Nick Polchak.”
“Nick—you back in North Carolina already?”
“No, I’m still in town. I decided to stay over.”
“You sure beat a path out of Vidocq yesterday. I figured you couldn’t wait to get back to that fiancée of yours.”
“I had some things to take care of first. Look, I was wondering if you could do something for me.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’ve missed a lot of the Vidocq meetings lately—haven’t made it up here since last fall. I’m looking for a list of presenters from the last six to nine months.”
“Yeah, we’ve got that. What are you looking for?”
“I need contact information: names, addresses—especially phone numbers. Case summaries would be helpful too.”
“Six months of case summaries . . . that could take a little time.”
“Then the summaries can wait—just send me the contact info.”
“How soon do you need it?”
“No hurry—the next three minutes would be fine.”
There was a chuckle on the other end. “Nick—can I tell you something about marriage?”
“Can you do it while you’re typing?”
“Marriage will make a patient man out of you.”
“As long as it happens fast,” Nick said. “Are you sending it now?”
There was a brief pause. “Okay—it’s on its way. What’s this for?”
“I’ll fill you in later. Thanks, Bill.” Nick punched the End button and dropped the cell phone into his shirt pocket.
Nick and Donovan sat at a table in Chubby’s Steaks on Henry Avenue with papers spread all over the table and Nick’s laptop open in front of him. Chubby’s cherry-red awning was a landmark in Roxborough and Manayunk; people drove from miles around to sample the best cheesesteak sandwich in all of Philly, and Nick never missed the opportunity whenever he was in town. Chubby’s didn’t open until late morning, and Nick and Donovan were waiting at the door when it did to allow them to beat the lunch rush and spread out a bit—which they were currently doing.
Nick stared in annoyance at his laptop screen. “How long does it take for an e-mail to travel across town?”
“Electrons only travel at the speed of light,” Donovan said. “Sorry we can’t make it faster for you.” He used his fork to heap more onions onto his savory sandwich. “Is this your idea of breakfast?”
“Shut up and eat your cheese fries,” Nick said. “You want a balanced diet, don’t you?”
“Does Alena let you eat like this?”
“Does she let me? What’s that whipping sound I hear?”
“You talk tough now. Just wait.”
Nick looked at him. “Why is it that every time I tell someone I’m getting married, they say, ‘Just wait’? Is that somebody’s idea of premarital counseling?”
“They’re trying to tell you that marriage is an adjustment. People might handle the adjustment better if they knew it was coming—most of them don’t. Marriage might not be so hard if people didn’t expect it to be so easy.”
“What’s with all the marital advice all of a sudden?”
“You’re the one who keeps calling me, remember?”
“Yeah, but now you’re volunteering. Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
“I just don’t want you showing up at my door a week after the wedding with suitcase in hand—’cause I’m not letting you in. Marriage is a one-way street, Nick, so you better decide if you’re ready to drive before you make the turn.”
“If I’m ready ? Donovan—I’m getting married in three days.”
“I know. So what are you doing?”
“I know. So “What?”
Donovan pointed his fork at the table. “Pete’s phone records—and you just asked for contact information for everybody who’s presented a case to Vidocq in the last few months. I know you, Nick—I’ve worked with you before, remember? I know how you think and I know what you’re doing here. You think maybe somebody killed Pete Boudreau because of something he was working on. So you’re planning to match his phone records against
“Nick—you back in North Carolina already?”
“No, I’m still in town. I decided to stay over.”
“You sure beat a path out of Vidocq yesterday. I figured you couldn’t wait to get back to that fiancée of yours.”
“I had some things to take care of first. Look, I was wondering if you could do something for me.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’ve missed a lot of the Vidocq meetings lately—haven’t made it up here since last fall. I’m looking for a list of presenters from the last six to nine months.”
“Yeah, we’ve got that. What are you looking for?”
“I need contact information: names, addresses—especially phone numbers. Case summaries would be helpful too.”
“Six months of case summaries . . . that could take a little time.”
“Then the summaries can wait—just send me the contact info.”
“How soon do you need it?”
“No hurry—the next three minutes would be fine.”
There was a chuckle on the other end. “Nick—can I tell you something about marriage?”
“Can you do it while you’re typing?”
“Marriage will make a patient man out of you.”
“As long as it happens fast,” Nick said. “Are you sending it now?”
There was a brief pause. “Okay—it’s on its way. What’s this for?”
“I’ll fill you in later. Thanks, Bill.” Nick punched the End button and dropped the cell phone into his shirt pocket.
Nick and Donovan sat at a table in Chubby’s Steaks on Henry Avenue with papers spread all over the table and Nick’s laptop open in front of him. Chubby’s cherry-red awning was a landmark in Roxborough and Manayunk; people drove from miles around to sample the best cheesesteak sandwich in all of Philly, and Nick never missed the opportunity whenever he was in town. Chubby’s didn’t open until late morning, and Nick and Donovan were waiting at the door when it did to allow them to beat the lunch rush and spread out a bit—which they were currently doing.
Nick stared in annoyance at his laptop screen. “How long does it take for an e-mail to travel across town?”
“Electrons only travel at the speed of light,” Donovan said. “Sorry we can’t make it faster for you.” He used his fork to heap more onions onto his savory sandwich. “Is this your idea of breakfast?”
“Shut up and eat your cheese fries,” Nick said. “You want a balanced diet, don’t you?”
“Does Alena let you eat like this?”
“Does she let me? What’s that whipping sound I hear?”
“You talk tough now. Just wait.”
Nick looked at him. “Why is it that every time I tell someone I’m getting married, they say, ‘Just wait’? Is that somebody’s idea of premarital counseling?”
“They’re trying to tell you that marriage is an adjustment. People might handle the adjustment better if they knew it was coming—most of them don’t. Marriage might not be so hard if people didn’t expect it to be so easy.”
“What’s with all the marital advice all of a sudden?”
“You’re the one who keeps calling me, remember?”
“Yeah, but now you’re volunteering. Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
“I just don’t want you showing up at my door a week after the wedding with suitcase in hand—’cause I’m not letting you in. Marriage is a one-way street, Nick, so you better decide if you’re ready to drive before you make the turn.”
“If I’m ready ? Donovan—I’m getting married in three days.”
“I know. So what are you doing?”
“I know. So “What?”
Donovan pointed his fork at the table. “Pete’s phone records—and you just asked for contact information for everybody who’s presented a case to Vidocq in the last few months. I know you, Nick—I’ve worked with you before, remember? I know how you think and I know what you’re doing here. You think maybe somebody killed Pete Boudreau because of something he was working on. So you’re planning to match his phone records against
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