Cold Blue Midnight

by Ed Gorman

  He stopped and knocked on 7A.

  'Who is it?'

  'I'm with the Chicago Police.'

  'Right. Who is it, really?'

  'My name is Mitch Ayers and I'm really a Chicago detective. I'd like to talk to you a minute.'

  Long silence from inside.

  'Do you have a badge?'

  'Yes, I do.'

  'I'm going to open the door on the chain and you show me your badge, all right?'

  'Fine.'

  The chain ticked back in its slot. The door opened three-quarters of an inch. Cini had an appealing, almost angelic face. And startling blue eyes. Very cute.

  He held his badge up.

  She said, 'How come you want to talk to me?' But she didn't open the door.

  'I'd rather not explain out here in the hallway.'

  Just then an explosion of sound came from the second floor. Reggae music.

  'God, he drives me crazy,' Cini said. 'upstairs, I mean.'

  'How about letting me in?'

  'Guess I sort of have to, don't I?' She smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile.

  ***

  With sunlight streaming in through the dirty window, the spare little apartment looked habitable. All the furnishingscouch, armchair, reclinerwere of another era, but in reasonably good condition.

  The mess was what puzzled Mitch.

  Here you had a very nice-looking young woman like Cini, and her entire front room was littered with half-consumed boxes, sacks and packages of junk food: potato chips, chocolate-covered graham crackers, macaroons, Twinkies, ginger snaps, mini-pies, bridge mix and something called 'Double Fudge Whammies.'

  He sat on the edge of the armchair and looked at it all and then over at her again, and wondered how you could maintain this shapely a body when you gorged it on stuff like this.

  Then he remembered the eighteen-year-old girl who'd killed both her parents. She'd weighed more than three hundred pounds. She'd told Mitch's partner that the only pleasure she'd ever had in her life was from a box of chocolates. 'People don't love me but food does,' she'd said.

  Maybe he was looking at one of those people now. Who felt happy (and devoutly miserable) only when they ate.

  She sat down across from him and said, 'I could probably dig up the receipt if I had to.'

  'Receipt?'

  'For the parking tickets.'

  'I guess I don't know what you're talking about, Miss.'

  'All those overdue parking tickets I ran up. That's why you're here, isn't it? Did the computer screw up and forget to mark me Paid?'

  He decided to risk it. 'I'm here because I think you may know something about a murder.'

  'I see.'

  'Do you? A man named Eric Brooks?'

  'No, I don't know anything about a murder and I've never heard of a man named Eric Brooks.'

  'You were seen with him.'

  'I was? By whom?'

  'By a bartender named Ferguson.'

  'I don't know a bartender named Ferguson.'

  'He seems to know you.'

  All he could think of was a lizard striking at prey, the way her hand lashed out and snatched a macaroon from the package. It was in her mouth and swallowed, in moments. Then she had another one. She was so cute. So slim. But there was something off-puttingalmost inhumanabout the way she'd grabbed that cookie.

  Then she took a third one. And held the package out to him. 'I'm being rude, sorry. Would you like one?'

  'No, thanks.'

  She indicated all the half-eaten packages and boxes. 'I was expecting the blizzard to last several days.' She shrugged, trying to be casual. Smiled. 'Guess I stocked up a little too much, didn't I?'

  'I guess so.'

  'I mean, I don't usually eat like this.'

  'Be my guest.'

  'You wouldn't mind if I had a piece of candy?'

  'Not at all.'

  It was then he noticed that her hands had begun to twitch and her eyes fill with tears. 'I really fucking resent this, you know.'

  'Resent what?'

  'You coming here and accusing me of something I don't know anything about.'

  'I'm simply doing my job.'

  'Right. Doing your job. You're accusing me of lying is what you're doing.'

  'I'm not accusing you of anything.'

  This time she was rewarded with two Double Fudge Whammies for her lizard-quickness.

  She talked while her mouth was still full. It should have been funny. But it was sad.

  'I'm sorry I said the ''f" word.'

  'I've been known to use it myself.'

  'I've really never heard of Eric Brooks.'

  'I see.'

  'You still don't believe me, huh?'

  'No, I'm afraid I don't.'

  'Do you enjoy this?'

  'Asking questions, you mean?'

  'Bullying people. That's what you're doing, you know. Bullying me.' She took another Double Fudge Whammie. The package rattled with her ferocity.

  'You know what I think I should do?' Mitch said.

  'What?'

  'I think I should leave my card and let you think about it for a while.'

  'Think about what?'

  'About telling me the truth.'

  'I am telling you the truth.'

  'Just think about it for a while, and if you change your mind then give me a call.'

  'Eric Brooks is a name I'd never heard before you knocked on my door.'

  Mitch stood up. The tiny apartment suddenly felt oppressive. All the years of this place, all the lives, crowding in on him ghost-like. He wanted cold dirty city air. Wanted it desperately.

  He took his wallet from inside his tweed sport jacket. The white business card he extracted, he set on the edge of the couch, right on top of a potato chip bag.

  'You're a very nice-looking young woman.'

  'Are you coming on to me?'

  'No, I'm just trying to tell you that you shouldn't put all that junk into your system.'

  'You must be a part-time minister at night.'

  He'd seen them before like this. So terrified of their situation that they became hard and angry. They wanted somebody to help them avoid their fate. But there was no escape from their fate. They knew something the police needed to know and eventually they'd be forced to tell it.

  He walked over to the door.

  'My home number's on the card, too.'

  'Fine. But I won't be needing it. I won't be calling.'

  'Just in case.'

  This time she extracted the Double Fudge Whammie with almost tender care. Held in such a wayalmost like a priest holding the Communion hostthat told him she wanted him to leave so she could get busy with the rest of the food.

  'I'll be talking to you,' Mitch said.

  'No, you won't.'

  Mitch looked at her a long momentshe really did have a perfect little face, the kind of innocent eroticism that middle-aged men found so devastatingand then opened the door and let himself out.

  He had not gotten ten feet down the dark narrow hallway before he heard her break out in sobs.

  She was the one, all right.

  ***

  Jill spent two hours that morning with her attorney. It seemed more like ten hours.

  Deborah's well-tailored tweed suit and white silk scarf gave her an elegance that belied her scrappy personality. She was almost belligerent in the way she questioned Jill sometimes, almost as if Jill were a hostile witness.

  They went through Eric's initial phone call. 'Think carefully. Did he mention anybody who was with him in the office then?'

  'I don't think so.'

  '"Don't think so" isn't good enough, Jill. Think.'

  'No, I'm sure he didn't mention anybody.'

  'How about when you arrived there? Close your eyes and think back. You're walking in the lobby door. What do you see?'

  Jill described what she'd seen.

  'All right. You see the elevators. How many are there in that building?'

  'Three.'

>   'All lined up?'

  'Yes.'

  'Now: do you see any of the doors opening?'

  Jill thought a moment. 'Yes.'

  'Which one?'

  'The one in the middle.'

  'Is anybody getting off that particular car?'

  'No.'

  'You're sure?'

  'Yes.'

  'You get on the car and you go up to Eric's office?'

  'Right.'

  'Does that car stop at any other floor first?'

  'No.'

  'You said that pretty fast. Think a moment.'

  'It didn't stop at any other floor. I'm sure.'

  'All right, the car stops on Eric's floor and the doors open and' Deborah's intercom buzzed.

  Jill opened her eyes to the nice new office, all glass and chrome and gray carpeting and dove-gray couches and matching chairs.

  Deborah said, 'Yes?'

  'There's a call for Jill. He says it's urgent.'

  'Thank you.' Deborah nodded to the phone console on her desk.

  Jill picked up.

  Mitch said, 'I found her.'

  'Really!'

  'Really. Her name's Cini.'

  'God, I can't believe it.'

  'That's the good news.'

  'There's bad news?'

  'I'm afraid so. She doesn't want to cooperate. She won't admit anything.'

  'But why?'

  'I'm not sure.'

  'God, what can we do?'

  'If I don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll run back out there and talk to her.'

  'You're sure she's the right one?'

  'You know that list of bar names I had where Eric hung out at various times? I found this bartender in number twenty-six who remembered seeing him in there the night he was murdered. He also happened to know who the girl was, this Cini. He thought she was maybe a Northwestern student and he was right. We lucked out.'

  'Now if we can just get her to talk…'

  'She'll talk. Eventually.'

  'I can't wait to tell Deborah.'

  'I'll see you tonight at your place.'

  'Our place.'

  'Our place, then. I didn't want to sound presumptuous.'

  'That's not presumptuous at all.'

  'See you tonight.'

  ***

  'Dad?'

  'Hi, honey.'

  'Is it a bad time?'

  'C'mon, now, where my little girl's concerned it's never a bad time.'

  'She told you, huh? Mom, I mean.'

  'She told me.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'We're looking at it as only a temporary setback, Cini. And that's how you have to look at it, too.'

  'I'm still eating.'

  'You'll stop eventually. Then we'll deal with it again.'

  'Dad, I didn't tell Mom everything.'

  She heard a buzz. 'Could I put you on hold for a second, sweetheart?'

  'Sure.'

  She hated bugging him at work, knew how driven he was, but today she had no choice. Successful physician or not, he always managed to find time for his beloved daughter. She just wished she and her mom could get along this well. They couldbut never for long.

  'Sorry. Now you were saying that you didn't tell your mom everything.'

  'No, I didn't. I mean, I told her I was overeating again but I didn't really say why.'

  'Then you know why?'

  She paused. 'Yes.'

  'Cini, are you in some kind of trouble?'

  'Yes, I am, Dad.'

  'You want to talk about it?'

  'Not on the phone.'

  'I'll call your mother. She'll set your place for dinner.'

  'No, Dad, II'd rather speak to you alone.'

  Now her father paused. 'I wish you knew how much your mother loved you, sweetheart.'

  'I know, Dad. Butbut I'd rather talk to you about it. Alone. At least at first.'

  'Is your car running in this weather?'

  'I think so.'

  'Why not come out to the office, then?' His clinic was near River Plaza. 'I'll be here all afternoon.'

  'I'd really appreciate that, Dad.'

  'You just hang in there, honey. Everything'll be fine. You'll see.'

  'Oh Dad, I love you so much. Thanks.'

  After hanging up, she sat there a moment, recalling the detective as he'd stood next to her door a few minutes ago. He had the same bearing as her fatherimposing but not unkind.

  But she was going to change her father, or at least change his perception of his one and only child. She was going to tell him what she'd done with Eric Brooks, and why, and then she would never again be the same girl in his eyes.

  Never the same girl again.

  ***

  Marcy spent the morning chasing down two more useless blue Volvo owners, not so easy to do with most parts of the city still a freezing mess from yesterday's blizzard. A couple of times she almost slid into people. She was not what you'd call incredibly deft at navigating icy streets.

  The first owner turned out to be a wizened little guy with a glistening scalp and a cane to help him move his tiny arthritic body around.

  By contrast, the second owner was a towering fat guy who wore an ascot tie and sunglasses and a cape. Marcy found out that he was a director in one of the local community theaters. She wondered if he ever wore spats.

  Which left her with some guyfive more names to gonamed Richard Corday, whom she chose on the basis of simple geography. He was the closest guy on the remaining list of names.

  Marcy headed in his direction.

  Here and there she saw cars that had run up into snowbanks. The wreckers hadn't gotten to them yet. The closer she came to the suburbs, the more snowmen and snow angels and snow forts she saw. All of which made her briefly nostalgic for her childhood. You'd come in at lunch all freezing and wet from rolling around in the snow and Mom had a nice big bowl of Campbell's tomato soup ready for you. She'd get you dry clothes and even wipe your runny nose for you. From Marcy's experience, adulthood wasn't anything like that at all. Especially if you tried to find somebody who'd wipe your nose.

  Cini opened the door, ready to leave her apartment, and there he was in the gloom of her long dark hallway. Waiting.

  Red-and-black checkered hunting hat with big checkered ear-flaps; glasses so thick his blue eyes were grotesquely magnified; coat to match the hunting cap. Curly red hair tumbled out from beneath the cap.

  'Are you Cini?'

  'Yes, I am.'

  'I have something for you.'

  'A package, you mean?'

  'No, this.'

  Three things happened instantly: he brought up a nine-inch switchblade and snicked it open and put it right to her throat; he pushed her back into her apartment; and he grabbed her arm so tight, it hurt.

  He closed the door and said, 'If you scream, I'll kill you right now.'

  'Oh God, I don't even know who you are.' She was babbling.

  He pushed her onto the couch. The tip of the shiny blade never left her throat.'

  'The cop was here.'

  'Please, please don't hurt me.'

  'The cop was here.'

  'Yes, he was.'

  'What did you tell him?'

  'I didn't tell him anything. Did you hear what I said? About not hurting me?'

  'I heard you.'

  He took off his cap. And then he took off his wig.

  And then he took off the glasses.

  She said, feeling sick and feeling faint, 'It's you. Oh my Lord.'

  The killer in Eric Brooks' office removed the knife from her throat. He stood up straight and looked around.

  'Where were you going just now?'

  'To see my father.'

  'Why?'

  'H-he's my father.'

  'That isn't an answer.'

  'To talk to him.'

  'About what?'

  'Could I go to the bathroom? I have to go real bad. I really do. I've been sick. I've beeneating too much.'

  'Just sit right there and tell m
e why you were going to see your father.'

  'I needed to talk to him.'

  'What about?'

  'The detective who was herehe asked me questions.'

  'Did you answer them?'

  'No.'

  He glanced around the room again, noticing the half-empty Fritos package (large size), the box of chocolate-covered graham crackers, the red and yellow and blue and green Tootsie-Pop wrappers that looked like dead flowers strewn across the coffee table; and the open half-gallon of ice cream that sat on a plate. Most of the ice cream had melted and formed a sticky pool around the box.

  'You eat all this crap?'

  'That's what I was telling you. I have an eating disorder.'

  He seemed to lose interest quickly. 'Tell me exactly what you told the cop.'

  She told him.

  'Now tell me exactly what you told your father?'

  She told him.

  He sat down next to her. He put a hand on her breast and left it there a moment, daring her with his gaze to say anything. She said nothing. She was trembling and even twitching some.

  He slashed her silk copper blouse with a single arc of the blade. He took the white strap of her bra and cut that, too.

  He ripped blouse and bra away until one of her nicely-shaped breasts fell free.

  He touched the tip of the blade to her sweet little nipple.

  'Now you're going to tell me the truth.'

  'Oh God, please, listenlisten to me, all right? I really don't want to get mixed up in this. I really don't. That's what I was going to tell my father when I went to see him. That I don't want to get mixed up in it. That I don't want to have anything to do with it at all.'

  He was sitting there watching her, listening to her, when he could feel the first inkling of blackout coming over him. Distantly, somewhere inside him, he heard a voicehis own, yet not his own. What was the voice trying to tell him?

  He said, pretending that nothing was wrong: 'Why do you eat all this crap?'

  She was obviously confused, the way he kept jumping from one subject to another all the time.

  'II have an illness. An eating disorder.'

  'So you eat all this junk food?'

  'Yes.'

  'It's not good for you.'

  'I know.'

  God, he was so crazy.

  'You're not telling me the truth, are you?'

  'I am. Honest. Really, I am.'

  She started to cry. She looked like a little girl. She looked so sad and helpless.