JULY 6, 1977
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
“I mean, come on, when that big spaceship thing came in over the top? Seriously, I swear the walls of the theater were shaking!”
Hopper lifted his hands, formed them into a wide V, and then, starting over his own head, mimed the movement of the spaceship in question as it swept in toward his wife, sitting opposite across the high diner table.
“Bmwawwwwwwmmmmmmmvvvvvffffff!”
Diane was laughing so hard that tears began to stream down her cheeks as her husband continued his one-man reenactment of the movie they’d come out of not a half hour ago. He sat straight on his stool, hunched his shoulders, and cupped his hands in front of his face, using the echo to put on the most dramatic wheezing breath he could possibly muster.
“Jim!” Almost gasping for breath, Diane waved a hand at her husband and glanced around the tiny diner, but nobody was paying attention. Hopper brought his hands down and made gun shapes with his fingers.
“Pew pew, pew pew!”
“Sorry,” said Diane, finally getting her breath back. “How old is my husband supposed to be? Thirty-five going on thirteen?”
Hopper dropped the act and laughed. Between them on the table was a single large egg cream in a huge, old-fashioned vessel that was more like a flower vase than a glass. As Hopper leaned in, taking the straw on his side in his mouth, Diane did the same, taking a quick draw on the chocolate concoction before letting the straw go and giving her husband a peck on his nose.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she said, sitting back. “Hey, do you think Luke and Leia will, y’know…”
Hopper nearly choked on the egg cream. “Will what, exactly?”
“Y’know,” said Diane, her laughter making its return. “Get it on.”
Hopper grinned. “That’s your takeaway from the greatest movie you’ve seen in your life, and you were calling me a teenage boy?”
“The greatest movie I’ve seen in my life?”
“Come on, admit it. It was pretty great, right?”
Diane wiped the dampness from her cheeks. “Okay, fine, I admit it, it was pretty great.” She reached for her straw and probed the drink. “I think Sara would like it. Maybe we can bring her next time.”
Hopper leaned on the table with his elbows. “You don’t think she might like Annie a little better?”
“That new musical that’s just opened at the…where was it?”
“The Alvin, I think. Fifty-Second Street or something.”
Diane shrugged. “Maybe, but I saw the ticket prices for that in the newspaper.”
Hopper winced. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say another night at the movies is the more fiscally responsible option.”
Hopper nodded. “Hey, this is New York City, I’m all for fiscal responsibility. And now that it has the mom and dad seal of approval, sure.” He sat back and smiled. “See?”
Diane shook her head. “See what?”
“You thought it was so great you want to see it again, and you’re using our beloved daughter as the weakest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
Diane gasped in mock indignation. “Objection!”
Hopper went in for more egg cream. “Maybe you hadn’t noticed,” he said, after a mouthful, “but I’m a cop, not a lawyer, so that trick doesn’t work on me.”
“Well, Detective, you’re still pretty good at evading difficult and important questions.”
Hopper used his straw to stir the drink. “What was the question?”
“Luke and Leia. Yes or no?”
“Oh. No.”
“No?”
“Girls like the rebellious guy, always.”
“Oh, is that a fact, Mr. Rebel?”
“Sure,” said Hopper. “It’ll be Han. No question.”
Diane shrugged, pulling the drink away from Hopper, tilting the glass as she mixed it with her straw. After a moment of concentration, she looked up to find Hopper staring at her.
“What?” she asked.
The corner of Hopper’s mouth lifted. “I love you, Diane Hopper.”
Diane leaned on the table with her elbows. “And I love you, Mr. Rebel. You seem happy.”
Hopper’s smile froze. Diane, apparently seeing the confusion on his face, reached over and grabbed his hand.
“Hey! Relax! You seem happy. That’s all. You’re more relaxed now than you have been in weeks. It can’t just be down to a movie and an egg cream.”
Hopper considered, and actually…he was relaxed—happy, even.
She was right. (And she always was.)
Diane cocked her head. “So, what is it? Something happen at work?”
Hopper folded his arms loosely on the top of the high table. “Actually, something did happen.” He lowered his voice. “You know that case, the…ah, multiple homicides?”
Diane leaned in. “What, did you get a breakthrough?”
“No, not at all,” said Hopper. “In fact, it’s not even our case now. It was taken off us.”
“What? And that makes you happy?” Diane leaned back, frowning deeply.
“Oh no, don’t get me wrong. That’s a case we wanted to solve. But the feds have come in and taken it over. Turns out there’s a gang connection, and they’ve been running a special task force. They need to handle that themselves, without the NYPD getting in the way, so they took it off us.”
“Okay,” said Diane, nodding. “How does that make you feel?”
Hopper blew out his cheeks. “Well, I mean…sure, we wanted to be the ones who caught him, but this is bigger than us. Bigger than me. I’m happy to leave this one to the feds. And…”
Hopper paused, considered.
Diane cocked her head. “And…?”
“And yes, okay, I’m happier. It was a tough case. Part of me wanted to solve it—but the other part of me is glad I’m not involved anymore. Plenty more cases for Detectives Delgado and Hopper to solve.”
Then he smiled.
“Now what?” asked Diane.
Hopper slipped off his stool. “Now what I really want are some fries. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Hopper went to the counter, leaving his wife to laugh into the remnants of the egg cream.
The evening was warm. Hopper held the door of the diner open for Diane, and was already regretting putting his jacket back on. As his wife zipped up her bag and waited, Hopper slipped his jacket off and slung it over one shoulder. As he did, a large card, almost glowing white under the streetlights, drifted to the sidewalk.
Diane bent down to pick it up. “What’s this?”
“Oh!” said Hopper. “I’m not even supposed to have that.” He held his hand out. “That needs to go back to the precinct with me, first thing.”
Diane didn’t hand it back immediately. As she stood, she held it in front of her.
“It’s a Zener card.”
Hopper blinked, his hand still outstretched.
“A what card?”
Diane handed it back to him. “A Zener card.”
Hopper took the card and looked at it, turning it over in his hands like he hadn’t studied the damn thing for hours already.
“You know what this is?”
Diane shrugged. “Well, not really. Only that they’re used in psychic tests, or something.” She pointed at the card. “There’s a whole set of them.”
Hopper licked his lips, then took a step closer to his wife. Diane looked up at him, concern playing over her face.
“Jim? What is it?”
“One of these has been left at all three of the ritual homicides that we were investigating, before the feds took over,” he said quietly. “All handmade, each one with a different symbol drawn on it in acrylic ink. Clearly they have some meaning to the killer, but if he’s trying to send a message, we sure as hell aren’t getting it.”
Diane worked her jaw for a moment. “You mean you don’t know what the cards are?”
Hopper shook his head. “Nope. These cards have had us stumped for weeks.” He paused. “How do you even know what they are?”
“You remember Lisa Sargeson, from the birthday party on Sunday?”
“The fortune-teller. How could I forget.”
Diane gave a smirk. “Right, well, I think she uses them for something, as part of her act. She didn’t use them on Sunday, but she gave a little talk about her work, and she had them with the rest of her stuff.” She paused. “I think she said they were Zener cards. I might have misheard.”
Hopper frowned. “What, and they’re like some kind of tarot card, used for fortune-telling?”
“I don’t know,” said Diane, with a shrug. “Look, I really don’t know much about them at all. She mentioned psychic experiments, but I thought that was just part of her spiel. You know, make out like her act was a mix of actual science and magic, rather than just stagecraft.”
Hopper shook his head in disbelief.
“Jim?”
He sighed, then slid the card back into the pocket of his shirt. He took Diane by the hand, and they walked off in the direction of the subway.
“All this time we’ve been trying to figure those cards out, when a cuckoo magician at a kid’s birthday party could have told us.”
He stopped, pulling Diane to a halt. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
“You think you could do me a favor?” Hopper asked.
“What? Of course.”
“You think Lisa could tell us more about the Zener cards? About what they mean?”
“Ah, yeah, I guess. But didn’t you say you’re not on the case anymore?”
Hopper nodded. “I did, but this card came from an informant who came into the precinct. Seems like he has gang affiliations, so we were going to hand him over to the federal agents tomorrow. If we can hand over a little more information at the same time, that’s got to be of some help to them. Do you have her number? You said Lisa was one of the parents.”
“Yeah, I do. I can call her in the morning, if you like.”
Hopper winced. “Actually…maybe you could call her tonight?”
“It’s getting pretty late, Jim.”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Diane sighed. “Okay, sure.”
The apartment was quiet when they got home—Sara was fast asleep, and Rachel, the babysitter, reported that all was well as Hopper forked some cash out of his wallet and handed it over. The teenager’s eyes lit up as she checked the amount. “Thanks, Mr. Hopper!” She waved them both a good night, and as soon as she was out the door, Hopper headed for the kitchen. He stood by the telephone, waiting for his wife.
“A little patience, Detective.”
He smiled. “Sorry.”
Diane deposited her bag on the counter and opened it, pulling out a slim, leather-bound address book. She leafed through the pages, then went to the phone on the wall by the fridge. Balancing the receiver in the crook of her neck, she read the number in the book and dialed it. Then she turned to Hopper. They both stood in silence, waiting.
After what felt like an eternity, Diane shook her head and turned to hang the phone up when Hopper heard the click, and the faint muffled sound of someone picking up.
Diane ducked her head down.
“Hi, Lisa? Hi, it’s Diane…Oh yes, no, nothing’s wrong. Sorry to call so late…Okay.” She laughed, and Hopper relaxed. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms folded, and waited.
Diane explained that her husband wanted to ask something, and—after reassuring Lisa it had nothing to do with the birthday party—she handed the phone over to Hopper.
“All yours, chief,” she said, before disappearing into the other room, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she left.
Hopper moved over to the counter, unwinding the tangled cord of the telephone receiver as he leaned on his elbows.
“Miss Sargeson? Hi, James. Listen, ah, thanks for agreeing to talk.” He rubbed his forehead. “And, ah, listen, about Sunday, I really need to apologize.
“But I wonder if I could ask you a few questions.”