Switch (27 page)

"Like how?"

"Well, you know that several times when
The Deer Hunter
was broadcast some people got hurt playing Russian roulette."

"Didn't know that."

"Yes. I believe a couple of people were actually killed."

"You're saying—"

"And there's the case of Mr. Hinckley and
Taxi Driver
."

"
We know about that."

"Well, then you know that's what he means." Aaron held out the phone and rolled his eyes. "In a certain competitive spirit vis-
à
-vis other young film directors. And I don't believe you law-enforcement people should take such statements literally. Especially considering what I hear about the public-safety situation in New York City. I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, Sergeant. But, really, I find this dialogue rather..."

After Aaron delivered himself of the courtesies and hung up, he turned to
Janek
and slowly shook his head. "I don't seem to do so great with the academics."

"But your question was very good."

"I forget my question."

"About 'heavily masked psychological'..."

"Yeah. But he's masking the whole thing, Frank. I mean screw the 'conflicts.' Who the fuck is this guy?"

A
aron was happy. "We got pay dirt. And these guys are terrific."

He was speaking of Stanger and Howell, who had developed, contrary to everyone's expectations, into a first-rate prostitute-interviewing team. They were sitting in the squad room now looking a little smug as Aaron read aloud from their report:

"'According to informant, subject did nothing perverse. Informant describes subject as "a perfect gentleman." Subject made no particular demands upon informant other than requiring her to perform fellatio upon him while postured on her knees. After which, according to informant, subject added a modest tip to informant's professional fee."

Stanger and Howell's language was grotesque, but
Janek
knew what it meant: the discovery of a prostitute who recognized Lane from photographs was the first slim piece of evidence to support his theory of the switch.

"You got to hand it to these guys, Frank."

Janek
nodded. "I love them. So keep at it, guys. Get me more.

S
al was hollow-eyed. It was seven in the morning;
Janek
had driven uptown to meet him in Amanda's apartment. Sal had stationed himself there on the premise that if Lane had spied on Mandy from his bedroom window, then he could spy on Lane through the same two panes of glass.

The air in the room was close. There were dirty coffee cups in the sink and crumbled potato chip bags on the counter. A big glass ashtray was overflowing. The room stank of a tired cop.

"Have to be careful, Frank. Move around too much and he knows I'm here. Never turn on the lights. Just sit in the easy chair and watch. Getting so I can find my way around in here with my eyes shut. Know every inch of the place. Including the can. Just love the can, Frank. I mean, it doesn't weird me out to go in there anymore. Course I don't leave the shower curtain shut. Not the way she did. Matter of fact, I took it down. I mean, who needs it? I take my showers at home.

Sal raised his eyebrows then in a particularly emphatic way to show
Janek
he was talking about a lot more than personal hygiene.

"What's your feeling?"

"I've kept a log of everything—"

"Sal—"
Janek
placed his arms on the younger man's shoulders. "I know what you've reported. What's your
feeling
about the guy?"

"He knows I'm on him," Sal muttered softly.

"What makes you feel that way? Does he look back a lot?"

Sal shook his head. "It's not like that. It's hard to explain." He paused. "He moves. He moves like he's conscious of me. But he never looks back. Never. And that spooks me, Frank. He's so controlled, you see. So incredibly controlled. And then the other night he did something and I could swear...”

"What did he do?"

"Well, I was in here watching. He couldn't have seen me. The window was closed. Christ, it was so bitching hot I could hardly breathe. And I was still. Like a fucking stiff, Frank. I swear I was sitting in that chair like a fucking stiff. And the lights were on in his bedroom. He leaves them on a lot. Sometimes I got to wait hours before I see him come in there, but the lights are always on. Okay, he comes in, not self-conscious at all, and he starts to get undressed. He pulls off his shirt. He likes those asshole shirts with the alligators over the nipple. So, okay, now he's stripped. He comes over to the window and I think, hey, this may be it, he's going to do something for a change, he's going to make a move. So I'm very alert and very still too. Just watching. And I can see he's doing this kind of deep breathing. You know, inhaling, exhaling, tightening up the stomach muscles, that whole trip. He's not a big guy, he's no body builder, but he's strong. Okay, then he tenses up and holds the pose, his eyes fastened on the window over here. I actually felt he was looking in. Knew he couldn't see me, but it felt like he could. So then he breathes out, relaxes, you know. And then he—you won't believe this, Frank. The guy throws me a kiss."

A kiss.
"Show me how he did it."

Sal demonstrated: he placed his hands on his hips, pursed his lips and kissed the air and at the same time thrust out the lower half of his face.

"Was it hostile?"

"Did I do it hostile? Didn't mean to, because it wasn't like that at all. It was almost—like, you know, he was wishing me good night. Sleep well. Happy dreams. Fuck you. Like that."

Like that.
The kiss bothered
Janek
.
Like how?
he wondered. "Let's go out and get some coffee."

"He's there now. Sleeping. Don't want to lose him."

"You need a break,"
Janek
said. "Come on."

"But—"

"
Sal
,
listen to me. I don't give a good goddamn about the stakeout. You're acting weird. Let's get out of here."

They went to Aspen, the place with the copper pots and the waitresses with Finch accents where they'd met the night they'd done the walkthrough.
Janek
encouraged Sal to talk, about baseball, the coming hockey season, the stock market, anything that interested him. Several times he noticed the younger man glance nervously at his watch.

"I'm thinking of pulling you off him,"
Janek
said. "How would you feel about that?"

"Won't lie to you, Frank. These haven't been the greatest two weeks of my life."

"You've been very conscientious."

"Trying to do the job."

"Not easy. I know."

"I've worked plenty of stakeouts—"

"
Alone's
different."

"Yeah. It is."

"So, it didn't work. Looks like he may be onto you. And that's not your fault. So we throw it in on the surveillance for now."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Got any ideas?"

Sal smiled. "There is something. But I know you'll never—"

"What?"

"Let me do a wiretap."

Janek
studied him. Sal was wearing the shrewd conspirator's grin. "No point,"
Janek
said gently. "If he did this he did it alone, so there's no one he's going to talk it over with. No judge will grant us an order, and an illegal tap could backfire later on."

"Still."

"Forget it. That's one sure way to screw up the case." Sal lowered his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just..."

"Tell you what," said
Janek
. "You want to do something extracurricular, I got a job for you, very covert."

Sal looked at him. "An investigation?"

Janek
nodded. "If you take this on it's between us. No one else must know, not even Aaron."

"A job for my rabbi. You know I'll do it, Frank."

"Anything, right, to get pulled off Lane? I'm pulling you off anyway. This other thing is optional. And no questions. That's the deal."

Sal nodded. "What do you need?"

Janek
sucked in his breath. "A full financial background report on Chief of Detectives Hart. All assets. Real estate. Bank accounts. Stocks owned and traded. Going as far back as you can dig."

"Chief Hart?" Sal's face was suddenly motionless.

"And his wife, Karen. Particularly her. Because I think you'll find that most of what they've got is held in her name, not in his."

Sal liked the project;
Janek
could tell. It appealed to the same part of him that wanted to put a wiretap on Lane. "How do we keep this from Aaron?"

"You continue to file reports on Lane. You know the patterns, so you mix the stuff around a little bit."

"And it comes out just the same." Sal grinned.

Janek
nodded and, for a moment, wondered if he was making a mistake. He had a major case, few resources, and now he was putting Sal on something else. Sal couldn't get hurt;
Janek
would protect him, absorb the blame, admit he'd given Sal an illegal order and take the consequences, the loss of his job and probably his pension too, if it came to that. He hesitated. Then he told himself he didn't have a choice. He smiled. This time he and Sal shared the shrewd-conspirator grin.

I
t was at Caroline's door that he remembered the kiss. When he entered the loft he went straight to the bathroom, stood before the mirror, pursed his lips and threw a kiss at himself just the way Sal had described.

"Good night. Sleep well. Happy dreams. Fuck you."

Caroline was at the stove when he came out. They smiled at each other as he dialed the precinct from her desk. Howell answered—at least someone was working late. "In my desk. Lower left-hand drawer. Mandy's diary. Couple of pages marked with paper clips near the end."

While he waited for Howell to find the entry he threw Caroline a couple of kisses.

"Weird the way you're doing that."

"Weird how?"

"I don't know. Mean. Grudging, I guess."

Howell found the passage.
Janek
listened as he read it over the phone: "'A kiss goodnight. A stingy, little kiss. If only it were real affection. Poor me here with
Petti
all alone..."

He put down the phone. "Hey." She turned to him. He threw her three.

"What
are
you doing?"

"Being stingy."

"Mean," she said.

"Stingy little kisses?"

"Right."

"Like 'Fuck you,' right?"

"
Right
."

He thanked her as he dialed Aaron.

"...Here I am, Frank, just sitting down to dinner with my four beautiful daughters and my lovely wife, and you call me about
a
kiss
."

"That's it, Aaron. A stingy little fuck-you kind of kiss."

"You crazy or something?"

"I don't think so,"
Janek
said.

"G
ot to be him,"
Janek
said. They were in bed. The fan was milling above their heads.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"See him," he said. "I think it's time."

"How will you handle it?"

"Oh—play it by ear."

She took hold of his face, turned it so she could see his eyes. "Bullshit," she said. "You're going in there with a plan."

He nodded. "I'll probably slap him around a little. The way you think cops like to do."

"
Janek
."
She punched his arm.

"Okay, I'm going to
pattycake
him a few times, mentally, of course, in a couple of different places. The way I figure it he'll play it like a tar-baby, try and sucker me in, get me mad, try and tie me up. Then, depending on how I feel, I may haul back and clobber him one. Just to see how he takes it, to see if he's breakable or not."

She shivered. "What if he isn't breakable?"

"Then I'll know what I'm up against. And he'll know something, too. He'll know I know it's him."

I
t's his eyes
,
Janek
thought. Empty eyes, shiny and hard like wet gray stones. Unwavering eyes, utterly still. Eyes without affect.

They sat facing one another on long black leather sofas, a large square glass coffee table in between. Nothing on the table. Nothing on the walls. The apartment cold, pristine, the floors painted a hard-gloss white, the young man sitting silent, still—watching, appraising, waiting for him to begin.

Janek
had puzzled over photographs before the meeting. Peter hadn't looked like the sort who would make the kind of films he did. No brooding countenance, no tormented brow. Rather a regular, bland unlined face, light brown hair cut short like a college boy's, the features empty, inexpressive, blank like a sentry's.
Like a marine sentry
,
Janek
thought,
on duty, on guard
.