"The ear-trumpets."
Cooper helped Lennox up the concrete stairs. As he thrust open the bulkhead door, he said: "Easy. Gone home. The dancers."
"Get reporters," Lennox said. "I found Judge Crater."
They entered the empty dressing room which was still lit. Cooper sat Lennox down before a bulb-ringed mirror, handed him a box of cleansing tissue and a comb. Lennox cleaned himself wearily and pretended to comb his hair. Cooper lit a cigarette and thrust it between Jake's lips.
"I don't smoke," Lennox said, handing it back.
"You smoke when you're plastered."
"I'm not plastered."
"It says here." Cooper took a drag. "They've got an old Bechstein Grand in that cellar," he said softy. "I'm going to take your tape recorder down some night and break it up with an axe. The Bechstein. Could sell a dub to every pianist in town. Wish fulfillment."
"Do me a favor," Lennox said.
"Name it."