Control (18 page)

“
We
’
re
all
on duty
,”
the Assistant Medical Examiner said, taking a long swallow.

“
Was it a hand?
”
Eric said.

“
I would think.
”

“
I
’
ve got big hands,
”
Eric said,
“
but not half big enough to do that. Haggerty
’
s got hams and he couldn
’
t do it either. What are we dealing with? Why did he kill her? He could have just dazed her like he did Sophie.
”

The Assistant M.E. took another drink.

Eric looked at Haggerty.
“
I think it
’
s someone new in town.
”

“
You keep track of killers do you?
”
the Assistant M.E. said.

“
Yeah, he does,
”
Haggerty said.

“
Shit,
”
Eric said and he stood.
“
As if we didn
’
t have enough already.
”

“
You sure it was motiveless?
”
the Assistant M.E. asked.

“
Just a lady librarian come to town for a spin,
”
Haggerty said. He looked at his watch. It was after ten.
“
She was gonna see
Chorus Line
but it
’
s too late now.
”

“
Life
’
s full of tragedy,
”
the Assistant Medical Examiner replied.
“
I almost had a ticket to the Met.
”
He finished the bottle, lobbed it toward his wastebasket, missed. It hit the hard floor and shattered. They left him picking up the pieces
…

Outside, the February night was frosting up.
“
You go on home,
”
Eric said. Haggerty had taken a small one-room place over near Yorkville between First and York. It wasn
’
t much, but he hadn
’
t needed much after Helen had died three years before.

“
You?
”

“
I
’
m itchy,
”
Eric said.

“
Want company?
”

Eric saw from the way Haggerty was favoring his right side that the bursitis was hitting him bad. He made a face, sniffed the air several times.

“
Bullshit, you don
’
t smell it, I put in a fresh piece of gum not ten minutes ago.
”
Then he paused.
“
Do you smell it? Am I garlicky? Tell me goddamit.
”

“
It
’
s not as bad as sometimes,
”
Eric said. He loved tormenting Haggerty about the DMSO. The truth was that since he
’
d started using the stuff, between the Dentyne and the Aqua Velva, he
’
d never smelled better. Eric told him so.

“
Everyone
’
s a critic,
”
Haggerty said as he waved, walked away…

It was well after ten and Eric headed for Port Authority. When he hit Times Square he stopped in a liquor store and bought a pint of Jack Daniel
’
s. Putting it in his pocket, he walked to the bus station and inside, hoping it wouldn
’
t take him forever to locate Tillie.

A cop is as good as his contacts,
“
voices
”
Eric called them; he had fewer than many of his peers, but he valued them, treated them as well as he possibly could, none better than Tillie.

Because she was so frail.

Frail and ancient with no last name and her life had altered - years before when she saw John Gielgud walking through the bus station, coming back to the city from Princeton. She had seen his Hamlet, Tillie told Eric once, and that man on that stage was the most beautiful creation of God, except for Liberace in his early days on television.

If a legend like Sir John could walk Port Authority, the possibilities were indeed endless and through the years Tillie had spotted Henry Fonda twice, the second time with Joshua Logan, and John Travolta before he got famous but she knew he would she said, from the walk he had and his eyes. If there was such a thing as perfect pitch, and there was, Tillie had as close to perfect face memory as anyone Eric had encountered and she had been helpful to him many times on runaways. She lived in the terminal now, alone with her plastic bags, and the police let her pretty much to herself once Eric passed the word. Usually she located herself on the front bench at the second floor where most of the people had to pass by. Occasionally she walked around the building and she was good friends with a pusher who shined shoes directly across on Eighth Avenue. Once a week she trudged to Grand Central for a shower.

Eric moved into the row of benches behind her now. He took off his topcoat, folded it beside him. Tillie was staring ahead at the stragglers hurrying for their late buses to wherever. Eric leaned forward, put his strong fingers to her neck, gently began massaging her old skin.
“
Don
’
t ever stop,
”
Tillie said.

“
Very tense,
”
Eric told her. Especially the right side. She carried her bags mostly with her right arm and the strain was apparent.

“
Saw the saddest thing, Eric—around noon—two girls—thirteen at the most—one just a beauty, other all fat and pimply-—they sat down at the end of this row and you knew they didnt know what to do now—come this far, got to the Apple, but then what? -—and this slick fella, he descended, you gather me—big hat, slick clothes, white teeth—and he sat between
‘
em and offered butts and they all lit up an
’
then a joint an
’
they lit that too—now this slick guy he put his fingers on the beaut
’
s arm—talk
in’
and rubbin
’
her skin—she listened and it was like he was the answer to all her prayers she had that kind of look when she left with him—just a beaut an
’
you know she
’
ll be dead in three years.
”

“
Sad all right,
”
Eric said.

“
No
,”
Til
l
ie said, her tone almost reprimanding.
“
Just shut up till I get to the sad part, I
’
m not there to the sad part yet, Eric, what
’
s the matter with you?
”

“
Sorry.
”

“
The fat pimply one—they left her fiat—she just stared after
‘
em and then she cried and cried—when you can
’
t even give it away,
that
’
s
sad.
”

Eric reached into his coat pocket for the Jack Daniel
’
s.

“
I didn
’
t say you could stop massaging.
”

Eric handed her the bottle.

“
That
’
s a good enough reason.
”
She opened it, took a drink. But very daintily. Everything Til
l
ie did was like that—the movements graceful and small. She gestured now for him to sit beside her. He moved up a row.
“
Pretty as ever,
”
Tillie
said. Thai:
“
What you after?
”

Erie told her.

“
Don
’
t think so,
”
she said after a moment
“
No giants recently.
”

Eric shrugged; it was a long shot

“
Saw
a female
must have stood six eigh
t.
Slumped so I couldn’t
be positive—but six eight seemed about right.
”

A lot of newcomers to the city lingered around Port Authority. Eric asked her to call if anything happened.

“
Six eight,
”
Tillie
mused, taking another dainty swallow. Then a third, then a fourth. She put the bottle into one of her plastic bags. She never slept really. But she napped a lot
“
Six eight and a girl—eves if you looked like Garbo, who
’
d care? Isn
’
t that sad, six eight?
”

“
Not if she has a hook shot,
⁹
’
Eric said. He got up, grabbed his coat.

Tillie lay down on the bench, muttering she
’
d outlived everyone she
’
d ever cared for.

Eric thought that might be the saddest thing of all…

He loved his apartment Not the building—it was just another of the new-ugly-white brick-soon-to-be-slum jobs that dotted Manhattan, where even the hard of hearing knew when the neighbor upstairs flushed the John.

But the location was something else again. Eric lived on the thirty-fifth floor overlooking Lincoln Center. In the middle of the Met there were the Chagall tapestries. And always the great open plaza between the three theatres. Balanchine worked there, Bach was played; Sills sang, Perlman fiddled. It was nice to know that, to remember it each night you came home from dealing with the bruised citizens or the terrifying young who were coming up through the pavements like some vile new growth from the center of the earth—they had no consciences, these young.

Eric opened his refrigerator, took out two bottles of beer, careful not to check the labels. He opened them both, poured them into tall thin glasses, making sure there was half to three quarters of an inch of foam at the top. Then he carried the glasses to the large window that viewed the plaza. He swirled the glasses, one after the other, checking for cling; he carefully compared their bouquets and colors. The tasting moment was coming up now, and he smiled at how much he enjoyed the anticipation.

He had been, for half a dozen years now, into beer. He had always liked it, how could anyone not like it, but his interest had only become deep when he got involved in a case with a man who was an importer. All had ended well, they became distantly acquainted, and the man, to show his gratitude for his wife
’
s safe return, began giving Eric bottles and packs and cases of beer, many of them not ordinarily available in America. Some of them were upchuck-making
—
probably you had to be a native Tanzanian to truly enjoy the subtleties of Kilimanjaro lager, of Tusker brewed in Kenya—but many, if not most, were stunning. St. Pauli Girl and Pilsner Urquell were famous, and thank God for that, but Schwechater was at least their peer and
…

Eric tasted the first beer. Ann. Excellent. German more than likely. Perhaps Bavarian in locale. Probably bottom fermented.

Now the second.
Ahhhk
Lighter, yes, but a clarity of flavor that was quite remarkable.

Again the first. Excellent. High marks.

Again the second. The winner, no question.

Eric went back to where the bottles were, checked the first. Jever. Remember that name, an outstanding product; Jever. Now he put the Jever down, checked the second bottle.

P
ie
ls?

Eric stared at it. Piels for Chrissakes. I must really be tired. He laughed out loud, finished both bottles, and soon was sleeping.

He was up the next morning before dawn, exercised, showered, dressed, headed for the 19th, poured a mug of coffee, started working the phones. It took three hours before he lucked out.

“
Yeah we had a break, two days ago,
”
the voice said.

‘
I
’
ve been calling institutions where there
’
s been trouble,
”
Eric said.
“
Just where in Illinois are you?
”

“
You know
Illi
nois?
”

“
I don
’
t.
”

“
Then what the fuck you care?
”

“
Hey asshole, we
’
re on the same side, easy.
”

“
Downstate. Not Chicago.
”

“
And you had a break?
”

“
Forty-five sambos, two not. But that
’
s over.
”

“
You
’
ve got them all back?
”

“
Practically.
”

‘
Then you haven
’
t got them all back.
”

“
You a wise guy?
”

“
Nope—but when I ask someone if something
’
s been done and they say,
‘
practically as good as done,
’
then I know it hasn
’
t been done. How many still at large?
”

“
We
’
ve got one holed up now in Peoria. And Billy Boy
’
s been sighted in Chicago. Nobody could miss him, so that takes care of the lot.
”

Eric could feel starting now a slight pressure at his temple.

“
You still there?
”
the Illinois guy Said.

“
Why,
”
Eric asked,
“
could nobody miss him?
”

“
On account of how he looks, obviously.
”

“
Is he very big?
”