Silent Prey (25 page)

“Tell me,” she said.

“No. And I’m not Internal Affairs.”

They spent the day walking through the Village and SoHo, drifting in and out of shops, talking to Fell’s contacts on the street, chatting with uniform cops in Washington Square, watching the street action on Broadway. They found the bookstore where Bekker had been spotted, a long, narrow shop with a narrow front window and a weathered, paint-peeled door three steps up. A sign in the door said “Open All Night, 365 Nights a Year.”

The clerk who had talked to Bekker wasn’t working, but happened by on his bike a few seconds after they asked for him. A thin man with a goatee and a book of
poetry, he looked like a latter-day Beat, his face animated as he told them about the encounter.

“He’s a good-looking woman, I’ll tell you that,” the clerk said. “But you can look at somebody and know what kind of book they’re going to buy, and I never picked her—him—out for the one he found. Torture and shit. I thought maybe he was, like, an NYU professor or something, and that’s why he bought it . . . .”

Down the sidewalk, Fell said, “I think he’s real.”

“So do I,” said Lucas. “He saw him.” He looked up at the red-brick buildings around him, with their iron stoops and window boxes full of petunias. “And he’s somewhere close, Bekker is. He didn’t drive any distance to get to a small bookstore. I can smell the sonofabitch.”

He took her to the restaurant where Petty had been killed, sat and had Cokes, and almost told her about it.

“Not too bad a place,” he said, looking around.

“It’s all right,” she said.

“You ever been here? Your regular precinct is around here, right?”

“Ten blocks,” Fell said, poking a straw in her Coke. “Too far. Besides, this is sort of a sit-down place, not the kind of place you come to for lunch if you’re a cop.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Late in the afternoon, while Fell browsed a magazine rack, Lucas stopped at a pay phone, dropped a quarter, and got Lily in O’Dell’s car.

“Where are you?”

“Morningside Heights.”

“Where’s that?”

“Up by Columbia.”

“I need to see you. Tonight. By yourself. Won’t take too long.”

“All right. How about nine, at my place?”

“Good.”

When he hung up, Fell looked up from a copy of
Country Home
and said, “So. Are you up for dinner?”

“I’m talking to Lily tonight,” he said. “I’d like to come around later, though.”

“I hate to see you hanging around with that woman,” Fell said, dropping the magazine back on the rack.

“This is purely business,” Lucas said. “And look, could you stop by Midtown and pick up those file summaries? We’ve been floating around all day, listening to bullshit . . . maybe something’ll come out of the files.”

“All right. I’ll haul them over to my place . . . .”

Lily was sitting in a living room chair, her high heels in the middle of the carpet, her bare feet up on a hassock. The hassock was covered with a brocaded throw that seemed to Lucas to be vaguely Russian, or Old World. She was sipping a Diet Coke, tired smudges under her eyes.

“Sit down. You sounded tense,” she said. “What happened?” Her head was back, her dark hair a perfect frame around her pale oval face.

“Nothing happened, not today, anyway. I just need to talk to you,” he said. He perched on the edge of her other overstuffed chair. “I need to know about you and Walter Petty—your relationship.”

She leaned farther back in the chair, wiggled once to settle in, laid her head back, and closed her eyes. “Can I ask why you need to know?”

“Not yet.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him carefully and said, “Robin Hood?”

“I’m not sure. What about Petty?”

“Walt and I went back as far as you can go,” Lily said,
her eyes unfocusing. “We were born on the same block in Brooklyn, sort of middle-class brownstones. I was exactly one month older, to the day. June first and July first. His mother and mine were friends, so I suppose I first laid eyes on him when I was five or six weeks old. We grew up together. Went to kindergarten together. We were both in the smart group. Someplace along the way, sixth or seventh grade, he got interested in math and science and ham radio in that geeky way boys do, and I got interested in social things. After that we didn’t talk so much.”

“Still friends, though . . .”

She nodded. “Sure. I’d talk to him when I saw him around the block, but not at school. He was in love with me for most of his life. And I guess I loved him, you know, but not sexually. Like a handicapped brother, or something.”

“Handicapped?”

She carefully set the glass on the table and said, “Yeah, he was socially handicapped. Walked around with a slide rule on his belt, his table manners went from bad to worse, he got weird around girls. You know the type. Sort of ineffectual, nonphysical. Really nice, though. Eager . . . too eager.”

“Yeah. A dork. A nerd. The kind of kid that gets shredded by girls.”

“Yes. Exactly. The kind that gets shredded,” she said. “But we were friends . . . . And whenever I needed something done—you know, get an apartment painted, or help fixing something—I could call him up and he’d drop everything and be there. I took him for granted. He was always there, and I assumed he always would be.”

“Why’d he become a cop?”

“ ’Cause he could. It was a job you could get with a test
and with family connections. He was brilliant on tests and had the connections.”

“Was he a good cop?”

“He was terrible in uniform,” she said. “He didn’t have that . . . that . . . cold spot. Or hot spot. Or whatever it is. He couldn’t get on top of people—you ought to know about that.”

“Yeah.” Lucas grinned. “I don’t know if it’s hot or cold, though. Anyway, Petty . . .”

“So he was terrible on the street and they moved him inside. He was working guard details and so on. Then they tried him on dope. And Jesus, he was something else. I mean nobody,
nobody
would believe he was a cop. He’d make a buy and the backup would drop on the dealer, and they still wouldn’t believe it. This
dork
couldn’t be an undercover cop. Sometimes even the judges didn’t believe it. Anyway, that’s about the first job he ever did really well at; he was a bit of an actor. Then he got interested in investigation, in crime-scene processing. He was good at that, too. The best. He’d go into a crime scene and he’d see
everything.
And he could put it together, too. Then computers came along, and he was great with computers.” She laughed, remembering. “Suddenly, the guy who fucked up everything, the nerd as big as the moon, was a hot item. And he was still good old Walt. When you needed your apartment painted, there he was. He had this great open smile, completely . . . geeky, but honest. When he looked happy to see you, he was happy to see you; he’d just light up. And if he got angry, he’d go off and start yelling, and then he’d maybe start crying or something; or you thought he would . . . .”

Lily’s lip was trembling, and she dropped her feet off the hassock and dropped her head.

“How’d he get the job looking for Robin Hood?”

“He knew computers and he’d worked with O’Dell, and we swung it for him. He could help us, and it was a chance for him to break out. And maybe I had something to do with it—he’d be working with me. Like I said . . .”

“Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

“Sounds like arrogance, or vanity.”

Lucas shook his head. “Not really. Just life . . . You think he got close to Robin Hood?”

“He must have. Jesus, when he was killed, I couldn’t stop crying for a week. I really . . . I don’t know. There was no sexual impulse at all, but when I thought of him over all those years, that puppy-dog quality, that he loved me . . . It was like . . . I don’t know. I loved him. That’s what it came to.”

“Huh.” He was watching her, his elbow on the arm of the chair, one finger at his chin.

“So what’s this all about?” she asked. The weariness had slipped from her voice, and she looked up, intent.

“You and O’Dell are running me as some kind of lure,” Lucas said. “You’re dragging me out in front of whoever your targets are. I need to know who you think they are.”

After a long moment of silence, she said, “Fell. As far as I know, that’s it.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” she said. “She’s all we’ve got.”

“That can’t be right.”

“It is.”

“You know everything that O’Dell is doing?”

“Well, yes, I mean I schedule for him . . . I suppose he could run something on the side . . . .”

There was another moment of silence, then Lucas said, “I’m afraid you’re betraying me.”

She was offended, angry. “God damn it.”

“I know you are—or somebody is. O’Dell for sure, and you’re with O’Dell . . . .”

“Tell me about it,” she said, sitting back again.

Lucas looked her over and said, “First of all, Fell’s not involved.”

“Why not?”

“I just know, and I’m not wrong,” Lucas said.

“Lucas, instincts or no instincts, the goddamn records aren’t lying about this,” Lily said. “She’s all over the place.”

“I know. She’s an alarm.”

“What?”

“She’s a trip wire,” Lucas said. “Working the jobs she has, in Burglary, and as a decoy, she knows half the assholes in Midtown. So Robin Hood used her as a reference and picked on assholes that she knew. Then they watched her. If anybody got close, they’d get close to her first . . . .”

“I don’t know.” Lily was shaking her head. She didn’t believe it.

“It’d have to be a tough sonofabitch to set that up,” Lucas continued. “As soon as you pulled her off her regular job and put me next to her, the alarm went off. Petty’s been killed, the official investigation seems to be dead in the water—and here comes Lily Rothenburg and the department’s Svengali, towing me along behind. And you stick me next to Fell. They never bought the Bekker thing: they’ve been reading us like a book.”

“Who?”

Lucas hesitated. “I’m tempted to say Kennett.”

“Bullshit.” Lily shook her head. “I’d know. In fact, I asked him. He doesn’t even think there is such a group.”

“But we know there is. And I’m still tempted to say Kennett. O’Dell put me right up against Fell and he put
me right up against Kennett. It’s possible that O’Dell
knows
it’s Kennett, but doesn’t have the proof.”

Lily thought it over, staring at him. “That’s . . .”

“Bizarre. I agree. And of course, there’re other possibilities, too.”

“That it’s me?” She smiled a small and frosty smile.

“Yeah.” Lucas nodded. “That’s one of them.”

“And what do you think?”

He shook his head. “It’s not you, so . . .”

“How do you know it’s not me?” she asked.

“Same way I know it’s not Fell—I’ve seen you operate.”

“Thanks for that,” Lily said.

“Yeah . . . which brings us to the last possibility.”

“O’Dell?”

“O’Dell. He has access to everything he needs to organize the group. He knows everybody on the force, and he probably could pick out likely candidates for his hit teams. He has the computer files to pick out the assholes, and to set up Fell as an alarm . . . .”

“There’s a hole,” Lily said quickly. “He’s so high up he wouldn’t need an alarm . . . .”

“Internal Affairs—he might not know about Internal Affairs investigations.”

She bit her lip. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“Since Petty was a computer maven too, maybe computers led him to O’Dell. Whatever it was, for whatever reason Petty got hit, O’Dell was right there to manage the investigation. Kept it out of Internal Affairs . . .”

“Said it was too political,” Lily said thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Then he pulls me into it, produces Fell, and he puts me up against Kennett. And you know what? Fell and Kennett are all I’ve got—all that paper you gave me, the regular investigation, the reports. It’s all bullshit. It’s
all a stone wall. It looks impressive, but there’s nothing in it.”

“Why would O’Dell pick on Kennett?”

“Because Kennett’s going to die,” Lucas said bluntly. “Suppose he gets everything pointed at Kennett, and then Kennett . . . dies. Natural causes, a heart attack. If there was an agreement that Kennett was it, the investigation would die and the real organizer would be clear.”

Lily, pale as notebook paper: “He couldn’t have . . . I don’t think.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think . . . I don’t think he’s brave enough. Physically. He’d be thinking about prison.”

“That all depends on how he’s set it up. Maybe his shooters don’t know him.”

“Yeah, but remember—if O’Dell is it, he wouldn’t have to give you Fell. If Fell’s an alarm, I mean, he’d know what you were here for.”

“Yeah. And he’d know that Fell would get me exactly where she has: nowhere. And at the same time, lend a touch of truth to the whole business. Fell did know all those dead guys. Besides, with Petty talking to both of you, and Fell popping out of the computer, there was no way to get her back inside . . . .”

“Maybe,” she said.

“How’d you meet Kennett?” Lucas asked abruptly.

“In the intraconference meetings.”

“As O’Dell’s assistant?”

“Yes.”

“Did O’Dell feed you to him?” Lucas asked.

“Jesus, Lucas,” she said.

“Did he? I mean, he knows both of you. Could he have figured . . .”

“I don’t know. They don’t like each other, you know.”
Lily stood and turned in place, like a dog trying to make a bed more comfortable. “You know, you’ve put this whole tissue together without a single goddamned fact . . . .”

“I’ve got one interesting, surprising, generally unknown fact,” he said; and it was his turn to produce a wintry smile.

“What?”

“I know that O’Dell’s trying to frame Kennett. I know
that
for sure. The question is, is he doing it because Kennett’s guilty and it’s the only way to get him? Or because he’s looking for a scapegoat?”

“Bullshit,” she said, but he could see the shock in her eyes.

“I found Red Reed in Charleston, South Carolina,” he said. “He’s a friend of O’Dell’s, from Columbia . . . .”