A Body to die for

phone out. “It’s for you.” I put the receiver to my ear. “Mallory,” I barked. “Falcone,” said the phone.
    “Detective,” I cooed.
    “Watson’s escaped. I thought you might know where he is.”
     

The Swamps of Jersey
     
     
    I took the cordless phone into the bedroom. Falcone said, “He’s running, Mallory. I have to assume he’s running to you.”
    I checked the closets. No Jack. Just a few suits. I also saw a piece of paper taped to my side of the hanger rod. It read: “Fill me.” Max’s little jibe to get me to unpack. “He’s not here, Falcone,” I said. “If you want to send someone over to make sure, go ahead.” I checked under the bed. I found nothing but a dried hair ball.
    Falcone said, “A cruiser should be arriving at your place in any second.”
    “Thanks for the warning,” I said, “not that I need it.” Max came into the bedroom and raised his eyebrows at me. I waved him back into the living room. He didn’t move. I looked out the window. Sure enough, I could make out some flashing blue lights up the block. No siren. I mouthed to Max, “Get rid of Freddie.”
    Max whispered back, “Get Syd a teddie?” I rolled my eyes. I pointed into the living room. Max got it and left the bedroom.
    “Mallory?” the phone asked. “What’s going on over there?”
    “Nothing,” I said. “I had a cramp.”
    “Feel better?” she asked.
    “Not really.” Why had Jack done it? Running was like an admission of guilt. But guilty of what? Disturbing the peace? Big patootie. “How’d he do it?” I asked Falcone. The cruiser was on my block now, slowly swimming toward my building like a shark.
    “He claimed to be having a claustrophobic seizure, and flung himself on the cell floor, twitching,” she said.
    A claustrophobic seizure? “I guess he needed his medication bad,” I tried.
    “Medication for a condition that doesn’t exist,” she retorted. “Jack did a fine job of scaring the guard to death. He threw himself into the bars. Bloodied his nose. Officer Martinez got backup, but when the guards entered the cell to restrain him, Watson karate kicked each of them in the solar plexus and then sprinted out of the Detention Center. He’s fast, the guards tell me.”
    Assaulting police officers.Escaping jail. Jack was in bigger trouble than he could possibly imagine. I can see the Daily Mirror headlines now: Double Fault for Former Tennis Star. I hoped he was all right.
    The buzzer fzzzzz ed. “You’ll have to excuse me,” I said politely. “Some unexpected guests have arrived.”
    “They’ll shoot first, Mallory.”
    “Just as long as they ask questions later,” I said. “My landlord isn’t going to like this.”
    “Too bad,” she grunted. “For the last time, Mallory, stay out of this. Leave Ameleth Bergen alone. Her business doesn’t concern you.” Then she hung up.
    I looked at the dead receiver. Had we been talking about Ameleth? I sulked back into the living room. Max sat on the couch, nervously stroking Otis. I cocked an eyebrow. He said, “Freddie’s gone. What the fuck is going on here?”
    “You didn’t hear the buzzer?” I complained as I opened the door to let the cops in. Syd ran inside. I nearly tripped.
    “First day with the new legs?” Max asked by rote. “And who the hell is buzzing us at twelve-thirty on a school night?”
    “The Avon lady,” I said. “Or your mother.” The buzzer sounded again. “In a second,” I yelled and ran downstairs.
    There were two of them: uniform dunderheads with greasy hair and big necks. Freddie was nowhere in sight, so I figured he’d made it around the corner. I said, “I’ve just warmed the toddies. Come on in.” They sneered.
    Max and I stood in the kitchen while the cops combed our apartment. I didn’t mind. A sweeping would have been better. The one with the hairy nostrils even checked the fridge.
    I asked, “You ever hear of an ex-cop named Ergort?” This inspired squeaks of laughter.
    He yelled to his comrade in the bedroom, “Hey, Frankie. This broad wants to know if we know an ex-cop named Ergort.”
    The cop called Frankie swaggered into the kitchen. He checked the fridge, too. He tittered with his buddy and then said, “Yeah, I know him. Scrawny wuss. Got beat up by a female perp and quit. Toothpick jerk-off.”
    I said, “The guy I know has boils bigger than you.”
    “Must not be the same asshole,” Hairy said. He helped himself to a beer. “You got any Brooklyn