In the Midst of Death

by Lawrence Block

Page 8

 

  "Then why did he come here?"

  "I have no idea. Ill tell you something. I distrusted him immediately. Not because hes crooked. We deal with crooks all the time. We have to deal with crooks, but at least they are rational crooks, and his behavior was irrational. I told Mr. Prejanian that I didnt trust Broadfield. I said I felt he was a kook, an oddball. I didnt want to get involved with him at all. "

  "And you said as much to Prejanian. "

  "Yes, I did. I would have been happy to believe that Broadfield had had some sort of religious experience and turned into a completely new person. Perhaps that sort of thing happens. Not very often, I dont suppose. "

  "Probably not. "

  "But he didnt even pretend that was the case. He was the same man hed been before, cynical and breezy and very much the operator. " He sighed. "Now Mr. Prejanian agrees with me. Hes sorry we ever got involved with Broadfield. The mans evidently committed a murder, and, oh, even before that there was the unfortunate publicity which resulted from the charges that woman brought against him. It could all put us in something of a delicate position. We didnt do anything, you know, but the publicity can hardly work to our advantage. "

  I nodded. "About Broadfield," I said. "Did you see him often?"

  "Not very often. He worked directly with Mr. Prejanian. "

  "Did he ever bring anyone to this office? A woman?"

  "No, he was always alone. "

  "Did Prejanian or anyone from this office ever meet him elsewhere?"

  "No, he always came here. "

  "Do you know where his apartment was?"

  " Barrow Street, wasnt it?" I perked up at that, but then he said, "I didnt even know he had an apartment in New York, but there was something about it in the newspaper, wasnt there? I think it was someplace in Greenwich Village. "

  "Did Portia Carrs name ever come up?"

  "Thats the woman he murdered, isnt it?"

  "Thats the woman who was murdered. "

  He managed a smile. "I stand corrected. I suppose one cannot jump to conclusions, however obvious they seem. No, Im sure I never heard her name before that item appeared in Mondays newspaper. "

  I showed him Portias photo, torn from the mornings News. I added some verbal description. But he had never seen her before.

  "Let me see if I have it all straight," he said. "He was extorting money from this woman. A hundred dollars a week, I believe it was? And she exposed him Monday, and last night she was murdered in his apartment. "

  "She said he was extorting money from her. I met her and she told me the same story. I think she was lying. "

  "Why would she lie?"

  "To discredit Broadfield. "

  He seemed genuinely puzzled. "But why would she want to do that? She was a prostitute, wasnt she? Why should a prostitute try to impede our crusade against police corruption? And why would someone else murder a prostitute in Broadfields apartment? Its all very confusing. "

  "Well, I wont argue with you on that. "

  "Terribly confusing," he said. "I cant even understand why Broadfield came to us in the first place. "

  I could. At least I had a good idea now. But I decided to keep it to myself.

  Chapter 6

  I stopped at my hotel long enough to take a quick shower and run an electric razor over my face. There were three messages in my pigeonhole, three callers who wanted to be called back. Anita had called again, and a police lieutenant named Eddie Koehler. And Miss Mardell.

  I decided that Anita and Eddie could wait. I called Elaine from the pay phone in the lobby. It wasnt a call I wanted to route through the hotel switchboard. Maybe they dont listen in, but then again maybe they do.

  When she answered I said, "Hello. Do you know who this is?"

  "I think so. "

  "Im returning your call. "

  "Uh-huh. Thought so. You got phone troubles?"

  "Im in a booth, but how about you?"

  "This phones supposed to be clean. I pay this little Hawaiian cat to come over once a week and check for bugs. So far he hasnt found any, but maybe he doesnt know how to look. How would I know? Hes really a very little cat. I think he must be completely transistorized. "

  "Youre a funny lady. "

  "Well, where are we without a sense of humor, huh? But we might as well be reasonably cool on the phone. You can probably guess what I called about. "

  "Uh-huh. "

  "The questions you were asking the other day, and Im a girl who reads the paper every morning, and what I was wondering was, can any of this lead back to me? Is that something I should start worrying about?"

  "Not a chance. "

  "Is that straight?"

  "Absolutely. Unless some of the calls you made to find things out can work back toward you. You talked to some people. "

  "I already thought of that and sealed it off. If you say I got nothing to worry about, then I dont, and thats the way Mrs. Mardells little girl likes it. "

  "I thought you changed your name. "

  "Huh? Oh, no, not me. I was born Elaine Mardell, baby. Not saying my father didnt change it a while back, but it was already nice and goyish by the time I came on the scene. "

  "I might come over later, Elaine. "

  "Business or pleasure? Let me reword that. Your business or mine?"

  I found myself smiling into the telephone. "Maybe a little of both," I said. "I have to go out to Queens, but Ill give you a call afterward if Im coming. "

  "Call me either way, baby. If you cant come, call. Thats why they put- "

  "Dimes in condoms. I know. "

  "Awww, you know all my best jokes," she said. "Youre no fun at all. "

  MY subway car had been decorated by a lunatic with a can of spray paint. Hed had just one message for the world and he had taken pains to inscribe it wherever the opportunity had presented itself, restating his argument over and over again, working in elaborate curlicues and other embellishments.

  WE ARE PEOPLE TWO, he informed us. I couldnt decide whether the last word was a simple spelling error or represented some significant drug-inspired insight.

  WE ARE PEOPLE TWO.

  I had plenty of time to ponder the meaning of the phrase, all the way out to Queens Boulevard and Continental. I got off the train and walked for several blocks, passing streets named after prep schools. Exeter, Groton, Harrow. I eventually got to Nansen Street, where Broadfield and his family lived. I dont know how they named Nansen Street.

  The Broadfield house was a good one, set a ways back on a nicely landscaped lot. An old maple on the strip of lawn between the sidewalk and the street left no doubt about what time of year it was. It was all on fire with red and gold.

  The house itself was two stories tall and thirty or forty years old. It had aged well. The whole block was composed of similar houses, but they differed sufficiently so that one didnt have the sense of being in a development.

  Nor did I have the sense of being within the five boroughs of New York. It is hard to remember, living in Manhattan, just how high a percentage of New Yorkers inhabit one-family houses on tree-lined streets. Even politicians sometimes have trouble keeping this in mind.

  I walked up a flagstone path to the front door and rang the bell. I could hear chimes sounding inside the house. Then footsteps approached the door, and it was drawn open by a slender woman with short dark hair. She wore a lime-green sweater and dark green pants. Green was a good color for her, matching her eyes, pointing up the shy wood-nymph quality she projected. She was attractive and would have been prettier still if she hadnt been crying recently. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her face was drawn.

  I told her my name and she invited me inside. She said I would have to excuse her, that everything was a mess because it had been a bad day for her.

  I followed her into the living room and took the chair she indicated. Despite what shed said, nothing seemed to be a mess. The room was immaculate and very tastefully furnished. The decor was c
onservative and traditional without having a museum feel to it. There were photographs here and there in silver frames. A book of music stood open on the upright piano. She picked it up, closed it, put it away in the piano bench.

  "The children are upstairs," she said. "Sara and Jennifer went to school this morning. They left before I heard the news. When they came home from lunch I kept them home. Eric wont start kindergarten until next year, so hes used to being at home. I dont know what theyre thinking and I dont know what to say to them. And the telephone keeps ringing. Id love to take it off the hook, but what if its something important? I would have missed your call if Id taken it off the hook. I just wish I knew what to do. " She winced and wrung her hands. "Im sorry," she said, her voice steadier now. "Im in a state of shock. Its made me numb and jittery at the same time. For two days I didnt know where my husband was. Now I know that hes in a prison cell. And charged with murder. " She made herself take a breath. "Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot. Or I could give you something stronger. "

  I said that coffee with whiskey in it would be good. She went to the kitchen and came back with two large mugs of coffee. "I dont know what kind of whiskey or how much to put in," she said. "Theres the liquor cabinet. Why dont you pick out what you like?"

  The cabinet was well stocked with expensive brands. This did not surprise me. I never knew a cop who didnt get a lot of liquor at Christmas. The people who are a little diffident about giving you cash find it easier to give you a bottle or a case of decent booze. I put a healthy slug of Wild Turkey in my cup. I suppose it was a waste. One bourbon tastes pretty much like another when you pour it in coffee.

  "Is it good that way?" She was standing beside me, her own mug held in both hands. "Maybe Ill try some. I dont normally drink very much. Ive never liked the taste of it. Do you think a drink would relax me?"

  "It probably wouldnt hurt. "

  She held out her mug. "Please?"

  I filled her mug and she stirred it with her spoon and took a tentative sip. "Oh, thats good," she said, in what was almost a childs voice. "Its warming, isnt it? Is it very potent?"

  "Its about the same strength as a cocktail. And the coffee tends to counteract some of the effects of the alcohol. "

  "You mean you dont get drunk?"

  "You still get drunk eventually. But you dont get tired out en route. Do you normally get drunk on one drink?"

  "I can usually feel one drink. Im afraid Im not much of a drinker. But I dont suppose this will hurt me. "

  She looked at me, and for a short moment we challenged one another with our eyes. I didnt know then and do not know now precisely what happened, but our eyes met and exchanged wordless messages, and something must have been settled on the spot, although we were not consciously aware of the settlement or even of the messages that preceded it.

  I broke the stare. I took the note her husband had written from my wallet and handed it to her. She scanned it once quickly, then read it through more carefully. "Twenty-five hundred dollars," she said. "I suppose youll want that right now, Mr. Scudder. "