Rain lashed the windshield as I raced through the night towards the city.

The voice on the phone had been low and terse. "Meet me at Monte's in

the Village," she said. "I have what you've been looking for." She said her

name was Isolde. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. Maybe she held the key

to the case I was working on; maybe she didn't. If you could eat maybes, I'd

be putting on weight. I parked on a side street off an alley behind a shuttered

gin mill and made my way to Monte's. And there she was, at a table by

the back – the doll that belonged to the voice on the phone. "You made

it," she smiled. "I made it," I growled, pulling up a chair. "And now,"

she said, taking a worn envelope from her purse and pushing it across

the table towards me, "I'll make it worth your while."