by Ben Sanders
Some kind of odd dynamic, Jordan had said.
The Linney guy across the street. The window vigil. What else had he seen?
The smiley man, and the woman with him in the car. Surveilling Vialoux, the night he visited the Boynes.
It must’ve been another woman.
Seven pm when the train reached Manhattan, city lights heaped like dragon’s treasure along the length of the island, and Marshall wondered if that really was the end of the matter, or if maybe there was some other layer to it.
THIRTY-THREE
Ray Vialoux’s funeral was in Greenwood Heights. Even without the casket and the flowers and the mourners, it all looked pretty funereal, Marshall thought. Heavy gray sky, wind clacking the branches of the trees. He stayed near the back of the group, people largely anonymous with their coats and umbrellas. The priest kept going mute, words snatched away in the gusts. It was an unusual mix of tradition and new-trend. Vialoux had requested a green burial, apparently. Environment-friendly. No embalming or formaldehyde. The casket was biodegradable, or so Hannah had told him, and even the hole had been dug by hand. The backhoe method wasn’t compatible with the green philosophy. It surprised him that this was what Vialoux wanted. Even the burial aspect. If he’d had to guess, Marshall would’ve said Ray wanted to go straight in the furnace.
A couple of guys he vaguely recognized from twenty years ago gave eulogies. Vialoux on patrol and not taking any shit. Vialoux on patrol and getting the better of guys who thought they had everything figured out. He could see Hannah and Ella up there in the front row, holding hands, holding it together. A detective Marshall didn’t know got up and gave a reading from a Richard Price novel, about a detective going to see a psychic to help solve a murder. It got a few subdued laughs going around the group.
The priest read the committal prayer, and Marshall stayed back as the casket was lowered into the earth, people moving forward to see Ray go. He watched Hannah throw a handful of earth on the coffin, and then she threaded through the edge of the crowd to where he was standing.
‘Thanks for coming.’ Red-eyed but composed.
‘No trouble.’
‘Is that makeup?’
He touched his face out of reflex. He’d applied fresh concealer this morning, to disguise the bruising. ‘Yeah, I slipped the other night. Didn’t want to show up looking like a rotten grape.’
He could see she had more questions, but she kept them to herself. They stood side by side watching the last of the dirt-throwers. It wasn’t a huge turnout. Maybe twenty people, priest included. No sign of Jordan Mora.
She said, ‘There’s a number you have to call at police plaza, so they can process all the pension stuff. It says on the website, I looked it up, you’re entitled to pallbearers if you’re ex-PD. But they said they wouldn’t. They wouldn’t provide them.’ She shook her head, lips sealed, eyes brimming. ‘It meant so much to him. The job. And they couldn’t even give him pallbearers. I said to them, “He was shot through a window, for goodness’ sake. If that happened to a serving officer it’d be national news, but with this …”’ She shook her head, looked away. ‘All I got, it was just no ma’am, sorry ma’am and … what was it.’ She looked at the ground. ‘“We have to review the circumstances and the individual.” I mean … come on. What could the circumstances be that they can’t even do him that small courtesy. Given how much it would’ve meant to him.’
He put his arm around her and held her for a moment, wondered what they had on file about Ray Vialoux over at One Police. One day, they’d be vetoing pallbearers for Marshall, too. He watched Ella drop a handful of dirt. Then the Boynes: Ginny and Martin. Pale with grief and cold. People were breaking up now into little knots. Friends, ex-cops, wider family.
Hannah said, ‘Are you going to find him?’
He wasn’t sure at first how to answer that.
She said, ‘Or have you found him already?’ Gaze holding pointedly on his bruised cheek.
Marshall said, ‘The police are with him.’
Technically true, he figured. Provided the New Jersey cops had followed up on his call. He wasn’t sure about the average daily intake of false tip-offs in respect of dead bodies.
She said, ‘So who is it?’
‘A hired man.’
He saw a muscle working in her jaw. ‘A hired man. Who the police are with.’ She nodded. ‘Glad you’re still upholding principles. I thought maybe on the day of my husband’s funeral, you might be a little more forthcoming, but I’m sure Ray would like to see you still keeping your mouth shut.’
She walked away from him. Stopped after a few paces and turned back. ‘Sorry, by the way.’
By the way.
It made it unrelated to what she’d just said, and the confusion must have showed in his face. She smiled. ‘There’s coffee and sandwiches back at the house. Make sure you come over.’
He gave her a twenty-yard lead, and then he began to follow, people drifting with him, heading for the cemetery lane along which six or seven vehicles were parked. The rear car was a black SUV with tinted windows. Marshall recognized it. He saw the curbside rear door open, and D’Anton Lewis climb out. He closed his door, eyes on Marshall, and then took a moment to stand there and button his coat. Marshall waited on the grass and let the man come over to him, D’Anton moving slow, as if time elapsed according to his own rhythm. He was careful to stand much too close, give himself a downward angle.
Marshall said, ‘What you can do if you want to be a real gentleman, you stand with the mourners, at least make a show of paying respects. Rather than wait in your car and then make a nuisance of yourself.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were just standing here, talking.’
‘Mmm. Were you intending to stop here? Or am I in your way?’
‘I thought I’d get an update from you.’
‘Oh yeah? On what?’
D’Anton took a breath in and out through his nose. Unrushed, almost forlorn, as if disappointed at having to spell things out. ‘Have you had any success locating my wife?’
Marshall nodded and said, ‘Uh-huh,’ and saw in the man’s eye that he’d surprised him with that. ‘I found her yesterday.’
Silence.
Then D’Anton’s lip curled, indulging him, like this was all one big joke. ‘And where is she?’
Marshall kept eye contact. ‘I’m thinking of the place right now.’ He put a finger to his temple, tapped it. ‘It’s right here. But I’m not going to say it.’
‘I wouldn’t play that game, if I were you.’
Marshall said, ‘I think I’ll be OK.’ He nodded at him. ‘Got your coat all buttoned up. Won’t be able to get your dagger without tangling yourself.’
D’Anton smiled, rolling with it. He said, ‘I’m surprised you haven’t gathered yet that I can cause trouble for you.’
Marshall shrugged, kept his voice pleasant: ‘Yeah, well, likewise. And I’ve got a pretty good track record, actually. If there weren’t so many people around, I’d be tempted to throw you in the ground on top of Vialoux.’
It seemed to add to the man’s amusement. He said, ‘How is it that I always get my way, do you think?’
Marshall shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t really care, to be perfectly honest. I’m not telling you where your wife is. I think she’s a liar, but I think she’s telling the truth when she says you’re a piece of work. Excuse me.’
He stepped past him and walked across the lawn to the cemetery lane, and when he looked back, D’Anton was still standing there, watching him.
He took the subway down to Fifty-third Street in Sunset Park and reached the Vialouxs’ place just before ten thirty. The little house made the turnout seem larger than it was. The entry hall was standing room only, loud with overlapping conversation. He saw Bruce Linney talking with a couple of ex-cops he recognized. Linney had swapped his #Dad shirt for a suit and tie. He and Marshall traded nods. And over by the stairs was Martin Boyne, wearing an expression of pale fear, like h
e knew eventually he’d have to talk to someone.
He saw Marshall and smiled nervously. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey, Martin. How you doing?’
‘Pretty good, I think.’ The nervous smile again. ‘Despite it being a funeral.’
‘Yeah. I know what you mean. Is Ginny here too?’
‘Yes, Ginny’s here. Try the kitchen, maybe. She always leaves me to fend for myself at these things …’
He stopped at the bathroom on the way, sat down on the lid of the commode and took off his boots. He was wearing the socks he’d bought in Paterson: plain white, but they had a little embroidered L or R on the outside of the heel to denote left or right as appropriate. The sock-shape was the same for both sides – identical stitching, as far as he’d determined – so in truth the lettering implied a false status of chirality. But he still liked to have things around the right way, and he had a feeling that something was off.
The left sock was OK. A little embroidered L by his ankle. He checked the right. Shit, another L. Two left socks. It must’ve happened when he did the re-bundle, after cutting off the packaging. It hadn’t occurred to him to check the pairings. He sat there for a moment, thinking about the best way forward. Soft hubbub coming through the door. At least he’d known something wasn’t right. And he realized now there was only one option. He peeled off his socks and folded them carefully and put them in his inner pocket. Left side, obviously. Then he donned his boots barefooted and went looking for Ginny Boyne.
She was in the kitchen, as Martin had guessed, standing in a foursome that also included Hannah Vialoux. Hannah saw him coming and broke away, and the other two faded off as well, that idle drift Marshall had seen people do, smiling and concertedly distant, as if pulled by social currents they were helpless to resist.
But Ginny held her ground. She smiled at him. ‘Hello again.’
‘How you doing, Ginny?’
‘I’m all right, thank you.’ She gestured with the mug she was holding. ‘I have coffee, so things could be worse …’
They covered all the basics: how it had been a nice service, and the speakers had done well, and the bit from the Richard Price novel had been funny and relevant, and it was good how it hadn’t rained, despite threatening to do so.
Marshall said, ‘Thank you again for taking the time to speak to us on Sunday. Much appreciated.’
‘Oh. It’s no trouble.’
‘Sorry to labor the topic—’
‘No, no. Not at all—’
‘We’re still trying to square up a few details. In terms of Ray’s movements the last few weeks.’
‘Oh, sure. Yes, of course.’
‘Do you remember the night he visited – I know you said you don’t recall too many details—’
‘Yes. It’s all a bit foggy, sorry.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘You mean the night he collected Jennifer’s computer?’
‘That’s right. Do you happen to remember what he was intending with it? It was a laptop, right?’
‘That’s right … I think … he was going to take a look at it that evening, and then get a technician to help him if needed. But he told us in the end he gained access himself, and there was nothing on it really, let alone a note or a letter. Almost like she hadn’t used it.’
‘Why did he think that?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Why did he think she hadn’t been using it?’
‘Well, apparently there just weren’t many recent files.’
Hannah was back now. ‘Not interrogating you, is he?’
Ginny said, ‘No, not at all. Just talking.’
Marshall said, ‘I was on the way out, anyway. Nice to see you both.’
He got two Nice to see yous in reply, Hannah’s a little cooler than Ginny’s.
‘Where’s Ella? I’ll just say goodbye.’
Hannah nodded toward the front of the house. ‘Said she’s going out for some air.’
He found her sitting on the front step, smoking a cigarette. Marshall sat down beside her.
She said, ‘Are you coming for a smoke, or are you trying to have like a real meaningful talk?’
He glanced at her. She smiled faintly. ‘You know …’ She deepened her voice: ‘Your dad and I were buddies, you can count on me, ra-de-ra.’
Marshall grinned. ‘I’d hoped all that stuff was implicit.’
‘Oh, right.’
She offered him the cigarette pack. Marshall waved it off. ‘No thanks.’
She said, ‘You’re probably close enough anyway to get it secondhand.’
‘Yeah. Probably.’
Silence for a while. A car went past. An appropriately solemn pace. A couple more smokers joined them on the front steps. Ex-cop types.
Marshall said, ‘I was just talking to Ginny Boyne.’
‘Oh yeah? She’s real sweet.’
‘She said you were really kind when their daughter died. People always appreciate those things.’
She looked at him for a few seconds. ‘That’s kinda random. But OK.’
‘Well, it’s true. It makes a difference.’
She said, ‘Yeah, I mean. Least I could do, I guess. It didn’t really make any sense. Hard for everyone who knew her, so I can’t imagine what it was like for her family.’ She shrugged. ‘Well. Now maybe I do.’
He let her work on her cigarette for a moment, and then said, ‘You ever seen this smiley man?’
‘Huh?’ She glanced at him.
‘Apparently there was a guy following your dad around.’
‘If he was only following him around it wouldn’t have been so much of a problem.’
He waited.
She said, ‘The guy who killed him, you mean?’
‘Yeah. Little guy. Always grinning. Weird little dude, apparently.’
She shook her head, looked away. ‘You got a real gift for timing, don’t you?’ She tugged her cuff back, checked her watch. ‘Funeral was only what, hour ago, you’re already back at work.’
He shook his head slowly, keeping eye contact. ‘I wasn’t trying to cause offence. I’m just trying to get all the details squared away. So we can know what happened.’
‘The police already asked me about that stuff.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘The Nevins guy. Detective Nevins.’
Marshall nodded. ‘Sure. I just thought I’d ask. I remember when I talked to Martin and Ginny, they said they’d seen the guy. And Martin had seen a woman with him too.’
She shrugged. ‘What do you mean?’
‘So it wasn’t you that night? In the car with the little guy who’s always smiling?’
She shut her eyes, shook her head. ‘What the fuck, man. Honestly.’
Quiet. He sensed the attention of the two other smokers. The quality of the stillness out here.
‘I have to ask the question.’
‘No you fucking don’t. In fact …’ She shook her head again. ‘Get out of here. Do without this shit, honestly.’
Something there in her eyes that looked to him like fear, worry. But he got to his feet. As he turned to walk away, he saw Hannah had come outside, too.
She said, ‘I couldn’t have put it better, frankly.’ She gestured with her chin, aiming up the street. ‘Get lost.’ Then: ‘Ella, for God’s sake, put that out.’
Marshall stood on the sidewalk, looking between them. He settled on Ella, her lips pursed in a slow draw on the cigarette, and regarding him with faint interest now.
She said, ‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. One question.’
‘One question.’ Voice deeper, mimicking him.
Marshall said, ‘When you called the Boynes, after their daughter died—’
‘Jennifer. Her name was Jennifer.’
‘Jennifer, right. You called and spoke to Ginny after she’d died. Is that right?’
She nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘And you told her you were sure she hadn’t been bullied. You said that wasn’t the reason she killed
herself.’
‘Yeah. So?’
‘So how did you know that?’
‘Huh?’
‘How could you be certain that wasn’t the reason?’
She blew smoke, no rush, nothing in her face. ‘Because she told me, you idiot.’
She flicked the cigarette in the gutter and trudged up the steps to the front door. Hannah watched her inside, and then came down, stood in front of him on the sidewalk.
‘What are you insinuating?’
‘I’m just trying to ask a question.’
She pinched the bridge of her nose, looked at the ground. ‘Just get out of here. You’re not helping anything.’
He didn’t answer. He turned and walked away, and when he glanced back, she was already up the steps and through the door.
THIRTY-FOUR
A brief walk in the rain, and then the clatter-squeal of the subway. It was twelve thirty by the time he made it home. Three NYPD patrol cars and three unmarked detective’s cars were double-parked on his street. He was pretty confident about who they were after. He went up his front steps and found the door already open. Floyd Nevins and two uniformed officers were standing in his living room.
Nevins said, ‘We have paperwork.’
Marshall took off his coat and shut the door. ‘I’m sure you do. What are you looking for?’
‘More evidence you might have withheld. Pertaining to the Ray Vialoux murder investigation.’
‘More, huh?’ He hung his coat on the back of the door. ‘What was the initial evidence I withheld?’
Nevins said, ‘You’re allegedly in possession of a tracking device recovered from Mr Vialoux’s vehicle.’
Hannah must’ve ratted on him.
Sorry, by the way.
It made sense now.
He sat down at the desk and studied his puzzle. Habit was habit. He took a piece from the reserves, sighted the lineup, and then homed it on the working edge, third try. Not bad, as far as placements went. But probably one was enough, given the circumstances. It would be hard to concentrate with Nevins and the two cops looking over his shoulder. He heard more people upstairs, someone else in the kitchen.
‘How many people did you bring?’