“That they do.”
The bus came to a stop at the George Motchan Detention Center, and we got off.
“It’s time to work your magic with your little gold badge,” I said.
“So that’s why you called. And here I was thinking you loved me for who I am.”
“It’s a little bit of both.”
Luce’s badge worked like a charm. She told the corrections officer at the reception desk that we wanted to see Roberto Banas, and from there it was open sesame. We went through security and were passed on to another guard, who led us to an interview room.
There’s nothing to compare with the experience of being in a jail, the pervasive sullenness that exists on both sides of the bars. Combine that with the incessant battering of noise, and the sour odor of unwashed bodies, and you have a pretty good approximation of hell.
After a few minutes, Banas was ushered in. Luce told the CO we wanted to speak to Banas alone. No problem, he said, and left.
Banas was slight and dark-skinned, and wearing the clothes he had been arrested in. His eyes had the weary look of resignation.
“Mr. Banas, my name is Steeg, and this is my partner, Luce Guidry. Please take a seat.”
A table separated us. Banas pulled up a chair and leaned back.
“You Immigration?” he said. “I wondered when you’d finally show up.”
Luce showed him her badge.
“NYPD. We’re not interested in your legal status, Mr. Banas,” she said. “We’re investigating a murder.”
Now there was panic in his eyes.
“Madre de Dios! I was in a bar, and some guy took a swing at me. The next thing I know, I’m being booked. I never had trouble with the police before. You can check it out. Now you’re talking murder?”
“Relax, Mr. Banas, we’re not accusing you of killing anyone.”
“Then what is it?”
“How long did you work at Été?” I said.
“Since it opened. About six months. And then the bastard Noonan fired me.”
“Noonan is dead.”
“So that’s what this is about?”
“No. I want you to think back to about a month or so ago. A body was found in the restaurant alley.”
“I remember. Everybody was talking about it.”
I slid Ferris’s picture across the table.
“Do you recognize him?”
He studied the picture. “Is that the guy who was killed?”
“It is.”
“You think I waited on him?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking.”
“I don’t know. Could be. But . . .”
He put the picture down. This was going nowhere.
“He may have paid with cash,” I said.
Banas picked the picture up again and grew excited. “Wait a minute!” he said. “Yeah, that’s the guy. Paid with three one-hundred- dollar bills. Crisp. Just laid them on the table. When I picked them up, he was gone. Just left the money on the table. Didn’t even give him a bill. Yeah, I remember him.”
“Was he with anybody?”
“It’s been a while, but I think so. A woman, maybe.”
“Do you remember what she looked like? Try really hard.”
Banas stared at the picture, and then at the ceiling.
“It was busy that night. I remember there was a birthday party at the next table. It was crazy. They were drinking, and singing at the top of their lungs. Then one of the women jumps up, and she wants me to take pictures, then she rubs herself all over me. Her I remember. Blonde. Real tall. Hot. You know.”
“I’m happy for you, but how about the other woman?”
“I know she was there, but . . . Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it.”
“That’s OK, Mr. Banas,” Luce said. “You’ve been a great help.”
“Look, I’m serious. I gotta get out of here. You don’t know what it’s like. These guys are fucking crazy.”
“Do you have a lawyer?” I asked.
His face screwed up in distate. “Sure,” he said. “Legal Aid. I speak better English than he does.”
“Have you been arraigned yet?”
“Yeah, but I can’t make the bond. And I got Immigration to worry about. I’m screwed.”
I threw Luce a “We’ve got to help this guy” look. She picked up on the cue.
“What’s your lawyer’s name, Mr. Banas?”
“Somoza. Richard Somoza.”
“And the DA?”
“I don’t know. Some woman. Somoza should have it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I appreciate it. Just don’t let them send me back.”
“When you get out, your old job should be waiting for you.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ll speak to Stuart,” I said. “I think I can persuade him.”
Banas looked like he was about to cry. “You do that, and I swear to God I’ll never take a drink again.”
That used to be my line.
CHAPTER
41
The Universe was in overdrive.
The pool of potential witnesses —or killers — had been whittled down to two. Now the trick was to get it down to one. I called Ginny and asked her to meet me at the Terminal Diner on Twelfth Avenue.
Her face was pale and drawn. No hint of makeup. “I understand you spoke to Ollie,” she said.
“He and Jeanmarie stopped by.”
“Some family, huh?”
“Some family,” I agreed.
“I’m thankful for one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“We never had any kids. It’s one thing for me to swim around in their polluted gene pool. It’s quite another to invite my children in for a dip.”
“You can’t be surprised. Ollie was always a hater.”
“Yeah, but no more so than most people in the Kitchen. I never would’ve thought he’d take it so far.”
“I heard the same crap you did growing up, but it was just talk.”
“You think? Back in high school I had a girlfriend who dated a black guy. She had an attitude and was going to show everyone. She showed them all right.”
“What happened?”
“Some of the boys got together and told her they didn’t want him coming around anymore. She told them to piss off. No one was going to tell her who she could date. He came around again. They threw him off a roof. When she went to his funeral, her parents put her out. Lovely.”
“Jesus!”
“You know what was worse? The cops did nothing. They knew who did it, and they buried it.”
“There have always been jerkoffs like that on the police force. Eventually, they get weeded out.”
It sounded lame, but it was largely true.
“Do they, now! The particular jerkoff who caught the case managed to retire and live out his life on a pension. In case you’re interested, his name was Dominic Steeg. So do me a favor, Jake. Don’t tell me it was all just talk.”
That was another entry in Dominic’s ledger. One more thing to deal with in purgatory.
“Let’s make a deal,” I said. “I won’t ask you to apologize for Ollie, and I won’t apologize for Dominic.”
She extended her hand, pinkie out, across the table. I did the same with mine.
“Pinkie swear,” she said.
I gripped her pinky in mine. “Pinkie swear.”
We touched our fingers to our lips.
“You know, when I found out what Ollie did, I wanted to kill him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She shrugged.
“OK,” she said, “what’s so important?”
“It’s something we covered before, but we’re going to go over it again.”
“Don’t you trust me, Jake?”
“So far, you haven’t given me a reason not to.”
The expression on her face said it wasn’t the answer she was looking for.
/>
“On the night he was murdered, Tony had dinner with a woman. Surprised?”
“Not really. As I explained to you, we had an . . . unconventional marriage. Tony did his thing, and I did mine.”
“Any idea who he was with?”
“We never discussed our . . . you know. It would have taken the fun out of things.”
“Fun?”
“Sure. The sneaking around. The risk of getting caught. It’s a turn-on.”
“And that night you were having fun in your bedroom in Seaside.”
“Save the sarcasm for someone who gives a crap. That’s where I was.”
“I’m going to have to talk to your boyfriend.”
“Fine. I know I’m asking a lot, but be discreet. His wife doesn’t know about us, and he has young children. Don’t screw it up for him.”
“As Dave is wont to say, ‘You pay your money, you take your chances.’ To quote you, ‘Part of the fun is taking risks.’ But there’s always a downside.”
“Look, Tony and I indulged each other’s fantasies. We were adults. It was innocent, and no one got hurt.”
Except Tony.
CHAPTER
42
Sir Walter Scott was right on the money. It’s a hell of a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive, and it was hard keeping all the deceivers straight. But buried somewhere inside was the one string that, when gently tugged, would cause the whole thing to unravel. All I had to do was find it. The prospect made my head hurt.
I went to Feeney’s to see how Nick’s guys were progressing in their hunt for the elusive Lisa Hernandez. Before I had the chance to ask, he produced her new address.
“And here you were thinking Nick’s not gonna come through,” he said.
“The thought had crossed my mind. Where is it?”
“Dobbs Ferry. Up in Westchester.”
“Very bucolic.”
“Whatever. You want company?”
“You haven’t left this place in years. Why the sudden wanderlust?”
“More women problems. My soon-to-be ex-wife set her lawyers on me, and my wannabe next wife is a crazy lady. I gotta get away for a while. Do you want company, or what? I’ll even drive.”
Hard to refuse.
The drive up the Saw Mill River Parkway was just what I needed; the trees had just begun to leaf out, and between them vines had massed to produce soft mounds of green.
“So,” I said, “what are you going to do about your marital problems?”
“Stop listening to my dick.”
“Seems like a plan.”
“Tell me about it. If I had gone into the priesthood like my mother wanted, I wouldn’t be in this position.”
“We all ultimately disappoint our parents.”
“Ain’t it the truth. Being a priest is a pretty good gig, though. They get a salary, free room and board, and if they play their cards right, they can make cardinal one day. Shit, then you’re talking big money.”
“I never looked at it that way. But the downside is there’s no sex.”
“We both know that’s not exactly true. I got a cousin, Richie, who’s a priest out in Queens. The guy drives a better car than mine. Always getting these expensive gifts. I asked him about it. Said he’s got to beat the women off with a stick.”
“Sounds like a true man of God.”
“Yeah. Besides, I’m through with sex. It ain’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Too much investment for a few minutes of return.”
“I see your point.”
“Dave tells me that Ollie was the guy sending the notes and making the phone calls. How fucked-up is that?”
“I guess the roaches feasted on huge hunks of his brain.”
“But he made confession, and everything’s hunky-dory now.”
“I’m sure it cost him a couple of Hail Marys and a few Our Fathers.”
“If it was me sitting in the box listening to his bullshit, I’d’ve pulled him through the grill and beaten him to death.”
“Your mother was right,” I said. “You were definitely called to the priesthood.”
“You don’t give a crazy fucker like that absolution, you whack him in the head with a shovel and bury him in the woods.”
“According to the map, we’re coming up to Hastings-on-Hudson,” I said. “Dobbs Ferry should be the next town.”
“What do you make of Barak?” Nick said.
“What would you do if one of your kids were snatched?”
“Depends which one.”
“Seriously.”
“I am being serious. Nah. Barak made a deal. If he breaks it, he’s in a world of shit.”
“What is it, honor among thieves?”
“Something like that. What do you think Dave is going to do?”
“Kill the Golem,” I said. “Before he kills Dave.”
“Won’t be easy. He’s one tough son of a bitch. And smart. Not the kind of moron we ordinarily get to deal with.”
“Dave shouldn’t have taken his son,” I said.
“I told him the same thing, but your brother keeps his own counsel. You know how he is.”
I certainly did.
“There’s the exit. Take a left at the light. That puts us on Ashford Avenue. We take it a few miles until it becomes Broadway. She lives at 4300 Broadway. It’s a straight shot.”
We drove along Broadway until we hit Hastings.
“There’s no 4300,” I said.
“You probably missed it. I’ll turn around, and we’ll try it again. Pay attention this time.”
Nick drove slower this time, with the same result. We pulled into a filling station. There was no 4300 Broadway.
“Now I’m pissed off,” Nick said. “Clarkson better get their insurance policies ready.”
“It’s not their fault. She gave them a phony address.”
“Where the hell could she be?” Nick said.
“In the wind. Or in a grave.”
“Get your map out, and see how far away Tarrytown Road in White Plains is.”
“Why?”
“So the day’s not a total loss, I hear there’s a great Italian restaurant over there. La Manda. Let’s do it.”
We did. And it was.
CHAPTER
43
It was late afternoon when we got back to the city, and my best hope for the right string had evaporated. And it was no one’s fault but my own. I hadn’t done the basics with finding Lisa, and now it might be too late. Maybe Toal was right. I had been out of the game too long.
I called Lou Torricelli.
“Lou,” I said, “Lisa is still missing, and I’m starting to worry. Have you heard from her?”
“Not a word. Like I told you, she took a leave.”
“Does she have any family? Did she leave an emergency contact in her file?”
“Not that I know of, but give me a minute, and I’ll pull it up on the screen. There it is. No. No family or next of kin. No emergency contact. Sorry.”
“Does she have any friends at the office? Someone she goes to lunch with?”
“Lisa? She keeps to herself. To tell you the truth, the other women really don’t like her much.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s young, pretty. You know. They kind of resent her.”
Terrific! So much for the basics.
I decided to go home and take a nap.
Two hours later, I was up and not the least bit refreshed. I showered and shaved, but it didn’t help. I was definitely in need of a change of pace.
My telephone rang. I picked it up.
“Steeg, it’s Danny.”
He wasn’t the change of pace I had in mind.
“Did you get the money?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I wired it back to you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t need it.”
“But you said . . .”
“I know what I said, and I appreciate everything you di
d for me. But I can’t go along with the deal you and Dave cut.”
“What are you telling me?”
“I wasn’t totally honest with you. I got some money put aside. Doesn’t exactly cover the principal and vig I owe Barak, but it’ll have to do. Hey, he never thought he’d see any of it, right?”
I heard the tiny little feet of the possum trotting over my grave again.
“Danny . . .”
“Let me finish. I can’t stay away from the city. It’s like a jones. I gotta come home.”
“He’ll kill you. Trust me.”
“He’s a businessman first. With guys like him, it’s all about money. I called him. Made him an offer. Got the certified check in my pocket. He’s cool with it.”
“They dragged Liam behind a car.”
“Liam was an asshole and a hype. I’ll be fine. Thanks again for being there for me. I’ll never forget it.”
There was a click, and the phone went dead.
There was nothing more to say, anyway.
I left my apartment, walked down the two flights of stairs, and knocked on DeeDee’s door.
She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“Do you want to have dinner?”
“If it’s Feeney’s, no. How’s Allie?”
“We’re back together.”
“Should I be happy?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I really like her. Where do you want to go?”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“You never asked,” she said. “Now, where were we?”
“Dinner. How about Japanese?”
When we first started palling around, dinner—or any meal, for that matter — was a hit-or-miss proposition for DeeDee. With her mother in the wind, her father in the slam, and truancy elevated to high art, DeeDee was about to crater. That’s when I hit on the idea of a foods-of-the-world tour of Hell’s Kitchen restaurants. Several nights a week we’d try a new cuisine, and while we ate, I managed to slip a little history, geography, and culture into the conversation.
Two birds, one stone.
Now the lessons were over, but the tradition continued.
“Raw fish? Please!” she said, making a face. “They’re crawling with bacteria. And haven’t we evolved past chopsticks? If God wanted us to eat with wooden sticks, why would He have invented utensils?”
“They’ll cook something for you and give you a fork.”
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