble.
"I'll try not to lose him," she said. "But I wonder if before then you and I could meet."
"A brief tutorial might well be in order. Tomorrow will be
difficult, the entire afternoon is rather solidly booked. Let me look
at my diary. Hmm. I do have a space in the early afternoon. What about
one--no, shall we say twelve-thirty?"
Dr. Whitlaw gave Kate an address in Noe Valley and the house telephone number, wished her enjoyment of the remainder of
Pirates,
and hung up. Kate obediently poured herself a tiny glass of the syrupy
port and
installing a lift on the stairs. Do you know anything about that?"
"Yes, well, I thought it might not be a bad idea."
"I agree. I suggested it three or four months ago and she nearly bit my head off."
"Did she? Well, times change. I admit I did bitch--a
small bitch, a gentle bitch--about the state of my knees on those
stairs. And, er, I also pointed out that she could probably deduct the
depreciated cost of it as a business expense, now she's working
again." Jon studied his fingernails for a moment and then looked
up through his eyelashes at her--difficult to do, as he was four
inches taller than she. Kate began reluctantly to grin, shaking her
head.
"By God, you're a sly one. And she fell for it.
I'd never have believed it." He laughed and whisked the
glasses off the counter. "Jon?" He turned in the doorway.
"Good work. Thanks." He nodded, then went to join Lee in
front of the television.
An hour later, Linda Ronstadt was bouncing around a moonlit garden
in her nightie, flirting with her pirate, when the phone rang. Kate
picked it up in the kitchen, where she had retreated with a stack of
unread newspapers.
"Martinelli."
"This is Professor Eve Whitlaw, returning your call." The voice was low, calm, and English.
"Yes, Dr. Whitlaw, thank you for phoning. I am the--"
"Is that pirates?"
"Sorry?"
"The music you're listening to. It is, yes. Not perhaps
their best, but it has a few delicious moments. You were saying."
"Er, yes. I am Inspector Kate Martinelli of the San Francisco
Police Department. We are investigating a murder that occurred recently
in Golden Gate Park. The reason I am calling you is that one of the
persons involved refers to himself as a 'fool," and I was
told by the dean of the Church Divinity School of the Pacific over in
Berkeley that you might be able to tell me exactly what this man means
when he uses that description." By the time Kate reached the end
of this convoluted request, she was feeling something of a fool
herself, and the sensation was reinforced by the long and ringing
silence on the other end of the line.
"Dr. Whit--"
"You've arrested a Fool for murder?" the English voice said incredulously.
"He is not under arrest. At most, he's a weak suspect.
However, he's a problem to us because it's very difficult
to understand what he's doing here. The interviews we've
held have been... unsatisfactory."
The deep voice chuckled. "I can imagine. He answers your
questions, but his answers are, shall we say, ambiguous. Even
enigmatic."
"Thank God," Kate burst out. "You do understand."
"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but I may be able
to throw a bit of light into your darkness. When may I meet this fool
of yours?"
"You want to meet him?"
"My dear young woman, would you ask a paleontologist if she
would care to meet a dinosaur? Of course I must meet him. Is he in
jail?"
"No, at the moment he's in Berkeley. He will be back in
San Francisco by Saturday, I think, and I could put my hands on him by
Sunday. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting on Monday?"
"Not until then? Ah well, it can't be helped, I suppose.
However, my dear, if you lose him, I shall find it very hard."
There was a thread of steel beneath the jovial words, and Kate had a
vivid picture of an elderly teacher she'd once had, a nun who
used to punish tardiness and forgotten homework with an astonishingly
painful rap on the skull with a thimble.
"I'll try not to lose him," she said. "But I wonder if before then you and I could meet."
"A brief tutorial might well be in order. Tomorrow will be
difficult, the entire afternoon is rather solidly booked. Let me look
at my diary. Hmm. I do have a space in the early afternoon. What about
one--no, shall we say twelve-thirty?"
Dr. Whitlaw gave Kate an address in Noe Valley and the house telephone number, wished her enjoyment of the remainder of
Pirates,
and hung up. Kate obediently poured herself a tiny glass of the syrupy
port and
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