Whispers

“Thank God!”

“Really, I said no for just one reason. I don’t have time for–”

“Miss Thomas, even the President of the United States manages to take a night off now and then. Even the head of General Motors has leisure time. Even the Pope. Even God rested the seventh day. No one can be busy all the time.”

“Lieutenant–”

“Call me Tony.”

“Tony, after what I’ve been through the last two days, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be a barrel of laughs.”

“If I wanted to go to dinner with a barrel of laughs, I’d take a bunch of monkeys.”

She smiled again, and he wanted to take her beautiful face in his hands and kiss it all over.

She said, “I’m sorry. But I need to be alone for a few days.”

“That’s exactly what you don’t need after the sort of experience you’ve had. You need to get out, be among people, get your spirits up. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.” He turned and pointed to the stone footpath behind him. The toad was still there. It had turned around to look at them.

“Ask Mr. Toad,” Tony said.

“Mr. Toad?”

“An acquaintance of mine. A very wise person.” Tony stooped down and stared at the toad. “Doesn’t she need to get out and enjoy herself, Mr. Toad?”

It blinked slow heavy lids and made its funny little sound right on cue.

“You’re absolutely correct,” Tony told it. “And don’t you think I’m the one she should go out with?”

“Scree-ooak,” it said.

“And what will you do to her if she turns me down again?”

“Scree-ooak, scree-ooak.”

“Ahhh,” Tony said, nodding his head in satisfaction as he stood up.

“Well, what did he say?” Hilary asked, grinning. “What will he do to me if I won’t go out with you–give me warts?”

Tony looked serious. “Worse than that. He tells me he’ll get into the walls of your house, work his way up to your bedroom, and croak so loudly every night that you won’t be able to sleep until you give in.”

She smiled. “Okay. I give up.”

“Saturday night?”

“All right.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What should I wear?”

“Be casual,” he said.

“See you Saturday at seven.”

He turned to the toad and said, “Thank you, my friend.”

It hopped off the walk, into the grass, then into the shrubbery.

Tony looked at Hilary. “Gratitude embarrasses him.”

She laughed and closed the door.

Tony walked back to the car and got in, whistling happily.

As Frank drove away from the house, he said, “What was that all about?”

“I got a date,” Tony said.

“With her?”

“Well, not with her sister.”

“Lucky stiff.”

“Lucky toad.”

“Huh?”

“Private joke.”

When they had gone a couple of blocks, Frank said, “It’s after four o’clock. By the time we get this heap back to the depot and check out for the day, it’ll be five o’clock.”

“You want to quit on time for once?” Tony asked.

“Not much we can do about Bobby Valdez until tomorrow anyway.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Let’s be reckless.”

A few blocks farther on, Frank said, “Want to have a drink after we check out?”

Tony looked at him in amazement. That was the first time in their association that Frank had suggested hanging out together after hours.

“Just a drink or two,” Frank said. “Unless you have something planned–”

“No. I’m free.”

“You know a bar?”

“The perfect place. It’s called The Bolt Hole.”

“It’s not around HQ, is it? Not a place where a lot of cops go?”

“So far as I know, I’m the only officer of the law who patronizes it. It’s on Santa Monica Boulevard, out near Century City. Just a couple of blocks from my apartment.”

“Sounds good,” Frank said. “I’ll meet you there.”

They rode the rest of the way to the police garage in silence–somewhat more companionable silence than that in which they had worked before, but silence nonetheless.

What does he want? Tony wondered. Why has that famous Frank Howard reserve finally broken down?

***

At 4:30, the Los Angeles medical examiner ordered a limited autopsy on the body of Bruno Gunther Frye. If at all possible, the corpse was to be opened only in the area of the abdominal wounds, sufficient to determine if those two punctures had been the sole cause of death.

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