I said Well, okay. But I can only stay a minute.
Friend E, it flat out amazes me just how needy and desperate these New York women are. Even the beautiful ones. I mean, here I am walking along in Greenwich Village with this gorgeous honey and here she is all excited because she’s thinking I’m the answer to her prayers. And all I’m thinking is Oh, baby, sweet baby—I am.
By the way, E, if you have the slightest fucking idea who this Bonnie bitch is, please advise.
Laurie lived on the other side of Washington Square on Sullivan Street in a not very nice building. Looked like it had once been a tenement. One big room that had a loft bed built in, a ladder going up to it. There was another bed in front of the window. Place was filthy, E. Heaps of clothes everywhere, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. I cannot believe what pigs so many of them are. I mean, people have this belief that women are so neat and we are such slobs. Not true. Can’t live in a tiny cage if you’re messy, as you and me know only too well. I said Do you have a roommate? And she said Yes, I live with a girl from home who’s here in New York to get into modeling, like me, only right now she waits tables. I said Is that where she is now? And she said Yeah, until midnight. Laurie did apologize for the mess, E. Said lots of their girlfriends from wherever ended up crashing there on their way through New York and it could be a real zoo sometimes.
She got her photo album to show me. Cleared space on the sofa and we sat there together looking at them, our knees touching. There were pictures of her in all sorts of different poses. They were real professional-looking and she looked fine in them. Particularly the ones for panty hose. Man, those legs. Only she also looked, I don’t know … hungry. Like she really, really wanted to please you. Like she really, really needed a gig, any gig, and fast. I could see something in these photographs that I couldn’t see just from being with her, E. She wasn’t ever going to get there. She didn’t have it. I mean, no way. This honey was a loser. A born victim. Someone to be blewed and tattooed by every front artist in the business. Best she could ever hope for in life was to trade in those legs for some security—marry some nice guy with bucks who’d be good to her. And we both know how many of those there are in this world, E. I’ll tell you, it almost brought a tear to my eye when I realized just how right this all was, me showing up now in her life. Just think how much heartache and pain I’d be saving her from by performing my one little random act of kindness. Laurie would never have to deal with that shit ever again.
Laurie would be free.
The night was young, E. Lots of time until midnight. But all of that talk of girlfriends coming and going was making me edgy. You know me, I got to keep moving. I asked her would she mind if I undid my necktie. She said No, of course not. So I did. And then I went ahead and told her I wasn’t any casting agent. In fact, I wasn’t even entirely sure what a casting agent did. And she said I don’t understand—who are you, what are you? And I said Laurie, I am the answer to your prayers. And then she DID understand, because she gave me that look, the one where they KNOW. You know the one I mean. Only by now it was too late. I was doing my thing with my tie. She was a strong girl, no question. But I was too fast and strong for her. And too certain of my goal. And how right it was.
When it was over I helped myself to what I’d been wanting ever since I first laid eyes on her. I left my mark on her, too. Because she was mine now. All mine.
Thanks again for that fifty, E. I’ll get it back to you when I can.
Your pal, T
p.s. Just think how much fun I’d be having if I didn’t have to work
Four
“WHEN WAS LAURIE KILLED, Lieutenant?”
“We’re guessing Friday night, dude. Roommate found her this morning.”
“That plays. He must have stuck this in the mail on Saturday.”
I had called Very back just as soon as Chapter Two showed up in Monday morning’s mail. I had read him the letter. Also assorted choice highlights. Now we were seated over steaming bowls of seafood soba in one of those Japanese noodle houses that were popping up around town almost as fast as Starbuck’s coffee bars were. This one was down on Bleecker, not far from the murder scene. Very had on a hooded blue New York Giants sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. He looked wired and fierce.
Lulu was lapping up a bowl of soba herself. She was not quiet about it. In fact, she sounded very much as if she were in the John helping herself to a tall cold one from out of the you-know-what.
The pages of the answer man’s second chapter were spread out on the table next to us. This time I had handled them with tweezers, too.
I said, “If he murdered her on Friday, why didn’t her roommate find her until today?”
“On account of she went to Sag Harbor for the weekend with some gee. Totally unplanned. They just hopped in the car and went. She called and left a message on the phone machine Saturday morning to let Laurie know where she was. You know, in case Laurie was worried. Which she wasn’t, dig, on account of she was dead. We played back the message. It checks.”
“And the details of Chapter Two? Do they check?”
He nodded glumly. “Laurie was right there on the sofa, her photos laid out in front of her on the coffee table. Most bonus-looking chick I’ve seen in my life. A stone fox. She was strangled with something that might have been a necktie, not that he left it behind. Branded her same as Diane—the question marks on the forehead. Appears to be—”
“Wait, did you say marks? As in more than one?”
Something flickered in Very’s eyes. What, I didn’t know. “The bastard’s numbering ’em, dude,” he said between gritted teeth. “Appears to be the same lipstick. Same color, anyway.” He paused to slurp some noodles. “No sign of a struggle. No sign of sexual assault. No sign of a break-in. Place is a real mess, that’s for damned sure. I never seen so much clothing and clutter and dust in my life. You’d think they never heard of a vacuum cleaner.”
“You and the answer man seem to have a lot in common, Lieutenant. You don’t harbor a secret desire to write, do you?”
“He strikes quick, dude.” Very said it sharply. “He strikes quick and strong and clean. I’m betting we turn up bupkes there in the way of evidence.”
I glanced at the end of the chapter. “He says here ‘I helped myself to what I’d been wanting ever since I first laid eyes on her.’ What did he mean by that?”
“The Band-Aid. One that was on her heel, remember?”
I stared at him. Lulu raised her large black nose from her bowl and did the same. “What, he took the Band-Aid?”
Very shrugged his shoulders. “It’s gone, dude. Not on her heel. Not in the trash. Not nowhere. All that’s left are some traces of adhesive. She had a blister there. Her boyfriend told me she got it down in Miami from a new pair of sandals. She’s also got a bite mark—on her butt. Which would be major promising if our man did it. Only, the boyfriend says he gave her that a few days back when they were doing the wild thing.” Very’s lips pulled back from his own teeth in distaste. Or maybe it was envy. “We’re taking an impression of his teeth to see if there’s a match. According to the roommate, Laurie was crazy about this guy, only they were all the time fighting because he hosed around on her. Damn, how a guy could go out on that one.…” He shook his head, disgusted. “School me, why do they always fall for jerks?”
“Because that’s all that’s out there, Lieutenant.”
“Name’s Tibor Farkas. He’s a model. Does beer commercials, shit like that. One of those tall, cut-up gees with white teeth and no waist that women are all the time giving some to. I hate him. Although he was pretty broken up when he got the news.”
“Where was he Friday night?”
“You mean, could he be the answer man?”
“They do keep saying our man looks familiar. And Tibor is a model.”
“Claims he was out bar-hopping that night,” said Very. “Gave us a bunch of places and names to check out. Plus he’s offered to take a lie detector test.”
“Is that typical in this kind of case?”
“Dude, there’s no such thing as typical in this kind of case.
I stared down at the remains of my lunch. I had lost interest in it. Our waiter came to take our bowls away. We ordered tea.
Very said, “We’re keeping Tibor under surveillance. If he is our man we got to connect him up with Diane Shavelson, who he says he never heard of. We’re looking for some way they might have hooked up. Like did they ever go to the same eye doctor or bank at the same bank. We look for a link. Any link.”
“And if there isn’t one?”
“We try to link up the two victims. What did they have in common? We break down their address books, their credit card records. We talk to their neighbors, their families, their friends. Like, say this film class at The New School Laurie was in. That’s for real. I just spoke to the guy who teaches it—big claim to fame is he did a book on latent homoeroticism in the films of Laurel and Hardy. What a dickhead.”
“What a surprise.”
“He gave me a list of her classmates. A dozen people. We check to see if one of them is a hello.”
“A hello?”
“Y’know, like one of them pops up in Diane’s address book—hello. Or one of them recently bought a big blue garment bag from Hold Everything—hello.”
“And if there’s no hello? If the answer man kills totally at random? What then?”
Very didn’t answer me. He didn’t want to. His eyes turned to the letter. “I can’t believe he was watching us at Barney Greengrass. That’s twisted.”
“Twisted.”
“Kind of makes you wonder if he’s watching us right now.” He shot a glance over his shoulder.
“Kind of.”
“But this is good that he wants you to contact him. This we can do something with. Only, a fucking personal ad. That is so retro.”
I said nothing.
Very peered at me suspiciously. “Why’d you suddenly go quiet on me?”
“I wasn’t aware that I had.”
“Dude, you wouldn’t hold out on me, would you?”
“Why would you say that, Lieutenant?”
“The fact that you always do, for starters.”
“Believe me, if I knew anything I’d tell you.”
He stared at me doubtfully a moment, then gave a short nod and sat back in his chair. “Me, I keep thinking this guy’s got himself some serious chops. Check it out, these two women were both lookers, the kind who get hit on all the time. They weren’t naive. They weren’t dumb. Yet they both fell for his line. Diane went home with him. Laurie invited him up—even though he was a total stranger. You know any women who would do that? I don’t. They’d be a helluva lot more careful. That means we’re talking about someone who can really play the game. He’s got to be charming. He’s got to be good-looking—”
“Not necessarily good-looking. Laurie was a would-be actress, don’t forget.”
“So?”
“So she’d invite a two-hundred-pound dung beetle into her home if she thought he could help her career.”
“Who is this guy, dude?”
“He’s someone who can be whomever they want him to be, Lieutenant.” Our tea came. I sipped mine, wrapping my icy hands around the cup. I still felt chilled to the bone. It was a feeling I couldn’t seem to shake. “So tell me, does the answer man qualify as a serial killer now?”
Very’s eyes widened with alarm. “Ssh, not so loud!”
Not that anyone else had heard me. We had the place practically to ourselves. There were three women busy talking over near the door. There was a guy with white hair going one-on-one with the Daily News crossword puzzle. There was us.
Very leaned toward me. “Officially, the FBI won’t consider him a multiple until we have three confirmed strikes.”
“How comforting.”
“And for your information, dude, we’re giving the press next to nothing about Laurie.”
“I didn’t know that was possible anymore.”
“It’s possible if you’re waiting on next of kin to fly in from Minnesota. It’s important we keep a lid on Laurie’s murder. We don’t want ’em to link it up with the Shavelson killing. They do that, they’ll turn this place into fear city.”
“They won’t exactly be wrong.”
“Hey, we’re handling it. As of today, there’s thirty men working this case around the clock. We’re talking full-fledged task force, under the personal direction of Inspector Dante Feldman, who doesn’t believe in waiting for three strikes.”
I tugged at my left ear. “Dante Feldman? Isn’t he the one who they call the Human Hemorrhoid?”
Very drew his breath in—a pained look crossing his face. “Not on the job, we don’t.”
“Sure, sure. I’ve read all about him in the newspaper. He’s the one who they say makes George Steinbrenner look like Chuckles the Clown.”
“He’s my boss of bosses,” Very said stiffly. “Commanding officer of all Manhattan homicide detectives. Made his rep on Son of Sam.”
“I asked you not to mention him, Lieutenant.”
“He wants to meet you.”
“Isn’t he still locked away in Attica?”
“Feldman, I mean.”
“I can’t wait.”
“That’s good, because you don’t have to.”
“Meaning?”
“Looking at him, dude,” Very said uncomfortably.
It was the white-haired guy, the one who’d been doing the crossword puzzle. He was on his way over to us.
Very half-rose from his seat. “Inspector Feldman,” he said, his manner turning vastly more formal and respectful than I’d ever seen it, “I’d like to introduce Stewart Hoag.”
Feldman just stood there glaring down his long, narrow beak of a nose at me. It was a penetrating glare. It was an intimidating glare. It was the glare of a man who knew my every vice and weakness and human failing. He didn’t, of course, but he wanted me to think he did. Then again, maybe he just didn’t like being called a hemorrhoid.
“Mr. Hoag,” he finally growled, by way of greeting. “What do your friends call you?”
“Haven’t got any.”
“This doesn’t surprise me.”
Okay, fine. Now he had Lulu’s attention.
“Make it Hoagy,” I said.
“As in Carmichael?” There was a trace of Brooklyn in Feldman’s voice. Not much.
“As in the sandwich.”
“A fan. I’m a huge one.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Of your wife, I meant. Merilee Nash.”
“She’s my ex-wife.”
A faint smile crossed his thin lips. “Sorry. My mistake.”
“No, I believe this one’s on me.”
Dante Feldman was in his fifties, tall and taut and sinewy, with a carefully combed snowy-white pompadour, pale lips and hooded black eyes that never seemed to blink. He was a sharp dresser for a cop, which meant a navy-blue Ungaro knockoff, pale blue broadcloth shirt with contrasting white collar and cuffs, a Hermès tie. And he was a preener. Standing there, he kept shooting his cuffs and smoothing his pompadour, shooting his cuffs and smoothing his pompadour. It was, I would discover, a thing he did. Somewhat like a tic. “I like to get a feel for an individual when his guard isn’t up,” he told me. “That’s why I’ve been observing you without your knowledge. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Would it matter if I did?”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
Feldman glanced severely at Very, who looked away, coloring. Then the inspector pulled up a chair and sat, being careful not to kick Lulu under the table. The waiter brought him a teacup. He filled it and drank, swishing the tea around in his mouth like Listerine. He swallowed it. He sat back. “I would have preferred meeting with you alone.”
“You can say anything in front of Lulu you would say in front of me, Inspector. She has my complete confidence.”<
br />
“I was referring to Lieutenant Very here.”
“Oh.”
“But he insisted on sitting in. He felt I’d need a … what was it you called it, Lieutenant?”
“Interpreter,” Very said quietly.
“Actually, what he said was that you have no license to practice but you’d try to operate on my head.”
“He said that?”
“I didn’t know what he meant at first, but now I do. You see, I am on to you, my friend,” Feldman informed me with a smug, self-satisfied smile.
I don’t do well around smug. Never have. “On to me, Inspector?”
“It has been my experience that most people are one shade or another of gray,” he said. Actually, he didn’t so much speak as deliver weighty, carefully worded proclamations. It was as if he were standing outside on the curb giving a press conference of nationwide import. “You are what I call Kodachrome Brash.”
I glanced down at Lulu. She didn’t particularly want to touch that one, so I tried Very. “Was I just dissed?”
Very didn’t reply. He was like a different person around the inspector. Loyal. Obedient. Silent. I had never seen him in toady mode before. I didn’t much care for it.
“The lieutenant was telling me about how you helped crack the Son of Sam case, Inspector,” I said. What the hell, I was going to have to hear about it eventually. Might as well get it over with.
Feldman took another gulp of his tea and sat back, his hands gripping the narrow arms of the chair like huge claws, his hooded eyes flicking from one side of the restaurant to the other. He reminded me of a hawk perched there waiting for some unsuspecting prey to come out of its burrow so he could swoop down and snatch it in his powerful jaws and fly off with it, its tiny limbs flailing helplessly in midair. “That was the Omega Task Force,” he recalled, his voice booming. “Largest manhunt in department history. We had seventy-five detectives and two hundred and twenty-five uniforms working around the clock in all five boroughs of the city of New York. Cost the city almost a hundred thousand dollars a day in overtime. Ended up costing over two million. At one point, we were getting as many as four phone-in tips a minute, people who were sure they’d spotted him. We checked them all out. Every single one. We investigated more than three thousand suspects. We consulted shrinks, hypnotists, numerologists, astrologers, biorhythm specialists.…” He paused to swallow more tea. “Dave Berkowitz attacked eight times in fourteen months. Stabbed two, shot six. Six of the eight died. And do you know how we got him in the end? On a parking ticket. The man parked too close to a fire plug.” Abruptly, he turned his penetrating glare back on me. “How do I know you’re not the answer man?” he demanded harshly.
The Man Who Loved Women to Death Page 6
