"You didn't recognize me, Professor Wentworth. I must be making progress."
I was always nervous when women said that to me, although it was a long time since I had any cause to be. I looked more closely and took a second to put it all together. The transformation was truly amazing.
"D.J. Calahan! You have really changed."
"For the better, I hope," she said in a much improved, almost literate, Boston accent.
She looked fifteen years younger that she did the last time I saw her. Her hair was carefully and elegantly styled, not frizzy and uncontrollable like it was when we first met. She had lost a few pounds and was probably exercising at some expensive health club because she looked sturdier than before and the years of accumulated negative emotions had disappeared from her face. It also looked at though she had undergone breast reduction surgery because her figure was within normal range. I tried not to stare, but she caught me anyway.
"Yeah, I had the surgery," she said laughing and slipping back into her street accent. She waved her hand dismissively as though to say "Let's just get that out of the way and move on."
"Well, it looks like you have adjusted nicely to your new found wealth," I observed. "What can I do for you."
"I want to see Gershom's killer go to trial."
"That's the DCPD's responsibility, not mine." I countered. "I got your money back for you and that's all I agreed to do. Besides I think the McNulties have outfoxed everybody on this one. The way it looks now, they are going to walk this afternoon unless some kind of a miracle occurs."
"I know how things stand," she replied. "I've spoken to Joe Wilson. The McNulties have pulled this alibi trick dozens of times and have always gotten away with it. I think they should have to pay for this one and I think you are the one who can make them pay."
"Look, D.J.," I said, using my best this-is-between-you-and-I voice. "You have lots of money and lots of connections. You could easily hire somebody to take care of the McNulties. What difference does it make whether you settle the score or the DCPD settles the score?"
"These guys conned Gershom. I don't want them to pay privately, I want them to pay publicly. They have to go to trial and they have to be convicted."
In a lower voice almost as an afterthought she added, "I might still make them pay privately." A brief moment of anger flashed across her face and then she regained her composure.
"O.K. Daisy. I'll look into it."
She opened her purse and took out a rubber spider. It was one of those novelty spiders that you put on somebody's chair or in their desk drawer when you want to scare the crap out of them. "The police gave this too me. It was in Gershom's pocket when he was killed. I thought it might be a clue."
"A clue?" I asked incredulously. "A guy shows up with a gun and Gershom is planning to scare him away with a rubber spider? What's he going to do, wiggle the spider and go nyeah? "
She gave me a don't-be-a-jackass look, but didn't say it. "Gershom was a no nonsense guy. Everything he did was for a reason. If he had a rubber spider, it wasn't for practical jokes. It was for a reason. If you figure out that reason, you might be able to solve this murder."
With that, she thanked me and walked out leaving an uncomfortable emptiness in the room. I was happy that she was coming into her own, but had no idea how I could make good on my promise. I had several hours before classes so I decided to walk over to the Syncopation Nation to talk to a few people and hopefully get some ideas.
The day was pleasant and the fifteen-minute walk helped me clear the cobwebs out of my head. Gertie was at her stand as usual so I decided to talk to her first.
"Hey Gertie, any good news today?" I asked to break the ice.
"I don't make the news or even read it," she said. "I just sell it."
"Remember that McNulty guy I was asking you about the other day?" I began.
"Sure do," she said straightening the piles of newspapers in the front of her stand. "He was really a piece of work."
I pulled out the rubber spider and dangled it in front of her. "Does this mean anything to you?"
"It sure does," she said and started to chuckle to herself again. The mucous in her throat began to gurgle and again and she started a spasmodic combination of laughing and coughing. I took a step back. If she was going to lay another loogie in the gutter, I didn't want to be within splashing distance.
"What's so funny, Gertie?" I asked trying hard to hide my impatience.
She tried to get her composure back and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
"You should have seen him," she said, barely controlling her laughter, "when he came to buy his paper on that Friday. He reached for the paper, pulled his hand back, and screamed. That Jasper damn near jumped through his own asshole." She laughed some more and gurgled some more. Her rolls of fat giggled like she was having a seizure or was getting ready to erupt.
"I ain't never seen anything so funny," she went on wiping the corner of her other eye. "Here he is this classy, dignified guy looking like he was putting on a show of class for everybody. Then he nearly touches a little spider on the newspaper and lets out this high pitched squeal. He jumped about two feet off the ground and was damn near caught by the guy behind him. He tried to get himself together again but he just couldn't so he stomped away. He had given me a twenty for the paper and walked away with no paper and no change." She giggled to herself once again as she through about McNulty's reactions.
"Must be afraid of spiders," I observed, letting the pieces fall together in the back of my mind.
"More than afraid," she added. "Some people have a phobia about spiders. Can't stand to be anywhere near them. I think they made a movie about that a few years ago. Akranaphobia or something"
"Arachnophobia." I corrected, ever the professor. "So McNulty is arachnophobic."
The wheels continued to turn and I was pretty sure I had what I needed. I called Joe Wilson at DCPD Headquarters and explained my plan. Then I took a taxi over to meet him.
The McNulty brothers had been put in separate interrogation rooms. I was sitting in the interrogation room with Brian Ryan, trying to contain my pleasure over what was going to occur, but it was difficult.
"What's that shit eatin' grin about, Wentworth? You Professors always think that you're smarter than anyone else. Well you're not smarter than me. We got this case sealed and there's nothing you can do."
McNulty's lawyer leaned over and said something to him. Probably telling him to keep his mouth shut.
"Did you read the paper today," I asked McNulty. "You guys made the front page again. It says 'McNulties stump DCPD'."
"You brought me in here to read the newspaper?" McNulty asked.
I pushed a folded up copy of the Washington Post toward him.
McNulty unfolded the newspaper exposing the headline.
"Jesus Christ," he said. "You guys need an exterminator around here." With that he flicked a small spider, about the size of a nickel off the paper. I settled into my chair and waited. A few seconds later a high-pitched scream came from the other interrogation room. McNulty and his lawyer looked wide-eyed in the direction of the scream.
"Hey," McNulty commanded, "you can't do that to my brother. He has rights."
Joe Wilson leaned forward and put his face about two inches away from McNulty's. "I am charging you, Brian Ryan McNulty, with the murder of Gershom Oxenstein. You have the right to remain silent…." * * * There was a knock at my door. It was the nondescript black man that I had seen in front of D.J.'s apartment. He had a package that he was holding in both hands. It looked heavy.
"Ms. Calahan asked me to deliver this present for you. She said you are going on a trip and might need this."
"A trip?" I asked. "I wasn't planning on going on a trip."
"She said something about an Odyssey."
I took it inside and opened it. It was one million dollars in twenties.
I carefully folded the wrapper back around the package and taped it closed. Then I put the package in a padlocked steamer trunk that I kept at the foot of my bed. The trunk contained memorabilia and nothing of any real value. It was the safest place I could put the package until I figured out what to do about it.
"We got another murder." Joe said. "A dead hooker. Founder her in an alley off 13th street."
"This must happened a dozen time a year." I observed. "Why would you call me about some like that."
"It happens a lot more than a dozen times a year," he agreed. "But this one was different. We found something in the girl's bra."
"And what would that be," I asked avoiding the obvious.
"Your business card."
"Why me?" I thought. "Why me?" But if you get right down to it, I guess I really knew.