True-Life Adventure

calls— Brissette, at least, had gotten some kind of call that summoned him to the staircase. If these calls were a pattern, that meant we were dealing with some kind of crazy. If he threatened to kill people unless they told him where Lindsay was, and then did it, that meant he was nuts.
    But the nuts theory didn’t explain either Birnbaum’s murder or the attempts on me. It was probably about as good as all the other theories I’d had in this case. Useless. Which was how I felt.
    I called Joan, half hoping she’d be in distress so I could rescue her. “Are you okay?” I said, as if she’d just lived through a six-car collision.
    “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She sounded as if she had her own nuts theory.
    “There’s a weirdo about. Someone assaulted Sardis and Susanna got a threatening call.”
    “I’m sorry to hear it, Paul, but I don’t see what it’s got to do with me.”
    “The weirdo’s looking for Lindsay.”
    “How do you know it’s the same person?”
    “I don’t. But if it’s two, that doubles the danger. Don’t you see that?”
    “What are you trying to say?”
    “I just thought maybe you could go away for a few days. After all, Susanna’s married and Sardis—” I stopped.
    I was about to say Sardis had me to protect her, but I remembered it was a secret. “I’ll try to get Sardis to go too. Maybe you could stay with a friend.”
    Joan laughed her crazy laugh. “Paul, it’s very sweet of you to be concerned, but I really don’t think I have anything to worry about.”
    A cool customer, that one. “Okay. Whatever you say. Incidentally, did you see Lindsay the night before she left?”
    “Incidentally! Incidentally, my ass. Who do you think you are, calling up and giving me that song and dance to soften me up before you ask what you really want to know?”
    “Joan, I assure you—”
    “How dumb do you think I am, Mr. Hotshot Reporter? I have to deal with people in business every day and I have seen a shabby trick or two in my life. Nobody’s more shameless or has less conscience than your average banker— they’re so used to lying and cheating they’ll tell you it’s midnight while the noon whistle’s blowing and not even get embarrassed about it. That’s just how they operate normally, but in my case they pile it on a little higher because I’m a woman and they think I’m even more gullible than your garden-variety sucker. So I’m used to jerks like you, only a lot more high-powered and smarter. Just what do you think you’re trying to pull?”
    “I’m not trying to pull anything. I just wondered—”
    “You just wondered. Well, you can just wonder some more. It’s none of your damned business, anyway.”
    She hung up.
    Of course, if she were the Hunan mystery woman, I hadn’t really expected her to tell me so. On the other hand, I certainly hadn’t expected to be compared to every huckster in the sordid circles Joan apparently moved in.
    If I’d thought I felt bad before, I was an innocent child. This was shaping up as easily the worst day of my life, and it wasn’t nearly over yet. There was only one thing to do.
    I looked at my watch. Joey and I had gotten back from lunch at three and it was now approaching four. For most people that’s a great time to knock off early, but at the Chronicle it was one hour before deadline. It wasn’t going to be easy to entice Debbie Hofer to the nearest bar.
    That was what I thought, but it wasn’t as hard as all that. She was softened up by the time I got to the car, even before I mentioned the outraged Rabbit-owner. By then she was reaching for her coat.
    I didn’t really want to get drunk, as I was hoping for a cozy evening with Sardis and I didn’t want to make a bad impression. I mean, yet another bad impression.
    But I drank a few beers and tried not to cry in them as I brought Debbie up to date. Of course, no one in the office was supposed to know what I was working on— that was the rule for special assignments— but Debbie was different. Or another way to put it, the pressure was getting to me.
    I thought maybe we’d put our heads together and she’d come up with something. I thought she’d be so upset that somebody was trying to kill one of her favorites that she’d solve the thing even as we talked. In a pig’s eye.
    Speaking around a cigarette, she nodded and said: “It sounds good. This could be it.”
    “Could be what, for Christ’s sake? This is my life we’re talking