to 9:45 P.M. Bill Weigand looked down at the Norths and smiled and said he had thought he would find them there. “And where,” he added, “are the nieces? The famous nieces?” “Famous?” Jerry repeated. “Sit down, Bill. At home, with Martha. We’re on vacation. Why famous?” Weigand sat down and said that it was merely a manner of speaking. He looked at Pamela North with amusement. “All right,” she said. “Say it.” Bill told her he hadn’t anything to say. “Well,” Pam said, “how could I know? They took him right from under the lion, in broad daylight, except that it was raining, of course. And that one did have a gun.” So, Weigand told her, did the other one. It was a habit they had. “Well,” Pam said, a little hotly. “They didn’t look like cops. You can always tell a cop.” Weigand said, “Ouch.” “These just looked like anybody,” Pam said. “How could I tell?” “Right,” Bill Weigand said. “And, by the same token, how could Patrolman O’Brien, of Traffic A?”
