38

I have no idea how late we’d have slept if Roz hadn’t burst into the bedroom, brimming with news.

What with the heat, we’d dumped the sheet during the night. Donovan made a sleepy attempt to grab it off the floor. Roz assisted, giggling like a madwoman.

“It’s not like I’m seeing anything new, honey,” she informed him dryly.

I, on the other hand, was seeing something new: Roz’s hair. Roz’s bizarre hair, differently cut and colored weekly, has become such a given that I hardly notice it anymore. Cornrows, Mohawks, it’s the same to me. Last night, while my back door was getting wrenched off its hinges, she’d evidently crossed a new threshold.

I can only describe it in terms of a monk’s tonsure. The top of her head was clean-shaven, shiny, an area the diameter of an orange. The surrounding fringe, four to five inches long, stood out in a spiky halo of neon purple and Day-Glo pink.

Donovan smothered his face in the pillow.

“Are you laughing at my hair?” Roz asked.

Donovan, immediately serious, lifted his head. “Why would anyone laugh at your hair?” he said.

“Roz,” I said. “Is this urgent?”

She said, “It’s past ten o’clock.”

“So what?”

“So Woodrow MacAvoy has hidden assets.”

“Give me the bottom line.”

“It took me hours. I expect money.”

“Understood. If you want hours to explain your cleverness, you wait for me to get dressed. Urgent, I can handle in bed.”

“Bottom line: Remember the T&C’s?”

“Turks and Caicos Islands.”

“This is the good part,” Roz chortled. She was talking to me, but she was watching Donovan like he was an artist’s model. Maybe she’d paint him in the nude for some new display. Bet he’d love that. “I’m not sure I could have gotten it alone, on our computer, but I found this guy who used to do a lot of work in banking security.”

“At the Liberty?” I asked.

“Right. I bought him major hours of on-line access for which I expect to be paid.”

“You haven’t told me anything yet.”

“Your Sergeant MacAvoy may live like a poor man,” Roz said, “but he’s got bucks in offshore tax havens.”

I said, “As in how much?”

“I found at least six hundred fifty K, which oughta dwarf my request for a mere three hundred bucks, Carlotta. I kept track of expenses and everything.”

“I’m not paying for the haircut.”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s fine.”

“And I finished the drawings you wanted. Another hundred.”

“Where’d you sleep?” I asked.

“What business is it—”

“Let me rephrase that. Why weren’t you home when the house nearly got torn apart?”

“The back door, huh? I noticed. I slept with a friend. Kinda like you. How you doin’, Keith?”

He’d long since removed his face from the pillow. “Fine, thanks.”

I said, “Roz, on your way out, one thing.”

“Money,” she said.

“I don’t keep it under the mattress. Something’s bothering me. You know how when you wake up suddenly—”

“Yeah,” Roz said bluntly, “all your brain waves and. shit are screaming at you. It’s creative time.”

“There’s a number,” I said. “A number … It was erased from Thea’s file every time it appeared. Nine digits. It’s on my desk, under the blotter. It could be a Social Security number. Pop it in the computer and see what comes out.”

“Probably nothing.”

“Probably.”

“Oh, and Gloria called. She says call her at ITOA.”

“As soon as I’m awake.”

If Roz had left right then it might have been okay. Instead she said, “Did you see the morning news?”

“No.”

“Here’s the paper. You owe me fifty cents. That guy Manley, the one in the Harvard photos, he’s dead.” With that, she bowed out. Didn’t even close the door.

“Goddammit,” Donovan said. “You knew last night.”

How had they identified the body so quickly? I had Manley’s wallet, his appointment book. It wasn’t like some cop could have reached in the victim’s pocket, yanked them out: Exhibit A.

Donovan repeated, “You knew.”

I went defensive. “It’s not like he was your best friend.”

“He was a human being. So am I. You could have told me.”

“I’m getting dressed,” I said.

Donovan stayed in bed till I left the room. Not even a morning kiss.