The Things We Do for Love

by Benjamin M. Schutz

  “All right, everybody, get out your Binaca and Brasso, Watch Commander Sheets is coming up.” Crawford left to go down and bring him up.

  Michnik walked in with Jane. “He’s going to love this. She’s some kind of rock ’n’ roll star. Have you got enough film left, Don? He’s going to want two 8x10s, a 5x7 and a hundred wallet-size.” Michnik walked over to me. “You in charge of her security?” he asked. I nodded. “Let me give you some friendly advice. If the press hasn’t picked up on this yet, they’ll be here two minutes after Sheets leaves. He doesn’t leak information, he gushes it. The sieve that walks like a man. You might do well to move her after we’re gone.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Might as well take your statement while we’re waiting,” he said and led me off into a corner away from everybody else.

  Lieutenant Sheets entered as we were finishing. A tall, well-built black man, he stopped in the doorway and surveyed his immediate domain. He didn’t enter the room, he just stood in the doorway.

  I gave Michnik the letters and the doll we’d received. He read them and looked disgustedly at me, as if to say that we deserved all this trouble for not calling them in.

  A woman officer entered the room and took Heather Heywood out on her trip to the house of many doors. Walking past, Heather fixed me with an angry puzzled stare.

  McKay packed up his equipment and briefed Sheets before he left. Michnik and Crawford did the same and then stood out in the hall. Sheets took each verbal report in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, rocking slightly. True to his reputation, his eyes checked out shoeshines, brass buttons, shaves, haircuts. Sheets nodded grimly and came over to us.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Summers, that this happened while you were in our city. Miss Heywood has been charged with a number of serious felonies. She’ll be arraigned before a judge later this morning. In light of the seriousness of the charges we’ll try to require that a substantial bond be posted.”

  I looked over at Jane. The adrenaline jolt was wearing off and the gin was starting to reassert itself. I doubted that she heard a word he’d said. Sheets droned on oblivious to her drooping eyelids. Finally he reached into his pocket.

  “If there is any way we can be of service, please feel free to call me at this number. Once a court date has been set, the prosecutor will want to speak with you.” Sheets held out one of his business cards. Jane didn’t move. I reached out to take it. Sheets’ smile grew pained but he let go of his card. Feeling unappreciated, he turned quickly to leave. Following him to the door, I motioned for Crawford to stay.

  Sheets and Michnik moved down the hall and Crawford stepped back into the suite. I looked down at the card. Embossed in big gold letters it read “Lieutanant Morris I. Sheets, Jr.” Below that in small letters it read “Metropolitan Police, District of Columbia” and a phone number. I don’t trust cops with custom-made business cards. The city’s cards have the department shield raised and in gold, and the officer’s name in small letters across it.

  “Excuse me, Officer, could I talk to you for a second?”

  “What is it?”

  “Could I have your card? Frankly I’d rather deal with you guys than Sheets. ‘Peacock’ is right.”

  “Sure, no problem,” he said and handed me one of his cards.

  “Who’s going to paper this one?”

  “Guess I am,” he said morosely. I never met a cop who didn’t hate papering a case. Everything in triplicate and Cop-speak, a dialect of obfuscation based on never using one word where three could say less.

  “What’s a good time to check with you on this?”

  “Give me a call about eleven. She should be arraigned by then.”

  “Great. Thanks. Can you tell me anything that she said?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how did she know where we were?”

  Crawford flipped out his notepad and read from it. “Some guy named Axel, Axel Andersson, told her about the place and you two. Told her about the security system, the elevators and so on. Not a friend of yours, maybe? Apparently there was some kind of fight between Miss Summers and the Andersson fellah. He went over to the girl’s place, and told her about it. He’s been shacked up with her for about a week, she says. She told him she had to go out for a while. Took her gear with her in a bag, got dressed and waited in her car across the street. Followed the car in when you came back and popped the driver in the garage. The rest you know.”

  “She say anything else about Andersson?”

  “Said he had no idea what she was up to, that she did it all for love.” Crawford shook his head. “First time I heard someone say that, I thought it was the strangest thing I’d ever heard. Now it makes perfect sense to me.”

  “How long you been a cop?”

  “Seven years in May.”

  “Seven years of this and you lose your sense of strange.”

  “That’s a fact. You know if people really understood how dangerous love can be, maybe they’d be more careful with it.” Crawford thought about what he said, then added, “No, they wouldn’t.”

  “I’m not so sure Andersson’s as clean as she says. He and Miss Summers had a fight over a business deal. There’s lots of money involved. It might give him a motive to point the woman this way.”

  “We’ll talk to him tomorrow. Check out who bought the gun, the wig, the doll. See if we can tie him to this in any way. If the physical evidence doesn’t do it, she isn’t going to. Not the way she feels about him.”

  “Let me help you with that piece. Andersson’s been playing house out in L.A. with some actress, calls herself Nicole Noiret. Drop that on your lovebird. She might sing a different tune.”

  “Thanks. Will do. I’ll let you know what we turn up.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Crawford and I shook hands, then he left pulling the door closed behind him.

  CHAPTER 23

  I turned back to look at Jane. She was still at the table, head in hands, eyes dulled by fatigue, shock and alcohol.

  “The police said that this place will be crawling with reporters once word of the shooting gets out. Do you want to move out of here before that happens?”

  Jane thought for a moment and said “No, I’m too strung out to go anywhere now. I just want to crash.” She stood up, then wobbled for a second and sat back down with a thud.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just felt light-headed and a little sick too.”

  “Why don’t you take a hot bath? Fill up that big tub and try to relax. No one else is going to bother you.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” Jane said flatly. “I know I should feel something right now, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything. Why don’t I feel good? I’m alive. She missed.”

  “Near-misses do that. They chill you to the bone. Once you’ve thawed out, you’ll feel that rush, and you’ll be glad you’re still alive.”

  I crossed over to her. “Let me help you,” I said, and with one arm around her waist steered her toward the bathroom. Once there, I sat her on the toilet, bent down and drew her a bath. Jane leaned back and took some deep breaths.

  “How’re you doing now?”

  “Better, I guess.”

  “I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” I said, standing up and turning to go.

  She reached out and touched my wrist. I felt her fingers curl around me and squeeze. “Thank you.” She squeezed my wrist even harder. Her fingers were white and she began to tremble.

  “You’re welcome. Now go soak some of that tension out of you. Go on.” I shooed her with my free arm and she let go.

  I closed the door behind me. Walking back to the living room, I rubbed my wrist. Her mark was still on me. Five crescent slivers, fading slowly from sight.

  I called the Emergency Room at G.W. and was told that Davey was being kept overnight for observation of his concussion. I took down his room number and phone number and put the phone down. I knew what I wanted to ask
him and I knew that this wasn’t the time.

  I sat there staring off into empty space. Inside, I spun long filaments of reproach. From each I hung a different question. Two I repeated over and over. What if he’d been trying to warn me? What if she’d gone for my head? No answers, just the same questions. I stayed there like a dog with its nose held to its own stink. So what if he wasn’t trying to warn me? My dead mike wouldn’t have made a difference then. A mistake is a mistake and mistakes get people killed. If not this time, then the next one. I’d been stupid, lazy, sloppy and lucky. Perhaps it was time to call it quits. Take Rocky’s offer, get off the steets. Maybe somebody was trying to tell me something.

  I dialed Davey’s number with the right question finally in place.

  “Yes?” a voice said. The word was a question that didn’t want an answer.

  “Is this Dave Isaacs’ room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he taking any phone calls?”

  “Not from you he isn’t.”

  “Wait a minute, Donna, I just wanted to know how he’s …”

  “No, you wait a minute.” Then I heard Donna say “No it’s not, honey. You just lie back and rest.” She spoke to me in a whisper of barely suppressed rage. “Are you happy, you son of a bitch? You can’t leave anything well enough alone, can you? Other people have their lives too, you know. You come around waving your goddamn money, buying people up, just because you need them. Because you’ve got a god almighty job to do. Don’t call back, Leo. If you ever come around again I’ll shoot you myself. I swear I will.” I winced when the receiver’s crash resounded in my ear.

  One down, two to go. I went over to the bar and poured out a tumbler of Irish whiskey. Fortify myself against mine enemies.

  Ballantine picked up on the sixth ring. “Yes?” he said groggily.

  “This is Leo Haggerty …” I began.

  “What’s the matter? What happened? She’s all right isn’t she, Haggerty?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. We had some trouble here, though.”

  “What sort of trouble?” he barked, now fully awake.

  “A woman, the one who had been sending those letters, broke in and tried to kill Jane.”

  “And?”

  “And Jane’s okay. I subdued the woman. The police have already taken her away. She’ll be formally charged this morning.”

  “Who the hell was she?”

  “Some old flame of Axel’s, Heather Heywood.”

  “Jesus Christ, I know her. She was in a group around here. The Banshees. Second-rate Bangles clones. They were going nowhere. How the hell did she find out where Jane was?”

  “Seems Axel’s been staying with her. Ran his mouth off to her. She saw a way to get back with him. Get Jane out of the way as a rival and as a block to Axel’s career. She thinks he’s in love with her.”

  “Stupid bitch. She could have ruined everything. Shit!”

  “You’ve got more problems than that, Nick. I’m not so sure that Axel didn’t put the woman up to it. It clears his decks pretty fast.”

  “No way, Haggerty. You may not think much of Axel, but he’s no killer. I know the guy.”

  “Well, look again, Nick. Something smells to me and I’ve got a world-class shit detector.”

  “You’re way off-base, Haggerty. But forget all that. Tell Jane I’m coming right over to talk to her.”

  “Save yourself the effort. She’s sleeping. The house doctor gave her a sedative. She was pretty frazzled. I’ll call you in the morning when she gets up.”

  “All right. Don’t let any reporters near her. She hates ’em. We’ve got to manage this. Use it to our advantage.”

  “Sure. Sure. I’ll keep everyone away from her. That’s what you’re paying me for.”

  “You’re damn right I am. I’ll be over first thing in the morning.”

  “Right.” Nick hung up. I stared at the receiver in my hand. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.”

  Jane stood in the doorway. She wore a red silk robe. Her hair was swept back on the sides, glistening and wet. On top it stood erect like a cockatoo’s crest.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Better, thanks.”

  “I’m going to call the house doctor. Have him check me out. If you want, he can give you something to help you sleep.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll try to do it myself.”

  “Okay. I’m going to have to go down and let him up. Other than that I’ll be here if you need me.”

  “Okay. I’m going to lie down now,” she said and went back to the bedroom.

  I sat down and dialed Martin’s personal number. “Martin, Leo Haggerty. Could you call the house doctor for me? I’ll come down to let him up.”

  “Of course, Leo. Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “No. She got close but no cigar. You know the business, Martin, any attempt you can walk away from is a job well done.”

  “I’ll call him right away. He should be in the lobby in, say, fifteen minutes.”

  “Great. Thanks, Martin.”

  I nursed the whiskey for the next fifteen minutes, letting its warmth distract me from the throbbing in my shoulder. When the time had elapsed, I put on a new shirt and went down to meet the doctor.

  When the doors opened, I saw a man slouched on the sofa facing me. He hoisted himself up and came toward me.

  “You Haggerty?” he said, holding out his hand. I shook it feebly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go on upstairs.” He steered himself around me into the car. I stepped back as the doors closed around us. He hit the penthouse button and we began to rise. My head was dim with fatigue. In the dwindling light I searched for the bright edge of reason. Something was wrong here. I slammed the stop button and we jerked to a halt.

  “Jesus, what’s the matter?” he said.

  “I don’t know. You tell me. What are you going to examine me with?” I pointed to his nonexistent black bag.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t need anything to …” he said, shrugging his shoulders and bobbing his head, like a boxer on the ropes.

  “Who are you?” I got right up in his face. His long, bony, sallow face. The stink of cigarettes, beer and fear was on his breath. “You could have an accident in here, you know. A serious accident. We could be stuck in here a long time. They might find you too late.”

  “Okay, okay. My name is Stanley, Bill Stanley.”

  “What do you want, Bill Stanley?”

  “Uh, I heard about the shooting, you know, and I thought maybe I could interview you and Jane Doe. Get your side of the story. What it was like, you know, to stare death in the face, something like that. Besides, I’m a big fan of hers, maybe the publicity could help her some.” He took a deep breath to rewind his spiel.

  Big fan my ass, this guy wouldn’t know Jane Doe if he woke up on top of her.

  “How’d you find out about this?”

  “I can’t tell you that. I have to protect my sources. You can understand that.”

  Journalistic ethics sprouted on this guy like wings on a gopher.

  I reached out to push the button for the lobby. Stanley grabbed my wrist.

  “Listen, I really need this story. If I get to talk to Jane, get something no one else has got, I can sell this story. Hell, it sells itself. It has human interest written all over it. Cut me a break. I need this story, man.”

  “If you don’t take your hand off my wrist, the only thing you’re going to scoop is the shit out of your shorts. Got it?”

  He nodded and let go. We went back to the lobby and I pushed Stanley out of the car.

  Another man strode up to me. He was short and stocky with a steel gray flattop. His face was square, deeply lined, and impassive. Wire-rim frames held lenses almost a half-inch thick. Broad short-fingered hands clasped the handle of an old black leather instrument case.

  “Mr. Haggerty?” he asked. His voice had the trace of an accent. Somewhere in Eastern Europe.

&
nbsp; “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Szuszyski. Martin Duncaster asked me to come over and take a look at you.”

  “Doctor, I’m going to have to check out your bag and frisk you before we go up.”

  “Of course. Martin said you would have to do that.”

  While I was patting down the doctor, I shook my head at how I’d handled Stanley. Fatigue, pain and guilt were making me stupid, but enough was enough. After checking out his bag I went to the front desk, called Martin, and had him describe the doctor to me.

  I walked back to the doctor, opened the elevator for us and said “Shall we go up, Doctor?” I didn’t even try his name.

  Once inside the suite, Dr. Szuszyski set down his bag, took off his tan raincoat and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. Looking around, he saw the sink, walked over and washed his hands, then patted them dry with a paper towel.

  “Please sit up on the table, Mr. Haggerty, take off your shirt and tell me what happened to you.”

  As I did that, he reached into his bag, removed his stethoscope and inserted it into his ears. He warmed the head against the palm of his hand and then placed it on my chest. As he moved it around he asked me to breathe deeply.

  “Very good. Your lungs sound clear. You say your shoulder hurts when you move it. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  He began to probe and gently manipulate the shoulder. Watching him I saw the blue number stenciled on his wrist and my eyes jerked to his face.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Haggerty?” the doctor said, taking his hands off of me.

  “No.”

  “Do you mind being treated by a Jew, Mr. Haggerty?”

  “No, not at all. My mother is Jewish. It’s just that I saw your number and …”

  “And what?”

  “And I’d never met anyone who had been in the camps. I guess it just startled me.”

  “That is all, just startled?”

  “Yeah, that’s all, just startled.” There was more, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

  He went back to examining me. “You have a deep contusion of the shoulder, Mr. Haggerty, but nothing seems broken or dislocated. There is some fluid in the joint. I’m going to remove that, which should reduce the pain. I’ll leave you something for inflammation and for pain. Take it easy for a couple of days. Move the joint slowly at first, stretching it, increasing the range of motion. Do not attempt to lift anything until you can move the shoulder in all directions without pain.”