The staked Goat

would switch me to a supervisor. As I waited for the connection, I cursed myself for not pursuing the blind date opening and getting Carol’s number from Martha.
    ”Hello, Supervisor Seven speaking, may I help you?”
    I re-explained the situation to Supervisor Seven. ”I’m sorry,” she replied, ”but I cannot provide any information beyond that listed in the directory.”
    When you face that kind of answer, your options are several but limited. You can blow up and slam down the receiver. You can ask to go above that person’s head, with the person usually poisoning his or her superior against you before you get to speak to the superior. Or you can try a different tack.
    I decided to tack. ”Look,” I said, ”my best friend from the service was killed here. I’m really concerned for his wife, widow, but I’m not about to send a police car to her home. Can you do this? Can you crosscheck the addresses of the ”C. Krauses” and ”C. Emmers” against the address of ”A. Sachs” and tell me which Krause or Emmer lives closest?”
    I heard the supervisor speak to someone off the phone. The supervisor came back on. ”If this is a test by Internal Operations, I will personally rip your dialing finger off.”
    I gave a little laugh. I had discovered a human being. ”It isn’t, and I really appreciate your help.” Twenty seconds or so passed before the supervisor came back on. ”We show a C. Krause on the same street as A. Sachs, probably just a few houses away. Here’s the number.”
    I took it down and thanked her again. I called the number and got a pick-up on the fifth ring.
    ”Hullo.” The voice of a small boy.
    ”Can I speak to your mom?”
    ”She’s at work.”
    ”It’s very important that I reach her. Can you give me her telephone number there?”
    ”No. Mom said never to give out that information.” Click.
    This time I chose option number one. I slammed down the receiver.
    I kept trying Martha’s line every fifteen minutes or so. Busy for two and a half hours. I finally got a ring through about eight o’clock.
    ”Sachs residence.” It was a lilting male voice. ”May I speak with Martha Sachs, please?”
    ”Fm so sorry, but she can’t come to the phone just now. Who is this please?”
    ”John Cuddy. If you’re there, I take it you know about Al.”
    ”Yes.” There was a catch in his voice. ”You’re the bastard from Boston who gave her the news sledgehammer style.”
    Before I could respond, I heard a brief muttered argument and another male voice came on. ”Hello, Mr. Cuddy?”
    I sighed. ”Yes, who is this?”
    ”Dale Palmer. Please excuse Larry, we were all close friends and neighbors of Al, and...”
    ”That’s all right. Forget it. Is Martha in shape to talk?”
    ”Ah, yes.” He lowered his voice and said, ”But I don’t... When Carol—do you know Carol?”
    ”Only by name.”
    ”Well, when Carol called from the lounge, she got me. Naturally, I rushed over, leaving a note for Larry. I’ve been with her, Martha that is, since five, and she hasn’t shed a tear. She just keeps writing on a list.”
    ”A list?”
    ”Yes. A list of things to do. About Al.” He stifled a sob. ”I tell you, it’s like she was morosely planning a vacation. It’s breaking my heart.”
    He sounded sincere, and I found myself clamping my jaw again. ”Listen, Dale, I’ll take care of claiming the body and transporting it to Pittsburgh. Is there a funeral home there Martha would want to use?”
    ”I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
    ”Good. How can I reach you?”
    ”Well, one of us, Larry or I, will be here until Carol, who’s really Martha’s best friend, gets off work. I’ll give you our home number and Carol’s, since I’ll be either here, at Carol’s watching her son, Kenny, or at home.”
    Dale sounded like he had an orderly mind and reeled off the numbers, one of which I already had.
    ”I’ll call you when I have more information,” I said.
    ”Thanks, Mr. Cuddy.”
    ”John.”
    ”John, thanks for your help and...”
    ”Forget it. He was my friend before he was yours.”
    ”Good-bye.”
    I felt like having a good drink and a good cry. But I had a lot yet to do. I called a college classmate named George who had gone into the funeral business with his father. George said he would take care of the arrangements and call me with the details.
    I then bundled up and headed back to the Midtown.
     
    The same kid was behind the desk. Same blazer, same tie,