Mitchell Smith

by Daydreams

  complication in revealing those records and so forth. I would simply feel more comfortable dealing with the matter in a more conventional way. OX.?”

  Ellie felt suddenly tired, as if she’d already worked a long day. Her feet were starting to hurt. The brown shoes fit fine in the toe, but they’d always been a little too long and tended to slip down off her heels. She’d glued moleskin patches inside the backs, but the heels still slid a little, sometimes, when she walked, and it made her feet tired.

  “I understand your concern, Mr. Simons,” she said, “—and if I could wait, I would. Now, what I’d like you to do, is call your accountant or whoever at hornesomebody has to be familiar with the transaction-and get me that information. I want to know the amount that’s been paid for that apartment, and I want to know when it was paid. I’ll call you back in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Miss Klein-why don’t you put your superior on the line, and we’ll make any arrangement that seems reasonable.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Ellie said. “If you don’t stop farting around-if you don’t have that information when I call for it, I’ll ask my superior to have the Commissioner’s office call the Department of Inspections, and have them really go over the various properties of Terrace Associates for any violations they can find, payoffs or not. -And I’ll be sure and let the ‘associates’ know who they have to thank!” She hung up.

  Ellie had two cinnamon rolls, and two cups of coffee, and-Walsh having gone upstairs to replace light bulbs on the fourth-floor coffidors-discussed marriage and motherhood with Teresa, who, though shy, had been raised in the barrio, and knew shit from Shinola.

  “I bet you wonder what I’m doin’ with this old man “No, I don’t. He loves you.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Teresa said. “He’s a nice guy, too. -I had some guys love me, you know, want to live with me?

  Next thing I know, they come in an’ beat me up. -You know, Emmett don’t lay a hand on me unless he’s being’ nice. Oh-when he’s ballin’ me, too.”

  “Then he’s nice……

  “Oh, yeah. -He keeps going’ good, too, for an old guy.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Oh, you think I don’t know I’m lucky? You should see some of the stuff I have to do before I met Emmett.

  Clean up old ladies you don’t believe some of the stuff I have to do.”

  “You meet him in the hall?”

  “No. The laundry room. -What does it mean if the baby kicks all the time?”

  “He’s either a boy, or a tough girl.”

  “Like you-right? Like a cop.”

  “We’re not tough,” Ellie said. “—We’re scared all the time.”

  Teresa took another cinnamon roll. “Emmett said that was your friend, got killed.”

  “That’s right, He was killed last night. If I’d been there, you know, he probably wouldn’t have been killed.”

  “Bullshit,” Teresa said, sitting well back from the table for belly room as she ate. “He was going’ home, wasn’t he? You wasn’t supposed to be there. -An’ you’re a lady, anyway. They would just kill you, too.”

  Ellie called Simons back twenty minutes late.

  “Very well, Officer. I have the information you requested. -I also intend, by the way, to report your rudeness. . . . We have received an overdue down payment of fifty-three thousand dollars from Dr.

  Margolies, on an amount for purchase totaling one hundred and ninety-three thousand dollars. The down payment of fifty-three thousand was paid by a check on Citibank, drawn Monday before last. Received by our office on Wednesday of that week.”

  “Received Monday?”

  “Received Wednesday-Arawn Monday, September the twenty-first.”

  “All right. All right. I want to thank you, Mr. Simons.

  That’s good information.”

  “You may be sure I still intend to report your rudeness, Officer Klein.”

  Click.

  Ellie thanked Teresa, asked her to thank her husband then left the apartment, climbed the stairs to the lobby, and went out into the street. She walked east to Broadway, and found three phone booths near a newsstand. She could see headlines reading Hero Cop Slain from the near booth, got out of it, and went to the one on the end.

  She deposited her quarter, asked Information for the number for Todd Birnbaum’s office, got her quarter back, deposited it again, and made the call.

  “Birnbaum and Sefton.”

  It sounded like the tall girl with the bad complexions that girl and Teresa. Bad complexions. “Is Todd Birnbaum in?”

  “No. Mr. Birnbaum is not in the office yet. -May I take a message?”

  “This is Detective Klein. My partner and I spoke with Mr. Birnbaum-“

  “Yes, I remember. Mr. Birnbaum won’t be in the office until about eleven o’clock.”

  “I need to talk to him, now.”

  “Well, he’s at New York Hospital. He’s visiting his wife.”

  “Thank you.” Ellie dug for another quarter, called Information, got the hospital switchboard number, then called that. The switchboard gave her the nurses’ station on the seventh floor, and a nurse who answered agreed to go and bring Mr. Birnbaum to the station phone. -The phone in Mrs. Birnbaum’s room had been disconnected.- The ringing disturbed her.

  “Birnbaum.”

  “This is Detective Klein, my partner and I spoke-“

  “I remember you,” Birnbaum said. ‘-I believe Officer Nardone was the policeman killed last night. -Is that SOT, “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, he seemed a decent man. I’m very sorry.”

  “How is Audrey?”

  “She’s not having too much pain,” Birnbaum said.

  “-I think she enjoyed your visit, yesterday. My wife doesn’t have many visitors.”

  “I need to ask you some questions, Counselor.”

  “You can ask. . . .”

  “First, where were you on Sunday morning, a week and a half ago?”

  “Ah-nitty-gritty time. I was here. -I’m here every day from six till about ten-thirty. I like to be here when she wakes up.”

  “How are you paying for your wife’s treatment, Counselor?”

  “A good question,” Birnbaum said. “-And a good lawyer would advise me not to answer it. . . . We have major medical coverage to about eighty-five percent of expenses. I have, so far, had to borrow an additional forty-three thousand dollars.”

  “Would you have any objection to telling me who the lenders were?”

  “No, no objection. -One was a friend of mine, Aaron Silber; the other was a Westchester bank, National Republic. -I’ve also been advised that an additional uncovered charge of approximately sixteen thousand dollars will probably be incurred within thirty to sixty days. I believe I can borrow that amount as well.”

  “And if you can’t… ?”

  “Then, His. Klein, I will do whatever I have to do to get that money.

  If I had to, I would commit murder for it. -Does that answer your question?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be silly. You have your work to do. -Anything else… ?”

  “Were you ever in therapy, Mr. Birnbaum?”

  “Yes. -And still am, occasionally. What about it?”

  “You went to Susan Margolies, didn’t you?” Ellie felt out of breath, as if she’d run a long way to ask the question.

  “Yes, I did. And do.”

  “She sent you to Sally a long time ago?”

  “Yes, she did. -That’s how Sally and I met. I had some …

  dysfunction. Did Susan tell you about this?”

  “No, Mr. Birnbaum, she didn’t. I thought it might be possible, that’s all.”

  “Is there anything else you need to know? This may sound absurd to you-probably does-but I find myself worrying that my wife might die when I’m not with her.

  Gone to the bathroom or something stupid. Not that there’s any emergency now-but when I am here, I like to stay with her
.”

  “I understand. I feel the same … I felt the same. Just one more question. -Sally’s money, hidden in that coffeemaker? Did you ever mention that to Dr. Margolies?”

  “I see. Of course. I should have thought of that one, myself. -So the money isn’t there. I suppose I assumed you people had found it…. Oh, hell … let me think.

  I believe I may have joked with Susan about it. I guess I thought Susan knew all about that treasure trove. —Certainly didn’t seem surprised, that I recall…. And I hope you don’t think that Susan would murder a friend for money. You happen to be talking about a wonderful therapist, and one of the few real grownups around.”

  “I hope you’re right, Counselor.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes. Please tell Audrey I asked about her. -And tell her I have a present for her. If she feels well enough, I’ll bring it to her tomorrow.”

  “All right,” Birnbaum said, “I will. -And again, my regrets about that officer. It was a rotten thing to happen.” He hung up, and Ellie stood for a few moments, still holding the phone, leaning against the inside wall of the booth.

  “Tommy,” she said into the mouthpiece, wishing there was a number by which the dead might be reached.

  “-Tommy, we’re going to break it.” She listened for an answer over the hum, just in case.

  She spoke to the newsstand man-careful not to look down at the newspapers on the counter-then walked downtown five blocks, and crossed the street to the branch of Citibank. She went through the revolving door, and along the counter past the tellers to a narrow office space with four desks arranged in it among white waist-high partitions. She stood at the rail there for a minute or two, then caught the eye of a young black woman at one of the desks. This woman worked on some papers for a while after that, moving them from one part of her desk to the other. Then, she got up and came over. She wore a dark blue dress, and a string of light blue beads. She had a modest Afro, and wore button earrings that matched her beads. A set.

  “Yes-you want something’T, “I’m a police officer,” Ellie said, and took her shield and.“3 from her purse. “I need some information concerning an account here-an account I believe to be here, anyway.”

  The woman looked at Ellie’s ID. “Well,” she said, -we don’t give out information on people’s accounts.”

  “You’re in charge of this branch?”

  “Mr. Weygand is downtown. He’s the manager of this branch. While he’s gone-I’m in charge. And we do not release account information to anybody without authorization.

  “What’s your name?” Ellie said.

  “My name’s His. Luanna Harris.”

  “His. Harris,” Ellie said, “-here’s the situation. I can get some information from you on this particular account, which involves a possible deposit of felonious gains resultant from a homicide–or I can start pulling your tellers out of their cages for questioning right now, pull you out from behind that rail for questioning right now … and maybe take your ass downtown as a material witness with possible prior knowledge of this same felonious deposit I’m looking for. -In other words, His. Harris, I advise you not to play hardball with me.”

  I’ll in just tryin’ to tell you bank policy-“

  “Don’t tell me shit, Luanna. Just get your buns over to an account ledger and look up Susan Margolies. M-a-r-g0-1-i-e-s. I don’t have to see it, and I don’t need a lot of details. Just a couple. -I don’t think that’s a problem, do you? It isn’t as if I was one of your poor sad-ass customers.”

  The black woman bit her lip, turned away, and walked back behind the tellers’ cages. In three or four minutes, she came back with a small white slip of paper.

  “What did you want to know?”

  “I want to know her last big deposit,” Ellie said. “How much and when.”

  His. Harris looked at the slip of paper. “Seventeen thousand dollars.

  Eight thousand deposited September twenty-first. Nine thousand, September twenty-second.”

  “Twenty-first and twenty-second. Monday and Tuesday.”

  “That’s right.”

  “O.K. One more question, and I’ll get out of here and T

  wpm leave you alone. I need to know how that deposit was made.

  Particularly if it was in large bills…. Hundreds, maybe even a few thousands.”

  “There’s no way in the world to tell that on deposits under ten thousand,” the black woman said. “-Not now.”

  “Sure there is,” Ellie said. “Go back there and ask the tellers. One of them might remember a deposit-if it was twenty or thirty hundred-dollar bills-and some thousands.

  Go on. -Do it.”

  His. Harris pouted, looked mighty sullen, and went away to do it. Ellie saw her walk down the line, talking to each teller in turn. All the tellers had something to say; Ellie couldn’t tell if it was yes or no.

  His. Harris came back to the rail, and said, “Jennifer remembers those deposits. And there weren’t any hundreds or thousands. She remembers it was all small bills and it took a very long time to count out.

  -What’s all this about, anyway?”

  “A robbery and a homicide,” Ellie said. “I appreciate your help…. I’m sorry I had to push you.” She walked to the revolving door, waited while a small, fat lady in a black wool coat struggled through with two shopping bags, then went outside.

  The morning was getting brighter, warmer-sunlight glancing off the mica chips in the pavement. Sparkling. A man with a canvas shoulder bag walked by, glanced at Ellie, at her legs, then looked into her eyes for a moment before he passed. Not a bad-looking man. In his late thirties … short, a blunt, pleasant face. Brown eyes. -Wa r t an P Shea’s winter gray.

  The cinnamon rolls had made Ellie hungry. There was a good hot-dog place on Seventy-second that Tommy loved…. That Tommy used to love.

  Ellie stood on the corner for a minute or two, thinking, watching the people walk by. Then she walked back into the bank and stood at the rail again, until the black woman-Luanna-saw her and came over. Then Ellie asked for the closest branch of any other bank.

  Ellie had two hot dogs and an orange drink for brunch at Seventy-second, thin walked back all the way up to Eighty-seventh Street-very uncomfortable in the brown shoes—because she didn’t want to go down into the subway, and she wasn’t able to get a cab until she’d walked too far to need one. At Eighty-seventh, she walked west to the Donegal. She went through the lobby to the elevator, rang for it, and when it came, took it up to the seventh floor.

  ‘ Who is it … ?” Susan Margolies’ voice came muffled through the door.

  Ellie stood in front of the peep. “Officer Klein,” Ellie said, and after a few moments, heard the door locks begin to rattle.

  “Good morning .

  “Good morning.”

  “You already had the grand tour, didn’t you? I showed you the apartment?”

  “Yes, you did. It’s beautiful.”

  Susan Margolies, tall, big-boned, walked as she had walked before, leading Ellie down the fine, high-ceilinged hallway, past the small lamps, the German print&—or Austrian. The tall woman was better-dressed this time, in a long, black, pleated skirt and a fine long-sleeved white silk blouse. She had pinned her iron-gray hair up, held it with two tortoise-shell combs.

  “Just a minute,” Susan said, “-I think I have an appointment this morning. We may have to cut this short.

  … She stopped at a door on the right, opened it, and walked into the small, perfect, blond-wood den. Ellie stood at the door.

  The tall woman leaned over her desk, leafed through her appointment calendar. “No. O.K.-we’re all right.”

  She stood up, motioned Ellie out through the door ahead of her, and followed her down the hall. She stepped up close behind, and Ellie heard her sniff once or twice.

  “One perfume, today,” Susan said, so softly that Ellie supposed she was talking to herself.

  There was something new in the living room, that grand and
pleasant space, and Ellie saw that a harpsichord, slight, angular, and elegant, was standing in the far corner, under one of the wide, tall windows. The windows were open, and the soft waterfall sound of traffic from the West Side Highway drifted in with sunlight.

  Ellie supposed the light was brightened by reflection off the Hudson.

  -The apartment was as special as she’d remembered it.

  “What do you think?” Susan Margolies said. The fine white blouse blanched her long pale face even paler, softened soft wrinkles. Her blue eyes assumed a more definite blue.

  “It’s beautiful. They’re such pretty-looking instruments.”

  “Pretty-sounding, too, if you know how to play them. -I know I’m a little long in the tooth for it, but I decided what-the-hell, and I got it, and I’m going to take lessons.”

  Ellie didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Would you like some coffee, or tea? I could make us some muffins …

  ?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve had breakfast.”

  Susan Margolies sat down in an armchair, and gestured Ellie to the couch. “Well-what is it now? You know, I just decided that it’s uncivilized for a person to live and die and not know how to play an instrument, at least a little. Most people today can do only one thing.

  -And they usually can’t do that very well.”

  “I think that’s right, Susan,” Ellie said.

  “All right-I canceled my appointments, and here I am at your disposal.

  His. Klein-right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well—what do you want to know?”

  “Well, the first thing I’d like to know”-heart going bump, bump, bump-“I’d like to know why in the world you lied to me? If you hadn’t lied, it might have been weeks before we got back to you. -Maybe a couple of months.”

  The tall woman seemed surprised. “Well, you’re going to have to explain that one. -I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “You told me that Sally only met Rebecca Platt a couple of times, had nothing to do with her. That was a lie-and it was the same lie Rebecca told me.

  “I didn’t lie.

  Then, and kids. -A blow-job or a peanut-butter sandwich, and they’re satisfied.” -Heard that before, Susan?