by Daydreams
The white-haired detective sat still, taking his deep breaths, plucking at his shirt, Nardone’s fingerprints ivory white across his right cheek.
“Go ahead,” Nardone said, “—die.”
The young detective said, “You got no-“
“Be quiet-you!” Ellie said. “Don’t press your luck.”
Nardone turned to him. “You fuckin’-a, you little scum bag-takin’ money from a fuckin’ thief, handin’ it out to a bunch of fuckin’ thieves make us all look like shit!” He bent over the seat, reached down behind the young man’s back, and unlocked the cuffs.
“Tommy,” Ellie said, “-there’s liable to be a precinct car coming by from that trouble-“
“You got some of that money?” Nardone said to her.
“Yes.”
“Give it here.” He took the folded twenties, stuffed them back into the battered manila envelope. He tore the paper a little. “-I’m givin’
this shit back to that asshole in there,” he said to the men in the front seat.
“-An’ if I catch either one of you in this fuckin’ neighborhood, I’m gonna’ turn you in. -We all go down!
You understand me. . . ?” The white-haired detective only sat, but the young man nodded. “-So, you tell those creeps you’re baggin’ for, they better send harder guys next time. Ain’t gonna be any more fuckin’ free rides.” He opened his door and got out into the street, then leaned back inside. “Pauly, don’t you ever show me your face again. -For me, you’re a dead guy.”
When his door was closed, he was lumbering on his way to the curb, Ellie said, “-You’re going to be sorry, doing this to him.- Then she took the white-haired detective’s .38 from her purse, dropped it on the floor of the back seat, got out of the car, closed the door, and hurried to catch Nardone at the magazine stand, listening for a patrol car coming to see about a fight, some money flying around.
Porfirio Cruz was an elderly, brown-skinned man with bifocal glasses and a neat, small salt-and-pepper beard.
He was standing behind his small cigar counter at the dusky back of the store, dressed in slacks, a green shirt, and a brown tie-when Nardone came in with the envelope in his hand, Ellie hurrying behind him. Two phones were ringing in the back, and Cruz was already shaking his head, No, he didn’t know that envelope, when Nardone held it out under his nose, then dropped it onto the glass countertop.
“You take this,” Nardone said, “-an’ shove it up your ass. I catch you givin’ this to any more cops-I’ll come in here and pull down your pants and shove it up your ass for you-I give you my word of honor, on Holy Mother.”
A big, thick-shouldered Puerto Rican with a round, flat-nosed face was standing against the store wall to the left of the cigar counter. He was wearing a bright blue and-yellow Hawaiian shirt. He glanced over at Seflor Cruz, then stood straighter, and stepped away from the wall.
“Are you kidding’ me?” Nardone said. “-I couldn’t get that lucky.” Cruz raised his forefinger and the roundfaced man leaned back against the wall.
“Are you a tough guy?” Ellie said to the roundfaced man in her scraps of Spanish, and stepped up to him. She had her hand in her purse, on the Smith & Wesson.
“You look more like a queer, to me,” she said, her Spanish good enough for that.
“Gracie Donaher was real nice to Connie when we had the baby . . . we had Marie,” Nardone said. He was driving down Second Avenue in a crowd of traffic. The day remained summer warm-Ellie had the air-conditioning on. “-A nice woman, you know. She came over a lot.
Her sister’s a nurse … she’s the one got us over to Beth Israel . .
. got us going’ on the exercises. . . .”
“Tommy-you did the right thing. I would have done exactly the same thing.”
“An’ you’d be dead wrong,” Nardone said, and changed lanes to pass a bus. “-I made a bad mistake. I just made a bad mistake, back there. I could get you in a lot of trouble.” He stayed in the center lane, didn’t give a cab room to shove in ahead of them.
. “Tommy, we all decide all the time to take somebody in or let them go! -It’s not such a big deal.”
“I never let a couple thieves go like that-with the money right in their fuckin’ hands. I never let that go in my life.” He glanced at Ellie, then back to the traffic.
“-Why do you think I’m on this shit squad? You think because I let guys go?”
He said nothing more while they traveled (accelerate, slow, and stop-accelerate, slow, and stop) down several blocks.
“This traffic is god-awful,” Ellie said. “-It’s rush hour all the time, now.” A couple-a bald, bearded man and a pretty woman in a white short-sleeved blouse-had passed them, were driving just ahead of them, shifting from one lane to the other and back. It was a junker rental car; they drove like tourists. -This couple, still in front of them, stopped late for the light at Sixty-sixth Street, and came close to nudging a tall, good-looking woman in an exercise outfit, crossing with a shaggy sheepdog on a leash.
The woman called to them, “Learn to drive!” She shouted it loud enough to be heard through the Ford’s closed windows. They heard the pretty woman call back, “He is!” and the rental rolled late on green.
“I wish I didn’t think those guys were laughin’, back there,” Nardone said. “-I wish I didn’t think they were laughin’ at me.”
CHAPTER 6
“It’s beauty and the beast!” The speaker-Avril Reedy, a Post reporter-had been a policeman himself, long ago, was injured in a patrol-car accident and invalided out. He was now lounging against the corridor wall at the door to the squad room, with another reporter Ellie’d seen in the building, but didn’t know by name. -A News man, she thought.
Reedy was black, but his accent was solid Brooklyn, with none of the Southern slurring many New York blacks refreshed as children visiting relatives in Alabama and Mississippi. “-This company you got in there-is this on the Classman killing?”
Nardone walked past him as if Reedy had turned to wallpaper. But Ellie paused and said, “What company? -What’s going on?”
“That’s what I call a great source,” Reedy said to the other man-a short white man, younger than Reedy.
Then said, “-If you don’t know, honey, damn if I can tell you. . . .”
Ellie started to follow Nardone through the squadroom door, then turned.
“Why don’t you come in?”
“Because, sweetie,” Reedy said. ‘-Leahy ain’t lettin’ us come in!”
The squad room was crowded with cop”oing their entries and paperwork-and come in to make and take their afternoon phone calls to and from sources just beginning to stir, girlfriends for dates that evening, their wives to schedule dinner. They were there in such numbers, also, because of the death of one of their own-to share what they knew or thought they knew about Morris Classman’s killing … to hang around, to be on the scene.
Nardone tapped a detective named LaPlace on the shoulder, said,
“Frank-what’s going’ on?”
LaPlace, taller than Nardone, but very slender, sporting a handsome madras jacket, a handlebar mustache, said, “Leahy wants you guys-he’s steamin’.”
When Nardone pushed open Leahy’s office door, Ellie behind him, that fat officer iid glance up in exasperation, said something to three people crowded around his desk, rose, and managed to sidle his way to the door and out, bellying Nardone and Ellie from the doorway, out into the squad room.
“I was real glad,” Leahy said to them, “to hear that thief Johnson is down in holdin’-going’ right across town, getting’ booked.”
Nardone said nothing.
“I think he made us,” Ellie said. “-We saw him circle the block a couple of times … couldn’t see the driver.
Then, he just took off.”
“No pickup?”
“We didn’t see it,” Ellie said. “-We figured you didn’t want him brought in for a no-hold charge.”
“I wanted that thief broug
ht in!” Leahy said. “-Now, you’re tellin’ me the guy just took off like a friggin’ bird!”
“That’s right,” Ellie said.
“Why aren’t you talkin’?” Leahy said to Nardone. He had to raise his voice over the noise of the computers, the conversations. “Hey-keep it down in here! Well … ?” he said to Nardone. “-You got something’ to say?”
“No,” Nardone said.
“Oh-that’s very nice. . . .” Leahy glared up at Nardone in unaccustomed anger, fat and furious-while his object, face closed as a vault, stared over the short man’s head, as if to great distance.
“There was no use making a no-cause arrest, Lieutenant,” Ellie said.
“-It would just be kicked out. There wouldn’t have been any evidence!”
“So you say,” Leahy said. “-An’ I notice this guy is sayin’ nothin’ at all. If it was any but you two … I’d figure you for takin’, have your asses up on charges. -You understand me?” His blue eyes were bulging like a china pig’s, and he blinked twice, then again.
“What for?” Ellie said, wishing that Tommy would say something-at least back her up.
“You know what for,” Leahy said, quietly. ‘-You people were told who, what, where, and when. And you go out there and you come back with nothin’. -Now, I got to explain why,” and he looked up toward the floor above. “You uys left me holdin’ the shitty end-and I don’t even want to know why you did it.” Furious blink”—But I’ll tell you this-the next cops I send you Mr, you better bring those fuckers in on a fuckin’
plate!” The Lieutenant turned away, then turned back again. “—An’
right now, you two come in and listen to some bullshit on that whore thing. A fuckin’ waste of time, is what that is!” and marched away before them, back into his office.
“Tommy, come on, now,” Ellie said, softly, “for God’s sake. -You almost got us into trouble there.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry-but Jesus, speak up next time. . .
The closet office seemed packed with seven people in it-the three in front of the desk; Leahy just wedging himself behind it; Serrano-unseen before-leaning against the near wall; now Ellie and Nardone crowded in, closing the door behind them.
Sitting before the desk was a worried horse-faced man in an expensive brown-checked summer suit. He cut a glance at Ellie and Nardone as they came in, then looked back down at his lap. A short, thick-armed woman with heavy, shoulder-length black hair and narrow, dark green eyes, sat beside him; she wore a fine time-green challis dress, matching top, simple heavy gold jewelry. An attorney—one Ellie had never seen before, but unmistakable in his alert concern, his lack of anger, lack of fearsat on the other side of the woman, against the far wall.
“Listen,” Leahy said to the horse-faced man, “these officers”-he indicated Ellie and Nardone-“these officers are workin’ on the Gaither case.” He made a gentle encouraging gesture with his left hand. “Why don’t you just go over this for them-O.K.?”
The man looked up at Nardone, then Ellie, and stayed with her. “Miss .
. .” he said. “Officer … what happened is that I … associated with Miss Gaither.” He moved his long jaw sideways, left and right, as if imitating the animal he resembled. “I live in the same building.
I … heard some gossip. I heard about her.”
“Then he spoke to this prostitute in Gristede’s,” the short woman said; she had a voice unlike her looks, it was soft and treble as a girl’s.
“-And he arranged to ,associate’ with her. Twice. -He says twice. For two hundred dollars each time. -Isn’t that right?” she said to the man.
“Wasn’t it two hundred dollars each time? -She must have been crazy about you. She must have found you very attractive!”
,,No,” the man said, “I suppose she didn’t-but she was very nice.” He looked at Ellie, then looked away toward the little table with the coffeepot on it. “Then, I read about what had happened-and I thought I’d better come in. . . .”
“What an incredible wimp you are,” his wife said, and seemed to give out deadly rays as she sat.
“What’s your name?” Nardone said. “-You try to get her to do something’
she didn’t want? You smack her around a little? Warm her up? Get that juice going’?”
“That’s a laugh,” the man’s wife said.
“I never hurt her,” the man said, “I didn’t do anything like that.”
“There’s no need for questions of that sort,” the attorney said. “My client came voluntarily to reveal his limited knowledge-“
“Didn’t you hear me or something’?” Nardone said to the horse-faced man.
“-What the fuck is your name?”
“Barry,” the man said. “Barry Crowell. I’m in investment counseling.”
“And she did everythin’ you wanted-just like that?
Wasn’t anything’ she wouldn’t do for you? Nothin’ too dirty for her, huh?”
“She was very nice,” Crowell said. —I’m not ashamed of what I did.”
“Well, I got to tell you, Barry,” Nardone said, and went over to lean on Leahy’s desk beside Crowell’s chair, I, my opinion, a lot of these prostitutes are better off dead, you know? Lots of times, it’s a favor.
I mean it!
You know, when we found her, she was smilin’-like she was glad she went.
She looked peaceful.
“I don’t see what good-” the attorney said, but Nardone didn’t let him finish, “I know-and you know what that means, too, Barry.
It means the guy put her away knew what he was doin’.
And what he was doin’ was something’ just had to be done. It was for her good-for everybody’s good. -Right?
Let me tell you something’-takes quite a guy to see something’ tough like that, and get it done, and to hell with what people think.”
“Lieutenant,” the attorney said to Leahy, “-we’re not going to hold still for this sort of questioning.”
“What questioning?” Leahy said. “If you want, we can hold Mr. Crowell as a material witness—call Reedy in from the Post. They can take his picture. . . . Is that what you want? -You know, Counselor, best thing is just to cooperate here. Nobody’s going’ to push your client around.”
Nardone reached down and put his hand on Crowell’s shoulder. “-They don’t even know what we’re talkin’ about, do they?” He shook Crowell’s shoulder gently, as if he were waking him. “We’re talkin’ about a guy with the kind of guts … everybody’s going’ to wind up lovin’ that guy for doin’ what that poor woman really wanted.
What she needed done, so she’d go out clean–stop making’ everything so fuckin’ filthy. I can tell your wife doesn’t understand, here,” he said, ‘-but she will. A lot of guys do something’ special, it takes awhile for people to catch up to ‘em-you know? Everybody doesn’t get it, not right off. . . .”
Nardone bent over Crowell. “Let me ask you something’ -just for me, none of this official bullshit. Let me ask you something’. It wasn’t easy-was it, Barry? Took a lot out of you, took a lot of your strength, just to get it done… ?”
Crowell stared up at Nardone as if the detective were a cloud that had come drifting over him.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t-“
“But you tried, didn’t you. -At least you gave it a try.”
“No,” Crowell said. “-I never thought of it.”
“Ooooh … uh-oh, now you’re lyin’ to me, Barry. -You never even thought about it?”
“No. Really. -And I couldn’t have, anyway. I was on Long Island.”
“All last weekend, Sunday mornin’ and Monday, too? -All day? Hey, Barry-come on. It’s not summertime anymore.” Nardone counted on his fingers. “Gee, that’s a lot of time on Long Island, Barry. Didn’t you have to come into the office? -Just for a few hours? Take the train in?”
“No … no, I didn’t. I was in Southampton for five days! I was seeing c
lients. -I was there when that happened to her!”
“And what about you?” Nardone said to the man’s wife. “-You going’ to go to jail for a couple years to back up that bullshit?”
“All right, now-that’s enough,” the attorney said, and made to get up out of his chair.
“Relax, Counselor,” Nardone said, “-your clients came in here to cooperate, right? I mean if you want to take ‘em out of here, then take
‘ern out of here! An’ we’ll come get ‘ern later.” He put his hand back on Crowell’s shoulder. “-But Barry’s got some stuff to get off his chest … he’s been doin’ some things with this prostitute behind his wife’s back-and she’s mad and I don’t blame her-because it looks like that’s all there is to it … just some dirty stuff he wanted, and this woman would do it for money.” He squeezed Crowell’s shoulder gently, leaning over him. “But, what I think … is that Barry is not that kind of a guy. I think he had something’ else in mind all the time.
-Not that dirty stuff. I think he had something’ real serious on his mind all the time-and I’d like to hear about it, because this doesn’t look like a perverted guy to me.,)
“I’m not,” Mr. Crowell said. “It was just … lovemaking.”
“Poor woman,” his wife said. ‘-She should have charged three hundred.”
“We can just stop this right now, Lieutenant,” the attorney said to Leahy, who was leaning back in his chair, looking sleepy-and was; he’d had three cheeseburgers and a jumbo fries for lunch. A large Pepsi, too.
“-We can bring this to a close, I think. Mr. Crowell had some information to volunteer concerning this case-and only peripheral information at that-and he has done so.” He leaned over to pick up his briefcase.
“Bullshit,” Nardone said. “-He’s here, and you’re here, because he left his fingerprints all over a murdered lady’s apartment. I was in his shoes, I’d be up here, too, cooperatin’ my ass off!’-and walked back to the wall by Leahy’s only window, and leaned against it.
