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“Hell, Pat, that’s where Levitt comes from.”

“So do a couple million other people. We’ll wait it out. All I knew was that it was an open phone, not a booth unless the door was left open, and probably in a bar. I could hear general background talk and a juke going.”

“We’ll wait that one out then. He has something on his mind.”

“They usually call again,” Pat said. “You have anything special?”

“Some ideas.”

“When do I hear them?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“I’ll stand by.”

When I hung up I stared at the phone, then leaned my face into my hands trying to make the ends meet in my mind. Screwy, that’s all I could think of. Screwy, but it was making sense.

The phone rang once, jarring me out of my thought. I picked it up, said hello, and the voice that answered was tense. “Geraldine King, Mike. Can you come out here right away?”

“What’s up, Geraldine?”

She was too agitated to try to talk. She simply said, “Please, Mike, come right away. Now. It’s very important.” Then she gave me no choice. She hung up.

I wrote a note to Velda telling where I was going and that I’d head right back for the apartment when I was done, then left it in the middle of her desk.

Downstairs I cut around back of the cop assigned to watch me, took the side way out without being seen, and picked up a cruising cab at the street corner. The rain was heavier now, a steady, straight-down New York rain that always seemed to come in with the trouble. Heading north on the West Side Highway I leaned back into the cushions and tried to grab a nap. Sleep was out of the question, even for a little while, so I just sat there and remembered back to those last seven years when forgetting was such a simple thing to do.

All you needed was a bottle.

The cop on the beat outside Torrence’s house checked my identity before letting me go through. Two reporters were already there talking to a plainclothesman and a fire captain, but not seeming to be getting much out of either one of them.

Geraldine King met me at the door, her face tight and worried.

I said, “What happened?”

“Sue’s place . . . it burned.”

“What about the kid?”

“She’s all right. I have her upstairs in bed. Come on inside.”

“No, let’s see that building first.”

She pulled a sweater on and closed the door behind us. Floodlights on the grounds illuminated the area, the rain slanting through it obliquely.

There wasn’t much left, just charred ruins and the concrete foundation. Fire hoses and the rain had squelched every trace of smoldering except for one tendril of smoke that drifted out of one corner, and I could see the remains of the record player and the lone finger that was her microphone stand. Scattered across the floor were tiny bits of light bouncing back from the shattered mirror that had lined the one wall. But there was nothing else. Whatever had been there was gone now.

I said, “We can go back now.”

When we were inside Geraldine made us both a drink and stood in the den looking out the window. I let her wait until she was ready to talk, finishing half my drink on the way. Finally she said, “This morning Sue came inside. I . . . don’t know what started it, but she came out openly and accused Mr. Torrence of having killed her mother. She kept saying her mother told her.”

“How could she say her mother told her she was murdered when she was alive to tell her?” I interrupted.

“I know, I know, but she insisted her mother wrote something and she was going to find it. You know she kept all her mother’s old personal things out there.”

“Yes, I saw some of them.”

“Mr. Torrence is in the middle of an important campaign. He was quite angry and wanted this thing settled once and for all, so while Sue was in here he went out and went through her things, trying to prove that there was nothing.

“Sue must have seen him from upstairs. She came down crying, ran outside, and told him to leave. Neither one of us could quiet her down. She locked herself inside and wouldn’t come out and as long as she was there we didn’t worry about it. This .