"Okay to come sit inside?" Ollie asked.

"Sure," Liebowitz said. "What do you mean, a homicide?"

"Three of them, actually," Ollie said cheerfully, and came around to the passenger side and opened the door

to the front seat. He climbed in and made comfortable behind the meter hanging above the Reading from the card, he said, "Max R. huh?

What's the R for?"

"Reuven," Liebowitz said.

I'll bet that's Jewish, right?" Ollie said, grinned.

Something in the grin told Liebowitz had to know about Fat Ollie Weeks.

Not for had he lost half his family to the ovens at

"That's right, Jewish," he said.

"Nice," Ollie said, still grinning. "So tell me, did you pick up a young lady outside the Stardust yesterday morning around five-thirty?"

"How should I remember who I picked up yesterday morning at five-thirty?"

"The Hack Bureau tells me your call sheet five-thirty pickup outside the club, is that right,

"I really can't remember."

He was thinking this was a vice cop.

He could already see the headlines.

"Could you turn down your heater a little?" Ollie said. "It's very hot in here. Don't you find it hot here?"

Max was freezing to death.

He turned down the heater.

"This would've been a blond girl," Ollie said. "nineteen years old, wearing a short black skirt fake-fur jacket, red. Carrying a shiny red handbag.

clutch, they call it. Do you remember such a girl Max?"

"I think I do, yeah. Now that you mention it."

"She's dead, Max."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"So are two other people she may or may not have known. Dead, I mean.

Not sorry like you. Well, maybe sorry, too, considering they're dead.

Two black guys, Max. Were there any black guys with her when you picked her up?"

"No, she was alone."

"You remember now, huh?"

"Yeah."

"This was five-thirty?"

"Around then."

"Your call sheet said five-thirty."

"Then that's what it must've been. Cause we have to write it down, you know."

"I know. Max, did you drop her off on Ainsley and

North Eleventh, like your call sheet says?"

"Yes, I did."

"At what time, Max?"

"It must've been six o'clock."

"Took you half an hour to drive three miles from the

Stardust to Ainsley and North Eleventh?"

"Yeah."

"How come, Max? That time of day, it should've taken no more than ten, fifteen minutes."

"Must've been traffic," Liebowitz said, and shrugged. "Five-thirty on a Sunday morning?" "Well, sometimes there's traffic."

"So you're saying there was traffic, huh?"

He was leaning in close to Liebowitz now. The front seat of the cab seemed suddenly very crowded. The man had terrible body odor; -Liebowitz was thinking it

wouldn't hurt he should take a bath every now then. Some people, they claimed it wasn't the person it was the clothes that smelled, clothes that hadn't been dry-cleaned in a while. But how could clothes smell unless the person wearing them smell. Liebowitz was willing to bet this guy hadn't bathed since Rosh Hashanah, which last year had fallen September 24. Also, his breath stank of garlic onions. Besides, what the hell did he want here, the meter wasn't ticking?

"I don't remember whether there was traffic or not he said. "I know it took whatever time it took from wherever to wherever."

"Half an hour, you said."

"If that's what it took, that's what it took. Liebowitz said. "Now listen, Detective, I'm a man, I got a living to earn. You want to ask something about this girl, ask me. Otherwise, let me get back to work."

"Sure," Ollie said. "Did you know she was a prostitute?"

"No, I didn't know that," Liebowitz said, "She told me she was a topless singer and