They had climbed down the ladder, were perched now on the grilled balcony of the fire escape.
"...and that was weird because who wears a coat in New York in August?" Sal gently pried the window up. "The mamasan remembered that and that the coat had these unusual epaulettes. We took her downtown and showed her our epaulette book. She pored over it. We were sweating buckets. Finally she paused. 'That's the one,' she said..."
They climbed into Amanda's apartment. Janek pulled the window shut and they peered around the dark room. Sal cut his saga short. Exactly a week before, a killer had come in, had stood just where they were standing now.
They didn't speak as Sal hung the shower curtain which Janek had purchased on his way to Long Island City that afternoon. When Sal came out of the bathroom, Janek went in, stepped into the tub and carefully pulled the curtain closed.
He could hear Sal open the apartment door, then go out into the hall. Standing alone in the tub, he felt very strange. He didn't know how long he could bear to stand there, but when he heard the bolt snap open again he froze behind the curtain, spread his legs another half a foot, then planted his feet upon the porcelain. When the lights came on in the studio he raised his fist beside his shoulder and tried to control his breathing sounds.
"What about the dog?" Sal asked.
"She releases her as soon as she comes in." Janek hated having to talk. His voice echoed against the tiles.
"Why doesn't she run into the bathroom and sniff you out?"
"She's thirsty from her walk. She goes straight to the water bowl beside the kitchenette."
A pause. "You don't own a dog, do you, Frank?"
Sal was right. He'd made a mistake. The plastic smell of the new shower curtain penetrated his nostrils; he wanted to cough.
Silence. Then the sound of music. Sal had turned the radio on. He walked into the bathroom, strode in like a man. Amanda would have slipped in quieter. Sal flicked on the light. "Can't see you at all."
Janek was silent. He could see Sal clearly in silhouette, and for a few seconds, when he tried to imagine Amanda there, he felt his heart speed up and a dry throbbing in his throat. Sal moved to the sink, turned on the faucet, bent slightly as if to brush his teeth. He was just inches away, his image sharp against the curtain.
"You know, it's strange to come in and find the curtain closed. After a shower you usually leave it open to dry the tub.''
"Or leave it closed to dry the curtain. That was her habit. He saw it was and took advantage of it."
Janek sucked in his breath, then plunged. His fist landed firmly, the curtain pressed against Sal Marchetti's back.
They didn't bother to act out the rest of it, down on the floor with the curtain between them, though Janek imagined the chest-stabbing part, then the dog yelping, and his going into the studio to kick her unconscious, then coming back and dragging the girl over to the bed. Easy to slice off her head, take her keys from her purse, latch the window, turn off the radio and the lights, then let himself out. No sound in the hall. No traffic on the stairs. They walked straight out of the building and back down Eighty-first. When they reached the car they both were breathing hard.
"Madness, of course," Janek said, "but simple too. I think he took her head with him. The elegant way to do this is to cross town only twice."
"What about the dog? I'm still not happy about the dog."
"Neither am I. Should have run an autopsy. By now she's cremated, of course. What about a chemical analysis of the water dish? He could have drugged the water, knocked the dog out that way. But I don't think so. I think he just took a chance and everything broke his way."
"Could have run into someone on the stairs."
"We didn't. Anyway, they're pretty badly lit."
They drove to Seventy-ninth, took the transverse through Central Park, turned left on Central Park West, drove down to Seventy-first and turned right.
"Funny," said Sal, "I never figured a private car. Thought the parking would be too tough. But there're places around here too."
Janek spotted a Buick pulling out, fought a short duel with a Mazda, slipped into the space. They were half a block from Brenda Beard's.
"He leaves Amanda's head in the trunk, goes to the regular phone booth over there. She sticks her head out the window. He waves to her and she beckons him up. She knew him. She wouldn't have let him in this late if she didn't."
They walked to her building from the booth. "He rings. She buzzes him in. Takes the elevator. Doesn't care if he's seen. People coming and going here all the time. She has a parade of guys. No one gives a fuck."
After they went through the motions in the apartment, Janek looked down at the bed. "He must have used some kind of plastic sheet. Then he took it with him. Now it starts getting cute. He takes Brenda's head down to the car, stashes it in the trunk, brings up Amanda's head and tries to screw it on real tight. When he has everything just the way he wants he goes back downstairs and drives to Lexington and Eighty-first. He carries the head bag up to Amanda's and lets himself back in with her keys. He arranges things there and goes back to his car. A good night's work. He's done."
They went through it all without talking. No need to enact it, but Janek wanted to in case something happened that would spark off a new idea. Nothing happened. They did it just the way he said. Half an hour later they were finished. The run-through from start to end had taken them an hour and a half.
"Fucking impossible," said Sal. They were sitting in the car again.
"So possible it kills you, right?"
"This guy had some kind of balls, Frank. Had to be the coolest guy in town."
Janek nodded. "Let's look at what we got. First there's a slight problem with the dog. Second, I can't prove Brenda knew him, but I'd bet my shield that she did. Third, two crosstown trips instead of three. And now that we know the parking's easy I think we can count on a private car. Now that leaves one other thing."
"What?"
"Hiding in the shower."
"What's wrong with that? You said she kept the curtain closed."
Janek nodded. "But I still don't like it. Not the curtain, but the shower. I felt funny in there. Too stylized. Too much like Psycho."
"Like I keep telling you, Frank, this whole thing's like a fucking movie script. Anyway, in Psycho the girl was in the shower and the killer surprised her there."
"Yeah, but it's the same idea. Maybe that's what's interesting. It's like some kind of reverse. Deliberate. Contrived. I didn't feel right in there. The whole thing's much too slick."
"So where else would you hide?"
"Not behind the door. I have to make sure she's in and can't get out before I make my move."
"So the bathroom's the best place, Frank. Unless you want to hide in the closet."
"I guess it is." Janek paused. "Okay—let's go home."
After he dropped Sal off he drove the streets aimlessly. He hadn't planned to go back to Caroline's but to spend the night at his own place and drop in on her Sunday afternoon. When he finally did get home he felt tired but had trouble falling asleep. It had been a tough evening. There was always a certain exhilaration after a run-through; he was never sure whether it came as a result of working hard or on account of something deeper, the vicarious pleasure of pretending to be a killer, trying to imagine the emotions of the ritual, feeling the surge of power a killer had to feel as he played out the drama of his crime. He had felt that on run-throughs before. It scared him. It was like entering a realm of madness. There had been an awful thrill to it this evening, too, something he had loathed and also had enjoyed.
Al's Clothes
Ten o'clock Sunday morning: Janek woke with a start. The first anniversary, exactly a week since Al had pulled the trigger. Louella had phoned him that Sunday at 10:05. She'd awakened him and when he figured out what she was saying he had clenched his fists and beaten them against his bed.
He shaved, showered, got dressed and went out to a coffee shop on Broadway. He slippe
d into a seat behind the counter, ordered a mug of coffee and a bagel, and wondered how he was going to handle things today with Lou.
He was still wondering as he drove to Queens. He was going to lie to her and he wasn't going to enjoy that very much. She would look at him with her big sorrowful eyes and believe him because there wasn't any reason why she shouldn't. Already he was feeling uneasy, beginning to dislike himself, and starting to dislike Al too, for pulling that trigger and creating this situation he didn't want to face.
Stupid. How could he dislike Al? If it weren't for Al he'd never have met Caroline. Al was gone now and he was alive. He would just have to deal with Lou the best he could.
The DiMona house was on a side street in Corona that made him sad whenever he drove onto it, a residential street of "starter homes" inhabited by middle-aged people who knew even when they were starting out that they would probably end up there, too.
The house was wood-frame and narrow like its neighbors, with a brick porch added to the back. A big TV antenna, a meager barbecue pit and some redwood outdoor furniture. The clapboard on the outside was starting to peel. Al had said he was going to paint it himself in the fall when the days were cooler and he wouldn't feel dizzy on the ladder.
The card table where he'd been whittling just before he'd fired had been folded up and stored away. Lou led him into the living room. Al had hated it. Gold carpeting. Gold velour upholstered sofa. Gold tassels on the cushions. Coffee table made out of a lacquered antique trunk. They sat on the sofa with an empty space between them, facing each other but with their legs sticking straight out.
"Dolly still here?" Janek asked.
"She went back to Pontiac."
"What about the move to Houston?"
"She's putting that off awhile."
"Look, Lou, this is a stupid question. It's only been a week. But I wondered if things were better now."
She nodded. "They have counseling people down at Police Plaza. They helped me take care of the paperwork, and there's a therapy group I can join if I want."
"Think you will?"
"Don't know. They have groups for divorced wives too. Sarah was thinking about getting involved in one right after you walked out. They know about all the problems and they have the support systems to help. For leftover people like Sarah and me. God, I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't mean that the way it came out."
He didn't answer. She turned away. "Sarah called me when she heard," she said. "She asked about you, too. I didn't tell her much. I think she'd still like you to come back. You ever think about that, Frank? It might help, you know. I hate to think you'd do what Al did. They say being alone just makes things worse."
He cut her off. "I know you mean well, but I want you to stop that stuff right away. I don't want to go back to Sarah. If I did I'd shoot myself for sure."
"She says you never call her anymore."
"That's right. I don't. When I used to call all she'd do was complain about the appliances. The dishwasher was out. What should she do? The disposal's stuck up. Who should she call to get it fixed? The car won't start. The furnace runs too cold. The water's brown. The roof's sprung a leak. I told her, 'It's your house now. It's up to you. You get a good hunk of my salary and you have a bookkeeping job and a nice house and I'm living in a semi-basement and driving a Volvo that ought to be sold for scrap. So worry about your own goddamn appliances.' I told her that, and she didn't call me anymore." He shook his head. "It's been almost two years."
Lou nodded. She'd tried, said whatever she'd promised Sarah she would say, and now he knew it was his turn to keep his promise, his turn now to lie.
"I checked around a little about what you told me."
"He was working on something, Frank. Did you find out what it was?"
Janek paused. "I don't think he was exactly working on something, Lou, in the sense that he was doing anything more than walking around thinking about things, maybe visiting a few old crime scenes, stuff like that. He wasn't entitled to carry on an investigation, you know. He had a lot of experience and he was like an old racehorse. He liked to get out and trot a little, work up a little sweat. It's hard to stop cold. So he spun his wheels. But there wasn't any particular case he was working on. Unless he mentioned something to you."
"He said there was a case." She spoke abruptly to signal he was going to have to work harder if he wanted to change her mind.
"There're always cases, Lou. You know that. Ones you never solve. Al had this expression. He'd say, 'Such-and-such case was like that broad in high school you wanted but could never make. You'd make the other girls and then forget them, but the one you couldn't have, you'd think about her all your life.'"
She smiled. "Sounds like Al. Still, he was out so late those times."
"He'd meet some of the guys after work. They'd have a few drinks and talk. He liked that. He didn't want to stay home all day. You knew him. He was an active guy. I just wish he'd found himself a better hobby than trying to put together boat models and whittle flutes."
"He didn't like that. He hated that."
"Why the hell did he do it, then? And make that huge investment in woodworking tools? There must be a couple grand worth of stuff downstairs."
"God, I wish I knew. It was like he thought, 'All right, now I'm retired, so the thing to do is have a hobby.' So then he went out and bought himself a hobby without even trying it out to see if he liked it first."
"Okay, Lou, let's suppose he was working on a case. Let's even say he was working seriously, unauthorized, you understand. Now, does it make sense, then, that he would have shot himself? You know it doesn't. He hated to leave anything undone. That's why I say he was spinning wheels."
She studied the carpet for a while, then looked up and nodded. She believed him, as he knew she would. It wasn't a bad lie, nothing wicked, nothing that would do her any harm, but it made him feel uneasy, and then, as if she could read his mind, she suddenly asked him a question that made him turn away.
"How about you, Frank? Someone in your life?"
"Did Sarah ask you to ask me that?"
"Of course not. Oh—Frank..."
He studied her, could see that she was lying, and he was glad because that made him feel better about having lied to her.
"There wasn't for a long time," he said. "I'm not a woman chaser—you know that. But recently I met someone, and, well, it's someone I like a lot. She makes me happy. I'd be even happier if I wasn't boxed in with a stinking case."
She asked if he wanted another cup of coffee. He looked at his watch and shook his head. She led him down to the basement to Al's den where he'd kept his woodworking tools, his unconstructed model kits, his little refrigerator stocked with beer and his supplementary TV. She had gathered all his clothing together, everything she could find in all the drawers and closets of the house, and she had it all arranged neatly in piles on the couch and the chairs and on the workbench too.
"I called the Salvation Army. They're coming tomorrow. Anything you want, better take it now."
Janek looked at the clothes. He didn't want anything. He shook his head. "Wrong size," he said.
She hugged him suddenly and he hugged her back and patted her hair and cuffed her on the shoulder and told her she should call on him, that he was always available, that he'd always come if she needed anything.
"I know that, Frank. We both loved you very much. I hope you're happy with this new gal of yours." She walked him to his car.
Janek in Love
There was a note tucked into Caroline's door telling him she was at the tennis club. He decided that rather than wait he would go there and watch her play. He drove the short distance slowly, examining the neighborhood—industrial buildings, warehouses, auto body shops, a delicatessen, a discount rug outlet store and a Laundromat.
He parked in front of the club, wandered in, finally found her playing mixed doubles on one of the outdoor courts. She waved when she saw him. The Sunday sun was hot. He found an old aluminum-frame chai
r, dragged it over to one of the net posts and sat down.
She was wearing a skimpy tennis dress that exposed her glistening back. She didn't play girlish tennis, but stepped powerfully into her strokes. He liked the way she moved, economical, direct. She played without tricks, the same way she made love; there were solid thunks when her racquet met the ball.
Her partner was a lean young man with muscular arms and an athlete's vacant stare. The opponents were an exuberant bearded man with a strong squat torso and a willowy girl who uncoiled a ferocious serve. Janek was no tennis expert, but he could see that the women were the superior players. It was a serious match—rushes to the net, leaps to smash, hard backhands fired crosscourt. Tough competitive play, not social Sunday tennis. He felt a little envious, wishing he were part of it.
After the match the players met at the net, then Caroline brought them over to be introduced. They all moved to the club terrace, took a table and ordered Cokes and beers. There was talk of an upcoming autumn tournament, rackets and string jobs, an assistant pro trying to make out with someone's daughter. Listening, he felt separate, dressed differently and cool, while they sat warm and pungent, bonded by their play.
Caroline must have sensed his awkwardness. She turned to him often and smiled. When she mentioned that he was a detective there was a small stirring around the table. The bearded man, a cardiologist, announced that Janek was the first detective he had ever met.
"I met one once," the floppy girl said. "Real nice guy. Interviewed me after I was mugged."
"They get the mugger?" Caroline's partner asked.
When the girl shook her head, Janek added, "We rarely do."
Later he wondered why he'd said it; he'd sounded defensive in a way he hadn't meant. After that exchange the conversation wound down. One by one the players left for the locker rooms until finally he was left alone.
Switch Page 9
