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Autoren: Parnell Hall
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to do it. Which wasn’t that much of a surprise. Still, with that much money at stake, I had hoped at least to have appealed to her curiosity.
    While I was trying to think of another approach, my beeper went off.
    “Damn,” I said. “That will be the office calling me.”
    “The office?”
    “The law firm I work for. I gotta call in.”
    “You can use the phone in the kitchen,” she said.
    I went in the kitchen, called Rosenberg and Stone. Mary Mason gave me a sign-up at Jacoby Hospital in the Bronx. That was convenient—it was right on my way home. I took down the information, went to look for Amy Greenberg.
    She was out front in her car. She had backed out of the driveway so I could get out, and now she was sitting in the convertible and talking on the car phone.
    Damn.
    I had hoped to have one last crack at talking her into hiring me. But it was not to be. I waved to her, got in my car, backed out of the driveway, and drove off.
    In the rear-view mirror I could see her talking animatedly on the car phone, her smile wide, her eyes bright.
    She was probably talking about me.
    I could imagine her saying, “He was all, Why don’t you hire me? And I was all, Like, why?”
    Why indeed.

28.
    W HAT A HUMILIATING POSITION TO find oneself in. But the thing is, I needed the money. Well, that’s just part of it. The other part is, I just couldn’t let it alone. Couldn’t walk away. I mean, it’s easy to say, not being involved, hey, give it up, it’s got nothing to do with you.
    But the guy was my client. In a strange way, I owed him.
    Plus, he owed me.
    Which is where the humiliation comes in.
    Miriam Pritchert lived on East 78th Street in a modern high-rise apartment building, where the doorman in the lobby was mighty reluctant to let me in. The guy thought I was a cop, and figured the cops had bothered her enough.
    I persisted with the doorman, got the grieving widow on the phone, and talked my way upstairs.
    Miriam Pritchert was a bit of a surprise. I guess perversely I had expected someone four foot two. But, no, she was almost as tall as he was. I mean, proportionally. She wasn’t six six, but she was damn near six feet.
    She was also a knockout. A lean, attractive woman with straight brown hair that hung almost to her waist, she wore a pale blue sunsuit, a pair of running shoes, and a puzzled frown.
    “Mr. Hastings?” she said. Her tone indicated she didn’t believe it.
    “That’s right.”
    “You’re the one who called me on the phone.”
    The night of the murder. Right. At least she’d made the connection.
    “That’s right,” I said.
    “Well, come in, I guess. But just for a moment. I’m going out.”
    “I don’t want to keep you,” I said. “There are just a couple of matters to clear up.”
    “I don’t understand,” she said. But she ushered me into the living room, indicated a chair, and sat opposite me on the couch. “Now, what’s this all about?”
    “I’m sorry to intrude on you at a time like this. But your husband’s death left certain matters unresolved.”
    “What matters?”
    “I’m wondering how much you know?”
    “I know what the police told me. My husband was found in his office.” She looked at me. “In fact, you’re the one who found him. Isn’t that right?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Because he hired you to find some girl?”
    “That’s right.”
    “That’s really all I know. But what else is there?”
    “Well, I actually located the girl. She—”
    “Yes, yes, I know. She’s a topless dancer, she met my husband in a bar. I know all that. What I mean is, I don’t know why. It simply makes no sense.”
    “Your husband thought it might have something to do with the proxy fight.”
    “In what way?”
    “An attempt to embarrass him and lose him votes.”
    “That seems somewhat far-fetched.”
    “Perhaps. But that’s what he thought. I take it he never mentioned this to you?”
    “Getting picked up in a bar? I should think not.” She shifted position on the couch. “Mr. …?”
    “Hastings.”
    “Hastings. As I said, I’m going out. What you’ve told me is nothing new. And I don’t like going over it again. Was there anything else?”
    “Actually there was.”
    “Oh?”
    “As I said, your husband hired me to do a job. I’ve made considerable progress so far, locating not only the girl, but also her agent. Now both have disappeared. Leaving the job undone. I’m wondering if you’d like me to complete it.”
    “I beg your

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