Falsely Accused (7 page)

“Where did he take you?”

“Elaine's. Where else? Of course, there's a line outside, and when our limo pulls up, they're all gaping. The doorman looks at us funny, but he lets us past— I guess a limo is a limo. Also the geek's got reservations, which means he's not a regular, but we go up to the maitre d' and Rob says he wants us to have a banquette table, where all the celebrities sit. The guy smiles and shakes his head, and then Rob pulls out a roll of bills, Marlene, I swear it was the size of a pastrami sandwich and solid twenties, and he starts peeling them off one by one onto the maître d's little lectern. And the guy's embarrassed, you can tell, but all the same, he can't take his eyes off the pile of bills.”

“So you got the good seats?”

“Oh, yeah, the best. Burt Reynolds was at the next table. And we saw Bill Murray and a bunch of people from
Saturday Night Live.
I was looking for Woody and Mia, but they didn't show.”

“Poor you,” said Marlene. “Let me understand this: you are
running away
from this guy? This is your
problem
?”

“Oh, God!” Carrie wailed, “I
knew
you were going to say that. Okay, listen to the rest of it. There we are, and, to be frank, I'm pretty excited. I mean, the Bread Shop on Duane Street is my usual speed since the divorce, and I'm trying to get a conversation going. But there's nothing coming from him. Zip. He's not looking around. He's barely interested in his food. He's just looking at me, as if he's finally achieved this big dream and I'm just some kind of trophy. The geek bagged the prom queen? Right about then the little buzzer started to go off:
wronggg! wronggg!
And after that all I could think about was, this guy must have blown a grand tonight, he's going to expect his money's worth, being, as I now realize, the same old geek but with money, and how the hell am I going to keep him out of my panties?”

“And did you?”

“Oh, yeah. As it turned out, that wasn't a problem. We get back here. I turn to him, grab his hand, give it one shake, say ‘thank you very much for dinner, Rob,' and I'm gone. And he took it, didn't say a word. So, I pay the sitter, have a bath, go to bed. Around three a.m. the phone rings. I let the machine take it. In the morning, I see the blinker and I play the tape. It's him, and it's weird. In this voice, ‘Hi, it's me.' Like we've been married for six years, and then he starts talking about what a great time we had and how he'll be around to pick me up at eight, and a lot of other crap about how he always knew I liked him in high school but he had to get his shit together before he was worthy of me, and how, way back when, he was in this place, this joint we used to hang out at in high school, Larry's, and somebody played ‘Twist and Shout' on the jukebox and I looked at him and he knew that our love was real. It was incredible. It just went on and on like that, and then he played the song.”

“What did you do?” asked Marlene.

“I got out of town is what I did. I called up my friend Beth in Southampton and said it was life or death, and I grabbed the kid and took off. Okay, we get there, we swim, around six we're out on the deck in our bathing suits having a drink, when the doorbell rings and in walks Pruitt, like we planned it all. Beth gives me a look, but what could I say to her? So I take him aside and give him a piece of my mind. It's like talking to a wall. He just smiles. He says he just wants to be with me. So I leave. He follows me, of course. He's been following me ever since. I go out on a date, for dinner, he's sitting at a table in the back, staring. Once I ran up to him on the street and started screaming at him to leave me alone. People were staring at me. He just kept smiling, like it was a lovers' spat, for Christ's sake!”

She finished her drink in a gulp. “I'm going crazy.”

Marlene said gently, “Okay, let's look at this realistically. So far, except for this trespass today, which we can't really prove, he hasn't done anything criminal. I say that because you'll have to nail him for an actual crime in order to get him to stop.” She halted—something had passed over Carrie's face. “Or am I wrong—has he done something else?”

“I don't know. There's a guy I see, Don Grier, nothing earthshaking, just a nice friendly relationship. Anyway, I saw him last week, Saturday. Sunday somebody blew up his car—sneaked into his garage and stuck a signal flare in the gas tank.”

“You think it was Pruitt?”

“Um, yeah, actually I do. I mean, Don's a production manager at
Vogue.
You think somebody at
Mademoiselle
was trying to send him a message?”

“You tell the cops about this?”

“I told Don. God, Marlene, the embarrassment! I think he told the cops. They weren't impressed, apparently. He hasn't called since then, by the way.”

“Who, Pruitt?”

“No, Don. Pruitt calls every night. What?”

Marlene had involuntarily creased her face into a concerned frown. She said, “I think you could have a serious problem here, Carrie. This guy, if he did the car arson, well, we know he's capable of committing a felony. If he did one, he could do another.”

“What, you mean I could be in
danger
?”

“It's a possibility. We had cases like this when I was at the D.A. Stalking cases. Sometimes the guy's just a pathetic asshole, and he gives up or gets drunk and forgets it, or drifts away or lands in jail. Or it could happen that the guy decides that if he can't have you, nobody else can.”

Lanin had gone deathly pale. “You mean, he could, like
attack
me?”

“Yeah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay? I said I couldn't pull strings, but that's not completely true. I know cops, actually one cop in particular, who'd be willing to help out. Let me take a day or so to look into it, see if this bozo has a sheet on him, find out where he's coming from. He knows a lot about you, and our first step is to find out something about him.”

“But what'll I do meanwhile?” Lanin cried.

“Nothing different from what you're doing now. I'd suggest you keep your social contacts limited, especially with guys—not for your sake, for theirs. And let me pick up and drop off Miranda for a while. You should stick close to home and work until we can get this sorted out. You should get your phone number changed too.”

“Oh, Jesus, I can't believe this is happening. You're sure you want to get involved.. . ?”

“Oh, no problem,” said Marlene lightly. “I was looking for something to pass the time. I'm pregnant.”

Lanin's mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again to let out a spluttering laugh, not that far from hysteria. “Congratulations!” she said, and giggled.

“Thank you,” said Marlene, and then, “Could I use your bathroom?”

Marlene left Carrie Lanin's shortly after throwing up the remains of her light breakfast, did some quick food shopping, carefully averting her eyes from the display of meat at DiAngelo's, and returned to the loft, where she immediately put in a call to Harry Bello at the D.A.'s office. Bello was a former Brooklyn homicide detective whom Marlene had recruited to work with the Rape Bureau when she had been in charge of it. He was also Lucy Karp's godfather. Bello agreed to check out Robert Pruitt. He didn't ask any questions or require any covering small talk to get him in the mood to help. That was one of the nice things about Bello, who did not have that many other nice things about him.

At two-thirty, she left to pick up the two kids at school. Carrie Lanin had called ahead, and Miranda was waiting with Lucy in the schoolyard. As she put the kids in the car, she noticed a man leaning against an old blue Dodge Fury. He was looking at them, or rather, he was looking at Miranda, because when she ran back to the chain-link gate to pick up a paper she had forgotten, shoved into the links of the fence, the man's eyes followed the child.

Marlene made sure the children were belted in and said, “Girls, just give me a minute, I have to walk Sweety,” and then went around and popped open the hatchback. Sweety, who did not need a walk at all but who was not going to turn down a freebie, leaped out. Marlene snapped the short leather lead onto its collar and headed down Henry Street. She went once past the schoolyard and then crossed and came back down the other side. The dog snuffled along the curb, marked a power pole, sniffed the tires of the Fury and the shoes of the man leaning against it. Marlene looked him straight in the face. His hair was shorter and thinner than it had been in high school, and his skin was clear and tanned, but the eyes, pale and a shade too close together under straight, heavy brows, were the same. It was Pruitt. He returned her look with a blank stare for a moment and then opened his car door abruptly, so that she had to pull the dog sharply away from its swing. Then he sat down in the driver's seat and started the engine. As she walked back to her car, she could feel his eyes on her back.

All in all, Marlene considered that the heroism she was displaying in involving herself in the confrontation of a potentially dangerous stalker was as nothing compared to what she went through in preparing a nice dinner for her family that evening. The odor of broiling lamb chops went right to her gut, and it was only with the greatest of self-control that she managed to cook, serve, and sit through the meal. She herself consumed only a few small chunks of Italian bread.

“Not eating?” observed her husband.

“Can't slip anything past you,” replied Marlene tightly.

“Are you sick, or.. . ?”

“It's definitely ‘or.' I made an appointment with Memelstein to confirm.”

Karp beamed and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “That's great, babe.”

“What's great?” asked Lucy Karp.

“Mommy's pregnant,” said Karp, and, seeing the blank expression on her face, added, “She's going to have another baby. It'll be your brother. Or sister.”

“Which one?” asked Lucy suspiciously.

“We don't know yet.”

“Could she sleep in my room?”

“We'll see.”

“I made my own lunch today,” said Lucy after a pause.

“Really? What did you have?”

“Chocolate chip cookies and ice cream. And a celery,” Lucy said and added, “For health.”

“Didn't the ice cream melt?”

“No,” said Lucy straight-faced. “Can I watch TV? I mean, may I be excused?”

After the child had dashed off, Karp said, “That was a competent lie.”

“What do you expect from the spawn of two lawyers? And what did
you
do today, dear?”

“Among many other duties, I filed Murray's suit first thing this morning. The Bloom thing.”

“Bloom? I thought the Mayor and the health department were the defendants.”

“Legally, yes. But Bloom is behind it all. Which I will demonstrate. And find out why. Speaking of which, do you remember Phil DeLino?”

“Vaguely,” said Marlene. “He worked for you when you had Criminal Courts. He didn't stay long, did he?”

“No, he was one of those guys who zip through to punch their ticket. But a good guy. A great deal maker. Even if he had a losing hand, he'd tough it out with the defendant. And he'd go to trial too; he had the balls for it. I was sorry to lose him. Anyway, he called me late today. He's a special assistant in the Mayor's office.”

“Yeah? What did he want?”

“To talk about the suit. Off the record. The Mayor apparently is not pleased. I'm seeing him tomorrow.”

Marlene got up and started clearing dishes. “Speaking of former acquaintances, I spent the morning with Carrie Lanin. Did you ever meet her?”

“She was in that play group, right? Madeleine?”

“Miranda. She was spooked. It seems somebody she went to high school with is stalking her.” She filled Karp in on Lanin's story while she washed and he dried.

“You think the guy could be dangerous?” asked Karp as he tossed chop bones to Sweety, who crunched them up like Fritos.

“That's what I'm going to try and find out. I got Harry in on it.”

Karp paused in his wiping as a familiar and unpleasant thought sprang into his consciousness. “Uh, Marlene, this isn't going to, um, get you into
trouble,
is it?”

“It's too early to tell. And what if it is? You know I—” She stopped talking and grimaced as a spasm of nausea passed.

“What's the matter? Still feeling sick?”

Marlene groaned. “Yes. They call it morning sickness for a good reason. It's not supposed to last all fucking day.”

“Maybe it's different when you're carrying a first-round
NBA
draft choice in your womb. Extra male hormones… ?”

Marlene giggled in spite of herself. “You're going to be pissed off if it's a short, neurasthenic poet.”

“That won't happen if you do your part, Marlene. You have nine months. Think tall, think moves, think hands.”

He dropped the dishcloth and moved around behind her, embracing her from in back. She leaned back against him comfortably and said, “Maybe I should consume old sweat socks and jockstraps too, diced.”

“If you think it will help,” said Karp lovingly into her ear.

FOUR

Phil DeLino was a big, open-faced man with dark, humorous eyes. He wore a nice gray double-breasted three-piece suit that was working hard to cover the weight he had put on since he played tight end for Fordham. His greeting to Karp in his office was warm and seemed sincere.

The small office in City Hall was suitably elegant. It had a window, the appointments were made of wood or leather, and there was a genuine oil painting of a minor nineteenth-century civic luminary on the wall, looking smug and well grafted. Seated, they passed the time in obligatory catching up and discussing the prospects of the various New York teams.

When this pleasant diversion had gone on for ten minutes or so, there was a pause, and DeLino picked up a blue-bound legal notice from his desk and tapped it a few times. “This thing here, Butch. This is a problem.”