If I’d still been a cop, and if I’d had time and facilities, I’d have taken him downtown, booked him as a material witness and sweated him a while to find out how much of his story was true. I took back streets to get out of Las Palmas, found a phone booth in a shopping center and called the Executive Lodge. I asked for Mrs. Chittenden and when I heard Joanne’s voice I said, “Me. Are you all right?” “I’m fine, but I think our secret is out. Just after you left, I went to get some newspapers and a paperback, and a man saw me in the lobby.” So that was how Madonna had found her—pure blind luck, and all of it bad. I said, “You recognized him?” “I think so. What’s more important, I think he recognized me.” “Is he hanging around?” “He may be. If he is, he’s being discreet—I haven’t been pestered since I came back to the room.” “Okay,” I said. “You’ve got my gun, you may as well just stay put a little while.” “Simon, how is—” “It going?
