The staked Goat

details of the transport via Delta Airlines. I thanked him and rang off.
    I called Delta to arrange my ticket, then called Dale Palmer’s number and got Larry. He apologized for being bitchy the night before. I said not to worry about it and asked about Martha. He said he hadn’t seen her since just after he spoke to me. I gave him my flight number. Larry said he or Dale would meet the plane and gave me a detailed description of both. I reciprocated and we hung up friendly if not friends.
    Lastly, I called Jesse and Emily. He answered with a tentative hello.
    ”Hi, Jesse.”
    ”Who is this?” he demanded.
    ”John Cuddy, Jesse. You called me. Last night sometime.”
    ”Oh, John, please excuse me. I... that is, we’ve been a little upset.”
    I felt my stomach turn maybe 15 degrees.
    ”What’s happened?” I asked.
    ”Well, yesterday the phone rang and Emily answered. Hold on, John, she’s right here, let me put her on so she can tell you.”
    ”John? Hello?” She sounded shaken.
    ”I’m here, Emily. What’s the trouble?”
    ”Well, yesterday about noontime, the phone rang. I picked it up and said ‘Hello’ and a man’s voice said ‘Hi, Emily. How are you?’ I said, ‘I’m fine.’ Before I could ask who it was, the voice said, real smooth and creamy, ‘That’s good.’ Then he hung up.”
    ”Was it Marco’s voice?”
    Jesse came back on. ”We couldn’t tell, it was so soft. The man, that is, spoke so softly.”
    ”Did you hear him too, Jesse?”
    I heard Jesse cough. ”Well, not that time, no, but he’s called four times since, and each time he asks me—I won’t let Emily answer anymore—he asks me how Emily is and then says ‘That’s good’ or ‘That’s nice.’ Then hangs up. In fact,” said Jesse haltingly, ”we get so few calls, I figured your call was him calling again.”
    ”Any sign of Marco?”
    ”We haven’t been out of the house since the first call. I looked up and down the street but I can’t tell from the window whether he’s out there.”
    ”All right,” I said. ”Here’s what I want you to do. Don’t answer the telephone unless it rings twice, stops, and rings immediately again. That’ll be me. I’m going to call some people. Then I’m going to drive over to you and check out the streets around you. O.K.?”
    I heard both of them speak. ”Right, O.K., thank you, John.”
    I hung up. I thumbed through the blue pages of the phone book for the police district station closest to the Coopers. I reached for a pen and realized that I hadn’t played back my telephone tape after my run. I rewound it, heard a message in reverse Donald-Duck talk, and replayed it. A short message.
    ”Hi, John, how are you? Oh, you’re fine. That’s nice.”
    Click.
    I looked up the Suffolk DA’s number.
     
    The secretary who answered Nancy Meagher’s phone said Nancy was on pretrials all morning. I thanked her and left a message that I’d appreciate a return call when she was available.
    I drummed my fingers on the desk, then called directory assistance for three area codes before I got the number for the Pentagon main switchboard, the last duty station I remembered J.T. having. I went through ten or twelve holds and transfers before I got ”Colonel Kivens’ office.”
    ”May I speak with him?”
    ”I’m sorry, but the Colonel is not available.” Her voice sounded as though she was reading instructions, a Stepford secretary.
    ”Do you know when he’ll be back?”
    ”I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say.”
    ”Is the next line in the script ‘I’ll be happy to take your name and number and ask him to call you’?”
    ”What?”
    At least an honest response. I couldn’t very well leave a ”your friend is dead” message, though. ”Just tell him John Cuddy called and will call again tomorrow.”
    ”Would you kindly spell that last name, please?”
    I did. And got a direct dial number back to him. I hung up, donned my coat, and headed outside.
    I walked to Park Square and rented a car to drive incognito to Jesse and Emily’s neighborhood. Their part of Dorchester had a simple, gridlike street pattern, with cars parked on both sides of each road. I edged the rent-a-car through the neighborhood in ever-decreasing concentric squares. Marco might have been there somewhere, but I couldn’t spot him.
    I drove down the Coopers’ short street and then back up it. I parallel-parked a few doors from their house and watched for fifteen minutes. Still no