Mitchell Smith (39 page)

Birnbaum smiled, and said he understood his rights.

“You want to talk to us,” Nardone said, “–or not?”

“Let’s save some time here,” Birnbaum said. “I knew Sally Gaither for several years, and went to bed with her on a number of occasions-before I met my wife. I-“

“You paid to sleep with her?” Ellie said.

“I reserve my answer on that,” Birnbaum said. “-We became friends. My wife was an old acquaintance of hers and very fond of her. -Sally introduced us, in fact. The last time we saw Sally, we went up to her apartment for dinner. . . . I believe that was four or five weeks ago when she got back from New Mexico.” He spoke as rapidly and smoothly as a rehearsed actor, and looked off to the right as he spoke, not at Ellie, not at Nardone.

“-My secretary will have that appointment, if you want to check it.

Neither my wife nor I saw Sally after that dinner. Neither my wife nor I had any reason to hurt Sally-or anything to gain by hurting her. We think the animal that did, deserves the worst.” He looked back at Ellie and Nardone when he finished talking.

“You know nobody who’d have reason to kill her?”

“No, His. Klein-I don’t.”

“But you knew she was a prostitute.

“I’ll reserve on that.”

“You meet a George Soseby?” Nardone said.

“No-I never met George. My wife did. Her impression was that he was a nice guy-very solid-and in love with Sally.”

“We’ll need to talk with your wife, Counselor,” Ellie said.

Birnbaum looked at Ellie for a moment, then said, “You’ll talk with Audrey, His. Klein-if she wishes to talk with you. -And if her doctor agrees.”

“Audrey . . .” Ellie said.

“That isn’t Audrey Walker you’re talkin’ about, Counselor?” Nardone said.

“My wife’s name was Walker,” Birnbaum said.

“She’s sick … ?” Ellie said.

“Jumpin’Jesus, Counselor-you got to be kidding’! You can’t marry a guy in this state!”

“My wife is very much a woman,” Birnbaum said to Nardone, ‘-and legally so in several states. We were married two months ago-and not in New York. Now, if I may, I’d like to cut short any further ignorant and insulting questions and comments. -O.K.?”

“Is she sick … ?”

“Yes,” Birnbaum said to Ellie. `-My wife has been ill for some time.

She’s now hospitalized. She’s dying.”

None of them said anything for a few moments.

Birnbaum had on his desk one of the small glass-enclosed ornaments of dark green fluid that propagated into a small ocean wave, a cresting roller, when disturbed. Ellie noticed that some slight, continuous vibration-from the building’s ventilation system, or the constant running of the elevators-kept this novelty in moderate, stirring motion.

A tiny deep-green sea, in rip tide.

“I didn’t mean to insult your wife,” Nardone said.

“I’m sorry. —Came as a surprise, that’s all. I should have watched my mouth.”

Birnbaum said nothing.

“If she doesn’t want to talk with us,” Ellie said, “-she’s that sick, then we won’t bother her.”

Birnbaum put his feet down and sat up. “You’re a strange couple of cops,” he said. “My wife is at New York Hospital. She has cancer-AIDS

first, now cancer from that. If you want to talk with her, I’ll ask her and leave a message with your Squad. -You’re still under Anderson down there, right?”

“That’s right,” Ellie said.

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning, either way.” He stood up, and they stood up to go.

“Holy shit . Nardone said, in the elevator.

They walked around the corner of Fifty-third to the Ford, and saw that someone had stolen the slap light off the roof. “-Goddamnit. We’re going to have to pay for that!” Ellie looked around as if she might see someone, some kid, hurrying away with the light half hidden under his jacket.

“Bullshit,” Nardone said. “-We lost that fucker in a chase. Patrol car-no number read-went past us on a chase, an’ unit assisted until traffic obstruction proved too hazardous, an’ unit desisted. Flasher lost in chase.”

He unlocked the Ford, and got in.

When they were moving, and in crosstown rush-hour traffic heading for the Twentieth Precinct Station House, Nardone said, “This is some job.

-What a job this is.”

He speeded up a little to block a cab from forcing into the lane. “Had no business sayin’ that up there, but the guy caught me by surprise.”

“Caught both of us by surprise.”

“I mean, the guy-we got a guy there could have been a congressman . . .

could have been a senator.-We’re talkin’ about a guy could have been big.

“That’s right.”

“An’ the man marries a black faggot. -That’s the truth of the situation-right?”

“Gotta be love, Tommy.”

“That’s right. -That’s gotta be love.”

“And now she’s dying.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’ll go see her if you want, tomorrow. -If she’ll see me.”

“O. K. I’ll get going’ on the paperwork. -And we got a ton of it.”

“We’ve got to check the airlines on Soseby. Maybe the business people in Brussels, if we can find out who he was there to see.”

“Right. -By the way, forget about Crowell. I called the people in Detroit. —Crowell was around there; he was in Southampton all the time. He didn’t go into New York.”

“Well-that was a long shot.”

“That guy wasn’t going’ to kill anybody. -He was going’ to kill somebody, he’d kill his wife.”

The traffic had come to a stop; they were stuck midblock, surrounded by tired people, dented machines. After a few moments, the horns began.

“Oh-hey, listen, you’re still comin’ to dinner Sunday, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, listen-Connie’s getting’ everything for the dinner. A woman we know from the clinic, May Fazenda, sent up the whole thing from the food section in The Washington Post, an’ it’s got everythin’ in there you need from A to Z. Wine, too. Tells you the best wine to serve … the whole thing. She’s doin’ that dinner A to Z, except she’s doin’ her mother’s sauce for the pasta.”

“It’s going to be delicious.”

“Well-we were talkin’, an’ she said she was worried you were going’ to bring some wine or something’, some food-and then you’d be hurt if we didn’t serve it.-So I told her, ‘Serve it, anyway. Extra wine never hurts; it isn’t going’ to spoil a dinner to have extra wine.

Redwhite-who gives a damnT But she was worried.”

“What about liqueur for after dinner?”

“She got it. It said hazelnut liqueur.”

“Tommy-I’m bringing flowers. Is Connie using her white plates with the gold edges?”

“She’s usin’ the best dishes.”

“nose are her white ones-the pretty ones with the gold scrolling around the edges.”

“O.K. I guess so.”

“Well, you tell Connie I’m bringing flowers for her table-white and gold. -If she isn’t using those dishes, you tell her to call me.”

“O.K.”

“I hope to God this friend of hers-this Patty Daley from Chicago—shows up, after all this.”

“Jesus-bite your tongue,” Nardone said.

The traffic began to move, but only a few yards at a time-an accordion surge beginning on green far up the block, traveling to them, allowing them some travel, then closing down as the distant light went to red again.

“O.K.,” Nardone said, and gave Ellie a boy’s glance through a man’s face. “-You want to hear something’ wild . . . ?”

“What?”

“Want to hear what a certain detective detected this mornin’?”

“Tommy, did you mess around up in the Bronx? -Did you?”

“I didn’t ‘mess around’ up in the Bronx. I just checked some methadone places this mornin’-“

“Jesus Christ, Tommy! -Just because those guys up there thought you were off base on that? Come on!

Classman’s not our case-we have a case. And we’re not doing very well with it!”

“I got an idea, and I just went around to check.”

“Sure. You did it because those old men up in the Bronx didn’t listen to you. -And you did that because you were pissed off about Donaher.”

“Right. -You know everything. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’.”

“I didn’t say that, Tommy. I’m just saying we have enough to do.

-They’re loading us with shit to do.”

“Look-I’m not tryin’ to stick my nose in the Classman thing. But I had an idea-and I’m tellin’ you, there could be something’ to it!”

The traffic-trumpeting, enraged-began to move again.

They could hear police whistles up ahead.

“Ali right,” Ellie said. “-All right. What is it?”

“Started at nine this mornin–checked four clinics.

Our guy Ch5vez was registered at Ninety-sixth Street.

O.K.? Jesfis-right?”

:‘O. K.”

“So-I hang around there, shmooze with the staff people, not making’ any noise, right?”

“Ummm.”

“I’m just noticin’ who’s hanging out-what guys are out front in the mornin’. And I see some guys out there for a couple hours, looking’ to make deals and so forth.

And one of ‘em-I know. I used to know him. Nice guy, a junkie-Manuel Soto. Nice old guy. So I talk to Manuel a little bit-poor guy doesn’t have a tooth left in his head; he’s got to gum everything-and he tells me these brothers are always hanging’ around. Young black guys, part-time junkies. An’ he points ‘em out to me, you know and there they are.” Nardone made the turn onto Broadway.

“Who are they?”

“Right. A couple of jerks, Maurice and Clayton. Last name’s Garrison.

-I go out to have a little talk with Maurice and Clayton. But Clayton’s real shy and he takes off runnin’ like a deer.”

“So, you chased him.”

“I did not chase him. The guy was runnin’ like a deer I’m tellin’

you-he had the runnin’ shoes and everything.”

“So … T, “But Maurice wasn’t so smart. Maurice runs into the clinic.

He’s going’ to hide in there, right?”

” 0. K.”

“I go in after him-and he isn’t there. Guy’s vanished.

He’s not in the waitin’ room; he’s not in the office.

Nobody knows where Maurice is, and the lady runs the place is tellin’ me to get the hell out…… Nardone blew the Ford’s horn to get a man on a racing bicycle out of his way. As they passed him, Ellie saw that the man was very well equipped. He had on a helmet with a little rearview mirror, like a dentist’s mirror, sticking out the side, and he had a whistle in his mouth and was wearing bicycling gloves.

“So,” Nardone said, “-on the way out, I figured I’d try the can. Sure enough, there’s three guys sittin’ in there-but one of them, his pants legs aren’t wrinkled.

That guy is sittin’ there, but he isn’t doin’ anything’. I said,

“Maurice-if you don’t come out of there, I’m going’ to pull you out under the door.” Guy stands up, flushes the toilet like he did something’-force of habit-and comes out and right there we have this talk. He doesn’t care the other guys are listenin’; I don’t care; they don’t care.. . .”

Nardone made the turn into the side street. Policemen’s private cars were illegally parked along the two blocks either side of the station house. Some were parked on the sidewalk. Nardone pulled the Ford in alongside two motorcycles chained to a fire hydrant, turned off the ignition, looked at Ellie, and said, “Guess what Maurice had to say.”

“Tommy-I have no idea what Maurice had to say.”

“Listen to this. -Yesterday mornin’, right in front of that methadone clinic, a guy tried to lay a deal on Maurice, an’ when Clayton came up, on both of ‘em-wanted one of ‘em to go with him, sample some shit, see if they wanted to buy. -See if they could get enough buddies together to get the bread to buy.”

“O.K.”

“Guy was convincin’. Acted O.K., talked O.K. Big black dude, wore glasses.”

“O.K.”

“Well, they would have bought it, except one thing Clayton had been around the corner pissin’ behind a parked car, an’ saw that mother drive up in a rented Dodge, with two big white guys, looked like cops.”

“You think the black guy was the same one the man saw in the project-saw through his door-peep.”

“Wait a minute; let me finish. So-Clayton, who’s the smart one, gives his brother the Fuck this sign, and they say no. Big Mr. Four-eyes goes right over to Jesfis Chdvez, is standin’ in the doorway digestin’

his methadone, talks to him for a minute-and leads that sad turkey away,”

“Are you bullshitting me?”

“No.”

“My God, Tommy-that’s a big break. But you know, Homicide was probably going to get it, anyway.”

“I know it. They were already there a couple of times before me, an’

they’ll come back there, too. They could get it-but we got it now.”

“Two white guys . . .”

“Now you got it. Now you’re puttin’ your finger on it!

What’s a black street dealer doin’, hanging’ out with two white guys look like cops? —Can you figure that?”

“Wise guys … ?”

“Hangin’ around some methadone clinic with a spade dealer? -Never happen.”

A young man with a mustache tapped on Nardone’s closed window, and when Nardone put it down, said, “You’re blockin’ my bike, pal.”

Nardone nodded, started the car, backed it out into the street, and waited while the young cop unchained his motorcycle, put on his helmet, mounted, started the bike, and rode past them and down the street with a tremendous blatting roar.

“Wait’ll he gets married,” Nardone said. “-That’ll put an end to that motorcycle shit.”

“Go ahead,” Ellie said. “What were you saying?”

“What I was sayin’ was-figure it out-here’s Classman looking’ to see if some downtown madam is connected up with Department people, if that’s getting’ covered by Internal Affairs guys. -Next thing happens, Classman gets shot. An’ we got a guy here-Classman-who’s a nut case.

That’s just the fact of the matter. I know you liked the guy-but it’s a fact. Classman is real good with a pistol-an’ he’s jumpy with it, too.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Listen. -What do you think would have happened to two or three fucked-up junkies push into the old lady’s apartment to grab a TV? What do you think would have happened to guys like that when Classman comes in?”