I suppressed the urge to bang my head on the desk. “Marvin, I’ve dealt with her before . . .”

“I know. She told me. Her brother was murdered so she’s sympathetic to the situation.”

“She’s as sympathetic as a piranha gnawing on your leg.”

He laughed. “Good line. I like that. So how’d you do with her? I thought the two of you could brainstorm and come up with a game-plan, maybe develop a few leads.”

“She’s a bitch. I don’t talk to her about anything.”

“Oh. Well, it’s your call, but you’re making a mistake. She could do us some good.”

“Then why don’t you talk to her. Or better yet, she can talk to the police. These are two of the three suggestions I have for her. The third I won’t repeat.”

“You sound testy.”

“I am testy,” I said. “Is there anything else?”

“Actually, there is. I’ve been thinking about this shoplifting stuff and I don’t see that much to get upset about. Sure, Audrey might have lifted a couple of items. I’m willing to concede the point, but so what? It’s not like I approve, but in the greater scheme of things, it’s not that big a deal, right? I’m not whitewashing her actions. All I’m saying is shoplifting’s not the same as knocking off banks.”

“Oh, really. Well, maybe I can put it in perspective,” I said. “Audrey wasn’t operating on her own. You’re disregarding what I told you before, which is that I saw her working with another woman. Trust me when I tell you, there are others involved. These people are highly organized. They make a regular circuit, moving from town to town, stealing anything that isn’t nailed down.”

“I can do without the lecture.”

“No, you can’t. Has anyone ever given you the formula for calculating losses due to retail theft? I learned this years ago at the academy so I may be fuzzy on the math, but what it boils down to is this: the profit margin on each of those pairs of pajamas she stole is roughly five percent.

“This is after subtracting the cost of the goods, salaries, operating expenses, rent, utilities, and taxes. Which means that out of the $199.95 retail price, the store makes $9.99, which we’ll round off to ten bucks just to keep it simple, okay?”

“Sure. I can see that.”

“If you look at the numbers, this means that for every pair of silk pajamas stolen, Nordstrom’s has to make twenty additional sales to break even on the loss of that one. Audrey stole two pairs. Are you following?”

“So far.”

“Good, because this is like a thought problem in elementary school, only you have to multiply by thousands because that’s how many shoplifters are out there year after year. And who do you think pays for the losses in the end? We do, because the cost gets passed on. The only difference between Audrey’s crime and the guy who robs banks is that she didn’t use a gun!”

Then I banged down the phone.

12

Henry had encouraged me to park in his driveway while he was out of town. Without his lighted kitchen window to greet me, it felt like the energy had been sucked out of the entire neighborhood. I let myself in to his place. The first thing I did was to put his oven on preheat, just for the scent of warm spices. I did my walkabout in a haze of caramelized sugar and cinnamon, turning on lights where necessary. I checked the kitchen, laundry room, and both baths to make sure pipes hadn’t burst and a gas leak wasn’t threatening to blow the place sky-high. Bedrooms were clear, no broken windows and no signs of forced entry. I took messages off the answering machine, making sure he wasn’t missing anything critical. I went on to water his plants, first sticking a finger down into the potting soil to make sure I wasn’t overdoing it. Sometimes I think routine is everything in life. The weekend would never come and when it did, it would seem endless. My only hope was to retreat to Rosie’s Tavern as often as possible. I fully expected Marvin to fire me for insolence, but so what? It would save me the annoyance of dealing with Diana Alvarez.

I turned off the oven, doused the lights, and locked up. I stopped in at my place long enough to turn on table lamps and avail myself of the facilities. Then I walked to Rosie’s, where I ordered a glass of Chardonnay and a bite to eat. Dinner wasn’t the worst example I’ve had of Rosie’s cooking, but it was a fair approximation. In the dazzling rotation of dishes in her madcap cuisine, she presents me with a corker on an average of once a month.

I chatted with William, gave my compliments to the chef, said a brief hello to a couple of people I knew, and scurried out the door. By the time I let myself into my place, it was 7:00. I’d managed to kill an hour. Big whoopee-do. This was April. It wouldn’t be full dark until close to nine, so leaving lights on for myself was evidence of my optimism, thinking I could while away an entire evening with one glass of wine and a plate of pork and sauerkraut. Fortunately, my message light was blinking and I fell on the play button like it might provide communication from outer space.