Rosie couldnt speak. She followed the three men into the elevator. “Sorry to have to do this maam,” said the lean detective pulling at the visor of his cap. Silverman opened the room door for them and closed it carefully behind him. “Thank you for your consideration, gentlemen.... My wife thanks you.” Rosie sat in a straight chair in the corner of the room. She was biting her tongue hard, harder to try to keep her lips from twitching.
“We realize Mr. Silverman that this is not quite the ordinary criminal case.”
“Wont you have a drink gentlemen?”
They shook their heads. The thickset man was lighting a fresh cigar.
“Allright Mike,” he said to the lean man. “Go through the drawers and closet.”
“Is that regular?”
“If this was regular we’d have the handcuffs on you and be running the lady here as an accessory.”
Rosie sat with her icy hands clasped between her knees swaying her body from side to side. Her eyes were closed. While the detectives were rummaging in the closet, Silverman took the opportunity to put his hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes. “The minute the goddam dicks take me out phone Schatz and tell him everything. Get hold of him if you have to wake up everybody in New York.” He spoke low and fast, his lips barely moving.
Almost immediately he was gone, followed by the two detectives with a satchel full of letters. His kiss was still wet on her lips. She looked dazedly round the empty deathly quiet room. She noticed some writing on the lavender
blotter on the desk. It was his handwriting, very scrawly: Hock everything and beat it; you are a good kid. Tears began running down her cheeks. She sat a long while with her head dropped on the desk kissing the penciled words on the blotter.