was with.”
“And then we’re even and I’m through, right?”
“It’s so hard to quantify human relationships, don’t you think?”
“I hate this.”
“Life is hard.”
There was a firm click. I stood in the phone booth and tried to take a sip of the coffee but my hand was shaking so much it spilled on my pants. I cursed loudly and shook my pants leg and wondered at how I had made such a mess of everything.
7
I T’S THE ASIAN radish that makes this dish truly memorable,” said Detective McDeiss as he skillfully manipulated the bamboo chopsticks with his thick fingers. On the little plate before him, tastefully garnished, were two tiny cakes, lightly fried. Hundred Corner Crab Cakes with Daikon Radish and Tomato Pineapple Salsa ($10.00) . “The Asian radish is subtler than your basic American radish, with a sweet and mild flavor when cooked, like a delicate turnip. The pineapple salsa is a nice touch, though a little harsh for my preference, but it’s the radish that adds that touch of excitement to the fresh crab. I detect a hint of ginger too, which is entirely appropriate.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I said.
“Oh, I am. It’s not too often I get to eat at so fine an establishment. More wine?”
“No thank you,” I said. “But please, help yourself.” The last was a bit gratuitous, as the detective was already pouring himself another glass from the bottle. Pouilly Fuissé 1983 ($48.00) .
“Normally, of course, I wouldn’t drink at lunch, but being as the trial was recessed for the day and I’m off shift, I figure, why not?”
“Why not indeed?”
McDeiss was a big man, tall and broad, with the stomach of a football lineman ten years gone from the game. He dressed rather badly, a garish jacket over a short-sleeve shirt, a wide tie with indifferent stripes choking his thick neck. His bulbous face held a closed arrogant expression that seemed to refute any possibility of an inner life but the thick lines in his forehead rose with a cultured joy as he tasted his crab, his lips tightened, his shoulders seemed to sway with a swooning delight. Just my luck, I figured, offering to buy lunch for the only five star gourmand on the force. Susanna Foo was elegantly decorated with fresh flowers and mirrors and gold-flocked wallpaper; no Formica tables, no cheap plastic chopsticks, everything first class, including the prices, which made me flinch as I saw the wine drain down his substantial gullet. Even though I fully intended to bill Caroline for expenses, I was still fronting our lunch money.
“We were talking about Jacqueline Shaw,” I said. “Your investigation.”
He finished the last of his crab cakes, closed his eyes in appreciation, and reached again for his wineglass. “Very good. Very very good. Next time, maybe we’ll try Le Bec-Fin together. They have an excellent price-fixed lunch. Do you like opera, Carl?”
“Does Tommy count?”
“Sorry, no. Too bad that. We could have such a nice evening, just you and me. Dinner at the Striped Bass and then orchestra seats to Rigoletto .”
“You’re pushing it, McDeiss.”
“Am I? Jacqueline Shaw. Hung herself in the living room of her apartment at the south end of Rittenhouse Square. Quite a place, if a bit overly baroque in decoration for my palate. Everything seemed to be in order. It was very neat, no clothes lying around, as if she was expecting guests to show up at her hanging. She had been depressed, she had tried it before.”
“How?”
“Too many pills once. Slit her wrists in the bathtub when she was a teen. She was a statistic waiting to be rung up, that’s all. Ahh, here’s my salad.” Fresh Water Chestnut and Baby Arugula Salad with Dry Shrimp Vinaigrette ($8.00) . “Oh my goodness, Carl, this dressing is delicious. Want a taste?”
He thrust at me a forkful of greens thick with the vinaigrette.
I shook my head. “Do you think the mother arugula gets upset when the farmer takes her
“And then we’re even and I’m through, right?”
“It’s so hard to quantify human relationships, don’t you think?”
“I hate this.”
“Life is hard.”
There was a firm click. I stood in the phone booth and tried to take a sip of the coffee but my hand was shaking so much it spilled on my pants. I cursed loudly and shook my pants leg and wondered at how I had made such a mess of everything.
7
I T’S THE ASIAN radish that makes this dish truly memorable,” said Detective McDeiss as he skillfully manipulated the bamboo chopsticks with his thick fingers. On the little plate before him, tastefully garnished, were two tiny cakes, lightly fried. Hundred Corner Crab Cakes with Daikon Radish and Tomato Pineapple Salsa ($10.00) . “The Asian radish is subtler than your basic American radish, with a sweet and mild flavor when cooked, like a delicate turnip. The pineapple salsa is a nice touch, though a little harsh for my preference, but it’s the radish that adds that touch of excitement to the fresh crab. I detect a hint of ginger too, which is entirely appropriate.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I said.
“Oh, I am. It’s not too often I get to eat at so fine an establishment. More wine?”
“No thank you,” I said. “But please, help yourself.” The last was a bit gratuitous, as the detective was already pouring himself another glass from the bottle. Pouilly Fuissé 1983 ($48.00) .
“Normally, of course, I wouldn’t drink at lunch, but being as the trial was recessed for the day and I’m off shift, I figure, why not?”
“Why not indeed?”
McDeiss was a big man, tall and broad, with the stomach of a football lineman ten years gone from the game. He dressed rather badly, a garish jacket over a short-sleeve shirt, a wide tie with indifferent stripes choking his thick neck. His bulbous face held a closed arrogant expression that seemed to refute any possibility of an inner life but the thick lines in his forehead rose with a cultured joy as he tasted his crab, his lips tightened, his shoulders seemed to sway with a swooning delight. Just my luck, I figured, offering to buy lunch for the only five star gourmand on the force. Susanna Foo was elegantly decorated with fresh flowers and mirrors and gold-flocked wallpaper; no Formica tables, no cheap plastic chopsticks, everything first class, including the prices, which made me flinch as I saw the wine drain down his substantial gullet. Even though I fully intended to bill Caroline for expenses, I was still fronting our lunch money.
“We were talking about Jacqueline Shaw,” I said. “Your investigation.”
He finished the last of his crab cakes, closed his eyes in appreciation, and reached again for his wineglass. “Very good. Very very good. Next time, maybe we’ll try Le Bec-Fin together. They have an excellent price-fixed lunch. Do you like opera, Carl?”
“Does Tommy count?”
“Sorry, no. Too bad that. We could have such a nice evening, just you and me. Dinner at the Striped Bass and then orchestra seats to Rigoletto .”
“You’re pushing it, McDeiss.”
“Am I? Jacqueline Shaw. Hung herself in the living room of her apartment at the south end of Rittenhouse Square. Quite a place, if a bit overly baroque in decoration for my palate. Everything seemed to be in order. It was very neat, no clothes lying around, as if she was expecting guests to show up at her hanging. She had been depressed, she had tried it before.”
“How?”
“Too many pills once. Slit her wrists in the bathtub when she was a teen. She was a statistic waiting to be rung up, that’s all. Ahh, here’s my salad.” Fresh Water Chestnut and Baby Arugula Salad with Dry Shrimp Vinaigrette ($8.00) . “Oh my goodness, Carl, this dressing is delicious. Want a taste?”
He thrust at me a forkful of greens thick with the vinaigrette.
I shook my head. “Do you think the mother arugula gets upset when the farmer takes her
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