Ladykiller

by Lawrence Light

  Behind the desk, a woman dressed in the uniform of a nineteenth-century Prussian hussar, complete with gold epaulets, spoke quietly into the phone.

  A burly man dressed in the identical getup emerged from the back. His thick moustache bristled at the sight of Dave.

  “I’d like to ask you a few more questions, Mr. Hernandez,” Dave said.“This is Ms. Morrison, a sociologist working with the police on this case.”

  Hernandez made no move to shake hands. “Let’s go over to that corner so we don’t disturb nobody,” he said, pointing. As they crossed the lobby, he muttered to himself.

  They sat on brocade covered chairs.

  “I know you’ve answered a lot of questions about your wife, sir,” Dave began. “We’re sorry to bother you again.”

  Hernandez’s moustache squirmed in irritation. “Now what?”

  “How are your children doing, Mr. Hernandez?” Megan asked. “This must be an especially tough time for them.”

  “No kidding, lady,” Hernandez said. “I got them all at relatives. Before Evelyn went and got herself killed, I had to work like a son of a bitch to support them. Now I got them with relatives but I got to pay them. I’m paying more now than ever before. My own damn relatives.” He shook his head. “The kids can’t feed themselves. Can’t even go to the bathroom themselves.”

  “I know it must be difficult,” Megan said, full of sympathy. She sensed Dave watching her. She was in charge of the interview.

  Hernandez bristled. “Difficult? You don’t know the half of it, lady.You got kids?”

  “No, sir. I’m not married. Could you tell us if your wife had any interests outside the home?”

  “Interests? Christ.” He glared suspiciously at Megan. “Evelyn wasn’t one of them feminists, if that’s what you mean. It was all she could do to cope with being a good wife. You think caring for four retarded kids was easy? She didn’t have the time for none of your ‘interests outside the home.’”

  “Then what was she doing in the middle of the night, miles from her apartment?”

  Dave watched with interest as Megan put some steel in her voice.

  “Look, I talked to the cops a million times.” Hernandez was getting angry. “I don’t know what she was doing. I was working. Here. Ask anybody. Maybe she was coming to see me. I don’t know.”

  “Actually,” Dave said, “we wanted to know if you ever heard Evelyn mention the West Side Crisis Center?”

  Hernandez turned red and got up. “What’s this?” he said, furious. “No. Listen, I’m getting tired of these questions —”

  “We believe it might have something to do with your wife’s death,” Megan said forcefully.

  Hernandez stood with fists clenched, eyes bulging, and moustache flared. “No, I never heard of it,” he shouted, not caring that guests in the lobby turned to stare. “And if I ever caught Evelyn going there, I’d have —”

  Megan stood up also, watching him carefully. “What?” she taunted him softly. “You’d have what?”

  “I’d have —” Hernandez seemed about to detonate.

  “Megan,” Dave said in warning. He stood up.

  She ignored Dave and leaned toward Hernandez. “What would you have done, tough guy? Or don’t you have the guts?”

  “I’d have killed her, you bitch,” Hernandez screamed. He lunged for Megan, his fists enormous, his face swollen and red.

  Dave intercepted him, grabbing his arm and twisting it, bringing the man hard to his knees. Dave with one hand held Hernandez’s wrist between the man’s shoulder blades. He grabbed the guy’s neck with the other and forced it toward the floor.When Hernandez grew still, Dave said, “I’m going to release you now. One wrong move, and you’ll get hurt.”

  Hernandez’s face tilted up at them. His eyes were brimming. “She went to some bullshit psycho clinic.Telling all them about what a shit I was. Me who worked so hard to take care of her and the kids. She’s the one kept having them idiot kids. It was killing me.”

  Megan nodded. She was shaken, but she stood her ground.

  The lobby was at a standstill. People were like mannequins, immobile, limbs and heads freeze-framed, absorbed in the drama.

  As they walked down the red-carpeted stairs, Dave said to Megan, “I thought you took the sympathetic approach.”

  “Sometimes, you need another way,” Megan said.

  “How’s this for an approach?” Dave said. “Want to go out to dinner tonight?”

  The detectives slouched around the table and reported their progress —or lack of same — to Blake.

  “What about picking up that Cronen character?” Blake asked. “Where are we on that.”

  “We should bag him by tonight,”Wise said. “He hasn’t been to the SRO he calls home.Who knows what garbage can he’s sleeping in? But he usually comes out to the Deuce after sundown, sort of like a mosquito.”

  “Buzzes out of hiding,” Safir said.

  “What about that background check on the staff at the crisis center, Jamie?” Blake went on.

  Dave had felt her watching him, as he often did. The weight of her eyes shifted to Blake.

  “Pretty nondescript bunch, Loo,” Jamie said. She ran through the life stories of the do-gooding group that worked at the center. When she came to Nita, Dave sat up straight to listen. “A brilliant student. Working on her doctorate, but she’s run into some kind of trouble with her adviser. The person I talked to would only hint. But the adviser seems to feel that she’s gone off the deep end with her topic. Seems that she probably won’t get her degree.”

  “Have you covered everybody at the crisis center, Jamie?” Dave found himself asking.

  “Why, no, Dave,” Jamie said with a wry twist of her mouth. “I don’t want to leave out Megan Morrison.”

  “Tell us about Dillon’s girlfriend,”Wise said.

  “Takes her for one interview a day,” Safir chimed in.

  “That’s so he can stretch it out,” said Wise.

  Dave scowled. “Get off it. She can’t afford the time to do all the interviews at once.”

  “I don’t have much on Morrison,” Jamie said. “Nice white girl — what can I tell you. Except...”

  “Except?”Wise said.

  “Except?” Safir said.

  “She had an affair with this married professor at college. Robin Tolner. He busted it up. Broke her heart. I’ve got the report here.” Jamie pushed the folder across the table to Dave. “Want to take a peek?”

  “No, thanks,” Dave said coldly.

  Jamie looked at him searchingly, then pulled back the folder.

  Blake leapt in. “One other item.This comes from the medical examiner’s.” He waited for all to turn their attention back to him and continued. “Lydia Daniels was HIV-positive, although she showed no symptoms, yet.The hooker had AIDS.”

  Dave nodded. “That makes sense. I bet she went to the crisis center because of it. Evelyn Hernandez because she had a bunch of crippled kids, with another en route, and an old man who beat her. Who knows why the cheerleader and the stockbroker went.”

  “If they went,” Safir said.

  “Remember that Bergstrom bitch” — Wise caught himself and made a semi-apologetic face at Jamie — “that Bergstrom woman told Dave they’d know if their loonie-tunes types ended up blown away by a .45. So how can any of them have gone to the crisis center?”

  “Megan pointed out to me that they could have come in looking different, even in disguise,” Dave said. “Besides, the center’s records about their clients are pretty sparse. It’d be easy to use an alias. The staff is afraid of scaring away people by demanding too much identification.”

  “Megan?”Wise said. “That’s Megan Morrison you’re making the first-name-basis reference to at this point in time?”

  “Megan, your interview pal?” Safir said.

  “Knock it off,” Blake said. “Listen, now, I —”

  Chief of Detectives Mancuso blasted into the room, followed by his entourage. “Th
ey told me you were in here, Blake,” he brayed. “Why aren’t you people finding this damn killer?”

  “It’s getting bad,” Jimmy Conlon said over the bar roar at McSorley’s. “Chip is putting me under a load of pressure to produce something.”

  “Tell me about it,” Dave said. He hoisted his beer. The bar light played through the mug. “Jimmy, I wish I could help you.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said mournfully. They sucked on their beers and let the good cheer of the other drinkers wash over them. At last Jimmy said, “What you doing tonight?”

  “I was going out to see my mother, but she’s playing the martyr. Mrs. Corrigan will be buzzing around. I’ll go out tomorrow.”

  “Knowing your mother, she’ll be back on her feet tomorrow, kicking ass and taking names.”

  “Tonight, I’ve got a date,” Dave announced.

  “A date? With who?”

  “This very nice girl I met the other day.” Dave realized he had to watch what he said about Megan, lest he tip off his friend to the crisis center phase of the investigation.

  “Pretty?”

  “Very pretty. And very smart. Sexy, in a clean cut kind of way.”

  “What does she do?” Jimmy asked.

  “Oh, she’s a social worker. Name’s Megan.”

  “Yeah? Where does she work?”

  Dave said nothing and took a swig of beer.

  Jimmy instantly knew he had struck a nerve. “What’s the matter with asking where she works?”

  “She works at the West Side Crisis Center,” Dave told his friend.

  “That’s the same place Reuben Silver worked.” Jimmy ran his thumb down the frost on his mug. “Are you guys focusing on the crisis center? Is it connected with the murders?”

  “Jimmy I can’t talk about this.” Dave understood that he was as much as confirming Jimmy’s suspicion. “Look, if any of that appears in the paper, Mancuso will cut my heart out. Already, he suspects I leak to you.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said to his friend. He drank some beer. They ordered another round.Then Jimmy said, “So, you really like this girl?”

  Dave found himself breaking into a smile. “I do. A lot. A whole lot.”

  Jimmy watched Dave shrewdly. “I haven’t seen you this excited about a chick since — for a long time. I think you’re on the road to recovery, my friend.”

  Dave nodded at the insight, which had not occurred to him until now. He took a long drink of beer, almost a toast to good fortune. “I think you’re right,” he said.

  After Megan had finished with the last client, she stopped to see Nita, who was poring over the crisis center’s books. “You do everything,” Megan said.“If it weren’t for you, this place would fall apart.”

  “I’m going to recommend to Dr. Solomon that we get new accountants,” Nita said. “The firm we have now is far too slow.Would you take a minute and feed the fish?”

  “I’d love to,” Megan said.

  “Let’s have dinner tonight,” Nita suggested.

  “Dinner? Well, um, I ...”

  Tim came breezing through. “Oh, what a horrid day. When are

  we going to replace Reuben? I’m so swamped I could die.” “Probably by next month, Tim,” Nita said. “Our grant from the

  city should come unstuck by then. Meanwhile, you’re doing a wonderful job coping. Everyone has noticed.”

  “They have?”Tim threw back his shoulders.

  “Not everyone has been able to tough it out as well as you have,”

  Nita said. “Poor Rose, for instance. Reuben’s death has devastated her.” “I know,” Tim said. “Poor thing. I called to ask what I could do.

  She wants to be alone.”

  “She told me you called. She’s very touched.” Nita picked up a

  piece of paper and examined it. “Incidentally, I realize you’re shouldering a real burden, but could I ask you to take Rose’s Wednesday

  morning group?”

  “Which is that?”

  “The homeless ladies?”

  Tim blanched. “Lord, those horrible old —”

  “If you’d rather not, I’m sure we can find someone else,” Nita

  said.

  “No, no, no,” Tim burst, distressed to have disappointed Nita.

  “I’ll be happy to. No problem.”

  “They’re actually very nice women,” Megan said, helping out. Tim scanned Megan up and down. “My, my, my, you’re looking

  hot tonight, my dear. Got a date?”

  “Well, I —” Megan felt as if he had yanked the shower curtain

  back to reveal her shameful secret.

  “I was standing by the window when that hunky detective let you

  out of his muscle car. He opened the door for you. Very gallant. And

  you. It was like you were walking on air.”

  “I better feed the fish,” Megan managed.

  Tim cleared his throat archly. “Bon appétit,” he said, and wafted

  away.

  Megan met Nita’s half-closed eyes. Megan knew she must look

  guilty.What was Nita thinking?

  After an eternity, Megan said, “What?”

  “He won’t be good to you,” Nita said. Her tone was matterof-fact, but there were steely barbs beneath the surface. “He’s a cop.

  They’re macho. They don’t like women. They don’t trust women.

  They only trust other cops.They aren’t called pigs for nothing.” “Nita, it’s only dinner,” Megan said with an unconvincing laugh. “Don’t forget the fish.They’re hungry.”

  Later, when Megan met him, she responded to Dave’s welcoming smile with one of her own.

  They walked silently down the block, the very picture of a perfect date.

  “There’s a great Italian restaurant I like,” he offered. “You like Italian food?”

  “That would be fine,” she said in a tone that indicated anything would be fine.

  “That’s good. In Manhattan these days we have an infinite choice of restaurants. We have Italian. Then there’s Italian. And in a pinch, there’s always Italian.”

  She laughed.

  As they turned a corner, Megan turned serious. “How’s your mom?”

  Over dinner, they talked about their families, their childhoods, and their friends. Nothing about the case or the crisis center. Nothing about Nita.

  Dave watched approvingly as Megan ate with gusto.They finished two bottles of chianti.

  When he drove her home, Megan turned to Dave to thank him. She meant to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and go home but somehow his lips trapped hers and held them. Only their mouths connected, he did not reach for her or hold her. She gave in to the kiss for a minute and was just about to pull away when Dave’s hand reached up and found, through her blouse, through her bra, her nipple. He pinched it between his fingers, hard, hard enough to make her gasp, first with pain but instantly with the most exquisite pleasure. Her entire body flooded with sudden heat.

  By unspoken agreement, they left the car and walked quickly into her building. Megan walked in front, breathing hard. She looked back once and smiled wantonly. She walked up the narrow stairs of her building ahead of him, and he watched her ass and her pretty legs climb.As she worked the keys in her door locks, her fingers trembled.

  Inside, the door closed against the night, no light yet lit, crackling magnetism took over.They turned to each other and kissed again, softly at first, exploring, hesitating, then with abandon. Their open mouths crushed together and their hands roved over each other’s bodies. Clothing was opened or removed. Megan found herself making small animal noises, as Dave sucked her breast.

  “Know what I’d like to do?” Dave panted at her.

  “What?” Megan gasped.

  “Too dirty out loud. Better whisper.” He put his lips against her ear and licked.

  “God, yes,” Megan said, moaning. “Please, yes.”

  When the phone first sounded, they were too busy on the bed to hear. O
r to want to hear.

  Most of their clothes were off. Dave was pinching her nipples again as his hot mouth worked its way down her squirming torso. Megan thought incoherently that if he didn’t enter her soon, she would die. Her entire being seemed concentrated in the spot between her legs and she knew that when his lips touched her there she would explode.

  Unnoticed, the phone rang several times, then the answering machine kicked in. Megan hadn’t turned off the volume.

  “Ms. Morrison, this is Detective Loud,” came Jamie’s voice. “I’m looking for Detective Dillon, and he signed out that he might be out with you tonight. If you could, please tell him —”

  Dave jumped off the bed and grabbed the phone. He made an effort to control his breathing. “What is it, Jamie?” He felt for the volume control and turned it to zero.

  “We’ve arrested Ace Cronen,” Jamie told him. “A half hour ago on the Deuce. Looks like this is it. He’s carrying a .45 that might be the murder weapon.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He hung up.

  “What is it?” Megan panted.

  “They arrested a suspect,” Dave said, buttoning his shirt back up. “I have to go, Megan. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Megan said.

  TEN

  Jamie sat in front of the large one-way window that revealed the interrogation room, like a widescreen TV. Beside her, a man sat hunched over a video camera, recording the questioning. Inside the room, Ace was slouched in a hard-backed chair, a study in insolence. Safir sat in front of him, backward in a chair, his legs spread-eagled.Wise walked back and forth in his Florsheims, doing his caged tiger imitation.

  When Dave came in he nodded to Jamie and stood beside her to watch. His clothes were disheveled and his hair mussed. He stood close enough for her to smell a woman’s perfume on him, but not the scent of sex.

  Dave pointed at Ace. “This hump is confessing?”

  “Not only that.You’d think he’d won the lottery.”

  “You picked him up on the Deuce, huh?” Dave said. “Yeah,” Jamie said. “A couple of uniforms bagged him going into

  the Foxy Lady. He had a piece on him, a .45, but he offered no resistance. He’s cocky, admits everything. Blake is really relieved. He’s locked in a meeting now with Mancuso, figuring how to handle the media.”