Ghost Zeb is turning out to be as much of a pain in the arse as his corporeal self.

Corporeal. This one rookie in the barracks used to confuse it with corporal ten times a day, until someone explained the difference.

I suppose it doesn’t matter how you come by information as long as you remember it.

Oh. And no one gets hurt. Too badly.

No one decent at any rate.

I slide a couple of dimes out of my change and head for the phone booth in the corner.

Ghost Zeb is so pissed that he almost stays at the table without me.

I dial the CDP desk from the booth and ask for Detective Deacon specifically, because Goran is sharp; she’d nail me in a second.

‘What?’ snaps Deacon when she picks up, like I’m interrupting her conference call with Commissioner Gordon.

‘You working the DeLyne case?’ I ask, doing my best Nu Yawker.

‘The what case?’

‘Connie DeLyne. The Slotz hostess.’

‘You mean that stripper?’

‘They ain’t no strippers up in there.’ My accent is gone down south, last century too.

‘Yeah, that hostess is one of mine? Who is this?’

‘This is by way of a ’nonymous tip-off, which I believe is police vernacular.’

I’m playing around now. I shouldn’t. A friend is dead, another missing, but in times of stress I can’t help myself. Sometimes I giggle like a girl. It’s embarrassing.

Deacon sighs, writing the call off. I bet they get a hundred cranks a day. ‘Do you have information pertaining to the DeLyne case, sir?’

‘I got something good for you, miss.’

‘That’s Detective.’

‘They let ladies be detectives now? That right there explains a lot.’

Come on, Sergeant. You don’t have time for this. Pull yourself together; this is not a sixth-grade prank call. Seymore Butz? Anyone?

I hear something creak. Deacon must be squeezing the phone pretty tight.

‘That’s a poor attitude you have there, sir.’

I disguise my giggle with a cough. ‘Take it easy, Detective, only trying to help.’

There are a few moments while Deacon pulls herself together; she’s probably whispering you’re a professional over and over. ‘So help. I’m getting old here.’

‘I was in Slotz a few nights ago, sir . . .’

‘That’s miss, motherf . . . Remember? Detective, female.’

‘Sorry. You got kind of a deep voice. I like that personally.’

Deacon breathes deep through her nose. ‘Do you have any pertinent information whatsoever, sir? Hold up, is this Randy? Are you dicking me about, Randy?’

I don’t know who Randy is, but I’d love to meet him.

‘I ain’t no Randy. You want this information or not?’

‘Yeah, give it up. But if this is Randy, I’m gonna have your balls in a sling . . . sir.’

‘Okay, miss . . . if you is a miss. I was in Slotz and I seen Connie beefing with this guy.’

‘What guy?’