by Blake Banner
“So you frequented Teddy’s Late Night Bar.”
“You are a veritable Sherlock Holmes, Detective Stone. That is exactly the bar I settled on. I was happy, and I started to recreate myself, far away from the pernicious influence of my father and his belt.” He paused. “You know what? I am fundamentally a very positive kind of man. Since I been locked up in this hell hole, I have been using my time constructively. I have been seeing a therapist, I have been reading the classics, and I have been studying the essays of Sigmund Freud, so that I can better understand my own, unconscious motivations.”
“I’m impressed. So you started hanging out at Teddy’s. Is that where you developed your obsession with Hispanic girls, or did you have that from before?”
He laughed a laugh that sounded like somebody rasping through volcanic rock. “You’re smart, Stone, but not as smart as you think you are. I have no interest in Hispanic babes. Your boy does. My only reason for hitting on your Carmen Dehan was to rile you.”
“So your interest was in me, not her.”
“You could say that. Call it an unresolved Oedipal complex. You remind me of my dad. My mom? She was pretty as a picture, pale skin, freckles, Scandinavian hair so blond it was almost white, and blue, blue eyes. Hard as fuckin’ nails. But a good, Christian woman. Your made in a mold, standard Latina beauty don’t do much for me. They all look the same, know what I’m sayin’?”
“So who’s my man?”
“So I used to go there two or three nights in the week, have myself a rum or two with my beer, read the paper and sometimes a book. And in time I got to know some of the patrons and made friends. Sometimes Teddy and I would discuss the issues of the day. He ain’t no genius, but he can hold a good conversation and, what is most important, he is a law-abidin’ citizen who does not allow anti-social elements into his bar. His bar is strictly for decent, middle-class folks who don’t want no trouble. That was, and is, what I aspire to be.”
I raised an eyebrow and he sighed and closed his eyes. “Dr. Mack tells me that one of the ways I sabotage myself, is that when I talk from the heart, I make myself out to be some kind of clown. Like I am mocking myself. Like I don’t even believe me.” He opened his eyes. “He says that is a defense mechanism.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“So you made friends at Teddy’s Late Night Bar. What happened next?”
“He had this boy workin’ for him. He looked Latino himself.” He shook his head. “No, not Latino. Because, you know? There is a difference. Latinos are like more South American, and they have Indian—Native American—blood in them. They are more beautiful, you feel me? Their skin is darker and smoother, their eyes are deeper, their hair is blacker. Hispanic, the word comes from España, and the Spanish are more mixed. They have more European blood in them, There were Celts living in Spain, and Goths and Basques. You get a lot of blond Spaniards, did you know that? And a lot of Spaniards have real pale skin.” He pointed at me with his manacled hands. “Those that have dark skin, that is Arab blood, not Native American. It’s a different skin altogether, man. They are like Italians and Greek. Not beautiful at all.”
I nodded. “OK.”
“So, this kid was more Hispanic than Latino. Black hair, big brown eyes, he could have been a…” He grinned. “He could have been a Corleoni, or a Gambini, you know what I’m sayin’ to you?”
“But he wasn’t.”
“Uh-uh. This kid’s name was like yours, Stone, of English origin. Mine, mine is Scottish. Are you interested in the etymology of names, Stone?”
“No, not really, and you’re clowning again. Get to the point, Wayne.”
He winked without smiling, pointed a finger at me like a gun from a manacled wrist and made a “Tsc!” sound. “You got me.” He was serious for a bit, thinking. “Let me tell it my way, Detective Stone. You’re getting what you want. You know…?” He nodded a few times, then shrugged. “Maybe, if you listen, you might get something extra.”
“Fine, keep going. He wasn’t Italian Mafia.”
“No, he wasn’t that, though if the mood took him he might have told you he was. Here’s the thing about that boy. He was always tellin’ you stories. His mom was a Mexican hooker from Los Angeles. His daddy was a film star.” He laughed. “He’d never tell you who, you know what I’m sayin’? But he’d leave you clues, like, real obvious clues—like, he’d tell you what movies he starred in.” He threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Sometimes it was Robert De Niro, sometimes it was Al Pacino, one time it was George Clooney, and that I could almost believe, you know? He kind of looked like George Clooney… them big eyes.”
He chuckled. I waited.
“He was a liar. A big liar. He could not help himself. Me and Ted, we would laugh and joke about it. He never did nobody any harm with his stories. He was just a dreamer and he could not tell the difference half the time ’tween what was a daydream and what was real.” He settled his ass in the chair. “But see, I think that’s where the problem was. ‘Cause, I told you this was kind of like a family bar. During the day all kinds of people would come in and have some lunch, or a coffee. It was a nice place. And see, he had an eye for nice, Catholic Latinas. I used to make fun of him sometimes and he didn’t like it. Used to make him mad. I’d tell him, ‘I see you, looking at that girl. She’s too god for you, boy. She’s gonna be a doctor, or an attorney.’” He shook his head. “Then he’d go off on one of his fantasies. He was studyin’ night school to be a film director, and his famous daddy was gonna help him. He was just workin’ at the bar to pay for his classes…” He shook his head again. “Man, I guess it was pretty sad.”
I drew breath to ask him about his delusions about being a filmmaker, but he raised a finger and shook his head. “Let me tell it my way, Mr. Stone. You’ll get everything you want. You have my word.” He licked his lips and took a deep breath through his nose, looking up at the ceiling. “So, I began to notice, because, believe it or not, Stone, I am an observer of human conduct. I began to observe that in the evenings, and sometimes during the day, he would approach certain girls, always the same kind of girls, pretty Latinas, always kind of what you might call demure: nice, polite, well-dressed. They would always keep to theirselves, drink maybe a glass of white wine, never get drunk. You know the kind of nice, Catholic girl I am talkin’ about. And I do believe that he fell in love with each and every one of them. They would ignore him to begin with, but he’d come across as inoffensive, a bit naïve, you know what I’m sayin’? And before you knew it he was tellin’ them his stories and they was wanting to mother him, because all nice Catholic girls just wanna be mothers, you know? They want to be the Virgin Mary. It’s an archetype thing, you feel me?”
“I feel you, dude. So what happened?”
“So one night he’s talking to these two chicks, only one of them is Latina, the other is a white chick. And the Latina is suckin’ it up, man. He’s tellin’ her his daddy is George Clooney and all that shit…” He wheezed his laugh, leaning forward and shaking his head. “And she is buyin’ it, man. And, you know what? The next night she comes back alone, and dude, the son of a bitch is hitting on her big time and she is into him, man! I never knew he had it in him. I see him do it a couple of times. And I told Ted, you know? ‘Man, Ted, respect for this kid! He’s getting’ more pussy than I am, dude!’”
He paused and became serious again. “It was, ahh… Saturday night, May 14th. I’d been havin’ a few beers and a couple of rums at Teddy’s, and I know he don’t like people smokin’ there, even outside dude, especially if you’re smokin’ weed, know what I’m sayin’? But I knew there was this nice place down by the river, where I took you the other day, and I knew the fence was always open. Hell.” He laughed. “Maybe it was me who broke the fence, I don’t remember. Sometimes my memory fails. So I went down there, like I told you, to smoke a joint and chill and look up at the stars, man. You can get a whole new perspective on life when you do that. Lookin’ up
at infinity that way. So, when he come down with the chick, I recognized him, and I recognized the chick he had been talking to just the night before, tellin’ her all about how his daddy was in the movies. In TV, CBS, or NBC or some shit, man. He was gonna get her a job. An’ he’s workin in a fuckin’ bar, dude—but hey! He’s just workin’ his way through college because he is a really independent kind of guy!” He laughed. “And she is buyin’ the whole thing. Women is fuckin’ stupid sometimes, dude. No two ways about that.
“They come down the path, and I recognized him, and I recognized her, and I could not believe my eyes. I swear to God. I know I should have done something, man. I shouldn’a done what I did, I know that and I ain’t proud of that. But, dude, I was stoned and the whole thing was just like, surreal, man. I’m lyin’ there watchin’ this thing goin’ down and I’m like, dude, that is Jimmy there, man! And he is killin’ that bitch! He was like crazy about that chick, and he’s like, sitting on her and he’s kissin’ her like he’s trying to fuckin’ eat her, man!” He stared at me for a long time, then blinked, once, very slowly. “And, by the time I kind of came down—you know what I’m sayin’? and I’m thinkin’ woah, you know, like what just happened?—she’s already dead, and the cops are on the river with their lights, and he’s runnin’.”
I studied his face for a while, wondering what to ask him first. Finally I said, “Jimmy?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, man, Jimmy Fillmore. I won’t never forget that name.”
“So he ran or he didn’t run, Wayne?”
He smiled and nodded. “I know, dude. We was negotiating, and I ain’t gonna show all my hand, right? He ran. When him and the boat was gone, I put my leather on…”
I sighed and sat forward, with my elbows on the table. “You did what?”
“Oh, you know? It was a nice night, but that spot where I was layin’? It’s got like stones and stuff, and them little prickly weeds. But I like it ’cause when the cops come down the river, they can’t see you. That’s why Jimmy had to run, right? So anyhow, I put on my leather and I went to have a look. And I’m thinkin’ goddamn, man! He went and killed her! And I’m gonna call the cops. Truly, but then I thought, ‘Wayne, don’t be stupid, if you call the cops they are gonna pin this on you as sure as your name is Wayne Harris.’ So I thought I’d get me some insurance, and I collected up her shit and I buried it where I showed you.”
“Insurance against what, Wayne?”
He laughed. “Are you kiddin’ me? Have a look around, dude! I have one of those faces. Cops look at me and they say, ‘That boy’s guilty as hell! I don’t know what he’s done, but he is guilty of somethin’!’ And here we are. Ain’t it a good job I took out my insurance policy when I did?”
“Isn’t it just. So where can I find this Jimmy Fillmore?”
He stared at me for a long moment from under hooded eyes. “You got a pen?”
I reached in my pocket and pulled out my pen. He lifted his wrists and showed me the manacles. I called in the guards and asked them to un-cuff him. They released his hands and he took the pen from me, then studied the document. When they had gone, he said, “So what is your recommendation going to be, Stone?”
I thought it through, finally I said, “Can you give me Jimmy’s location?”
“If I can?”
I shrugged. I had no choice. I said, “If you can, the DA will give you your release.”
He signed the papers and handed them back to me. I signed them too.
“He’s workin’ at a bar on Lafayette and Longfellow. It’s a respectable café, you know what I’m sayin’? But the girls go in there for coffee and the dealers go in for a pie, from time to time. So if you’re lookin’ for somethin’, well maybe you’ll get lucky if you drop in at Eva Maria’s Café.” He pointed his finger at me like a gun again, only this time he wasn’t manacled. “I’ll tell you one thing for sure, Detective Stone, you get Jimmy’s prints, you gonna find them on Angela’s purse, maybe his DNA too. You should get a sample.”
I gave him his copy of the deal and stood. “Thanks for the advice.”
I called the guard and as the door clanged open, Wayne said, “Hey, Stone.”
I turned.
“What I told you is for real, man. I ain’t a bad guy.”
I turned and left.
FOURTEEN
Dehan was waiting for me when I got out. She had her ass on the trunk and her arms crossed over her chest. She had her hair tied up and her shades on and she looked beautiful and unhappy. She watched me approach and when I was a couple of feet away I handed her the file with the deal in it and showed her the laptop.
“You got your deal.”
She gave a single nod. “It’s not my deal, Stone. I couldn’t get anything out of Teddy, except a promise he would get me the details today. Who did Wayne name?”
I went and opened the back of the car and put the laptop on the seat. “Jimmy Fillmore.”
“Did he say where we could find him?”
“Of course, Eva Maria’s Café on Lafayette and Longfellow.”
“You still don’t believe him.”
I smiled at her. “Keys?” She tossed them to me. I caught them and said, “What I believe is irrelevant, Dehan.”
I called the inspector. He answered on the first ring. “Stone. What news?”
“I have his testimony, sir. I think you and the DA should watch it.”
“I have the assistant DA here with me now. Come right over, we’ll watch it together. Did he give you a name?”
“Yes, sir. If what he says holds up, and I am pretty sure it will, we should have enough to arrest and convict Jimmy Fillmore. According to Harris, Fillmore’s prints should be all over Angela Fernandez’s purse, and, if he was responsible for the woman we found today, his prints and DNA should be on that body too. If the lab runs them, we’ll know if he’s in the system.”
“I’ll call Frank. You get here right away.”
“Yes, sir.”
We climbed in the car and as I started her up, Dehan said, “I’m sorry I got mad.”
“I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass.”
“You still are. Why did you send me to Teddy’s bar?”
“To get Jimmy’s details.”
We pulled onto the bridge and started across the dark water. “Stone, enough already! Will you stop now, please?”
I glanced at her. After a moment I said, “I wanted to test a theory.”
“And?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Why won’t you share your thoughts with me, Stone?”
“I already have, you don’t agree. When you see the interview, you tell me what you think.” I looked at her. “He is very convincing and he answered my doubts.”
She made a face like ‘what the hell?’ and spread her hands. “So you agree with me?”
I laughed. “Let’s talk to Jimmy. For me, Dehan, there are still a few unanswered questions.”
She sounded exasperated. “Like what? I’m your partner, Stone! Talk to me, for…”
She clenched her fists and made a couple of guttural noises, so I never got to know for whose sake. I sighed. “OK!”
We crossed onto Randalls Island and I pretended to think. Finally I said, “For one thing, if Jimmy took the trouble to wear gloves and not leave prints with the latest girl this morning, how come he left his DNA in the form of semen?”
She frowned at me. “What?”
I looked at her like I was surprised. “How come…?”
“No, I heard you. Frank has spoken to you? So soon?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know he didn’t leave prints and how do you know he left semen? For crying out loud, Stone!”
I smiled and raised my eyebrows high on my forehead. “You know my methods, Watson. You know the facts. Apply them, dear fellow.”
What she answered was unrepeatable.
She watched me fixedly, with her arms crossed a
nd her shades on top of her head, all the way back to the station. When I had parked and killed the engine, she said, “I know what you’ve done.”
“You do?”
“You’ve cracked it. You’ve worked it out all on your own. I should hate you. I don’t know why I don’t.”
“Because I am so lovable, Dehan. But.” I raised a finger of caution. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. We are not home and dry yet, and I did not say that Jimmy was not involved. This is not a simple case.”
She became serious. “Why’d you cut me out?”
“I didn’t. I told you, but you wouldn’t listen.”
Her eyes went wide with exasperation again. “You told me about the stones and the prickly bushes, and about knowing where the stuff was. But you said he explained that!”
I nodded. “Exactly. Come on, Little Grasshopper, let’s go see the movie.”
Assistant DA Jason Malkovich was tall, lanky and friendly. He had the word ‘seasoned’ written into the lines on his face. He had prosecuted several of my arrests in the past and I knew he was a good man with a working brain in his head. I set up my laptop, the inspector closed the blind and we settled to watch the interview. We watched it in silence until the end, and when it had finished we sat in silence a little longer. Finally the inspector got up and opened the blind.
He stood with his back to the window a moment, staring at the floor. Then he said, “John, I think some of your doubts were resolved here, in this interview.”
Dehan looked at me, waiting to see what I said. I didn’t say anything. The inspector looked at Malkovich. “Jason?”
He didn’t look like he’d just won the lottery, but he nodded. “Obviously Harris’ testimony on its own won’t carry a lot of weight with a jury, but if the forensic evidence is there to corroborate it, we have a case. We need to pull in Fillmore and see what the lab can tell us about Angela’s purse and the woman they found this morning.”