the embarassed young officer quickly unhanded Dave.
Smithers, who Dave first met at the Academy, was in charge of
the uniforms at the scene. He intercepted Dave. “You a friend of this
guy, right?”
Dave nodded.The rain did a good job covering up his tears. “Word got out that a reporter was waxed,” Smithers said, the
rain bouncing off the plastic sheathing that covered the patent leather
bill of his hat.“News teams are here, with more coming.” Dave was transfixed by the canvas-covered form that lay beside
the church steps. Hands and feet protruded from the canvas. A crowd
of detectives and uniforms clustered over it like indecisive buzzards,
their movements slow and deliberate in the downpour. A couple of
technicians were trying to rig an awning over the body, but the wind
was defeating them.
“Mancuso will be here any minute,” Smithers said. “He’s pissed to
be called out. But a reporter —”
Dave edged through the group around Jimmy’s body. A couple of
people called his name in the wind. He ignored them. He pulled aside
the canvas over Jimmy’s head.The rain quickly ate at the chalk framing
his ruined, blown-out skull.
“Robbery,” a detective said into Dave’s ear. “Signs of a struggle.
Shot four times. Neck, shoulder, arm, and head. Wallet gone. Pocket
inside out.”
Dave explored beneath Jimmy’s yellow, dirt-and-blood-grimed
slicker. He felt for Jimmy’s back pockets and fished out his friend’s
notepad. Sheltering it inside his raincoat so the ink wouldn’t run,
Dave examined the pages with a uniform’s borrowed flashlight. One entry, with that night’s date and the time, two hours before:
“Sez knws LK. Has pic.”
“Body was lying here awhile,” Smithers said. “Nobody called it in.
Bad rain, right?”
“Must’ve thought he was homeless. Drunk or some shit,” a uni
form added disgustedly. “People.”
Jamie trotted up. She said into Dave’s ear, “Mancuso’s here. Let’s
get out.”
Dave surrendered the notepad to one of the detectives. He
looked at her dumbly.
“You’re getting wet, Dave,” Jamie pleaded. “I’ll take you back to
Megan’s.There’s nothing more you can do.”
The Mancuso entourage barged onto the scene.The man himself
was dressed in a tuxedo under his raincoat. One of his flunkies held a
giant umbrella over his head like a dark halo. The umbrella needed
two hands to steady it in the gale.
Mancuso’s bray carried over the weather. “Do I have to give a
statement to those fucking jackals?”
“Sir, it would be best,” his top aide said.
Mancuso gazed with contempt at the television lights on the
nether side of the tape. “What’s worse, the city clerk’s testimonial
dinner or this gang bang? At least the dinner’s inside. I know this
reporter, don’t I?”
“Yes, sir,” the aide said. “Jimmy Conlon. He’s the one who broke
the story —”
“I remember, I remember.” Mancuso waved at him to shut up.
“What’s the big deal here?”
“He is a reporter of some importance, sir,” the aide said. “To who?” Mancuso sneered nastily. He scanned the group
around the body. “Dillon? That you? Christ.”
“Sir, let’s get you briefed before you talk to the media,” the aide
suggested.
“Let’s just make it a photo op.” Mancuso said, staring at Dave as
he talked to his aide. “I was here to show my concern and all that crap.
I mean, really. So we’ve got one less pushy Jew reporter. So what?” “You bastard.” Dave lunged at Mancuso. Jamie and Smithers
grabbed him and pulled him back.
Mancuso jerked away and momentarily lost his footing. The umbrella caught the wind and the rain splashed his elegant shirt. He stabbed his index finger at Dave. “That son of a bitch is crazy. I’ll pull
his badge, by God.”
“Come on, Dave,” Jamie said. “Let’s get out of here.” Dave twisted free from Jamie and Smithers. He ran to the intense TV lights that shone like supernovas beyond the tape. Dave
palmed his badge and held it aloft for the reporters and cameras. “I’m Detective Dave Dillon. I’m on the Ladykiller task force.
Jimmy Conlon was my best friend. He was going to meet somebody
who said they’d tell him the identity of the killer. That’s why he died
tonight. It’s related to the Ladykiller series. He was shot four times
with a .45. Not the way the Ladykiller victims always are. But it’s
related.” He paused to stop himself from sobbing. “Believe me.” The reporters called questions, but Dave shook his head and
threaded through the throng. He broke into a run.
He ran through the freezing, silver curtains of rain for blocks.
Until he got home. The cat tumbled out to say hello, then after one
good gander, ducked under the couch.
Dave phoned Megan, standing there in his sopping clothes, a
puddle forming at his feet. He was still out of breath.
“I was worried sick,” she said. “Why don’t I come over? Let me
be with you, Dave.”
The idea of her arms around him beckoned like smooth, rich
sunshine. “I want that more than anything,” he said. “But I’ve got to
figure it out. I’ve got to get this killer.There’s a pattern. Somehow. If I
can just —”
“Shhhh. I know.”
And all over the city as the clock edged toward twelve, the vast
cloud of rain and wind cascaded its anger, rattling windows, chilling
hearts.The evening news beamed the dramatic footage of Dave Dillon
to every dry place in town.The living took shelter that night and held
each other close.
Keeping his own vigil through the night, as it howled its wet and
malignant majesty outside, Dave Dillon sat on the floor at the foot of
his bed, sat before the wall and the bloody pictures of the dead. As the gray morning rain whipped at his window, Dave understood what he had to do. He slowly disengaged from the shocked,
blood-blasted faces of the victims’ photos and brewed some coffee. The cat, who had left him alone during his long vigil, padded into the kitchen and rubbed Dave’s legs. Dave bent down with the
slow and deliberate care of the deeply weary and stroked the cat.
After he fixed his pet’s breakfast, he took his coffee to the window
and let his bleary eyes dwell on the storm-swept street. Early risers
scurried forth, bent under the rocking tempo of the continuing wind
and rain.
The coffee, plus a shave and shower, brought him fresh energy.
He briefly considered calling Jimmy’s mother, but what would he say
to her? That he was responsible for Jimmy’s death? That if he hadn’t
enlisted his friend’s help, Jimmy would still be alive?
As he was leaving, the phone rang. Although he wasn’t ready to
talk to anyone yet, he somehow knew that he should answer. Megan’s
voice had a soft, cottony, caring quality.
“How are you?”
“I’m okay. Really.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I worried about you all night. I
wanted to call, but hoped you were sleeping, so —”
“You’re wonderful,” Dave said. “The next few days won�
��t be easy.
If I know you’re there for me — Well —”
“I’ll be there for you,” Megan said firmly. “I love you, Dave.” She
was surprised to hear herself say it. She held her breath.
“I love you, too, Megan.”
The first person Dave encountered at work was Blake.The skin of the lieutenant’s face was tight and his mouth was a grim crease. “Come into my office.”
Dave nodded and followed him. Jamie stood at the coffee urn, talking quietly with Safir and Wise. She first sensed Dave’s passing presence, and stared at him, her open mouth a small oval. Safir and Wise watched Dave walk past in Blake’s wake with a morbid raptness. Unblinking, Dave met their gaze.
Blake closed the office door behind them. He didn’t bid Dave to sit and didn’t sit himself. “Dave, I’m sorry as hell about Jimmy but —”
“Hear what I have to say,” Dave said.
“Jesus Christ, Dave, Mancuso called me last night and twice already this morning, demanding — and I mean, demanding —”
“Hear what I have to say.”
Blake shook his head. “After all I’ve done for you, how could you go to the media like that? How could you try to assault Mancuso like you did? My sweet Lord, how could you, Dave?”
“Hear me out,” Dave shouted.
Blake stopped.“What? What can you possibly say?”
“Listen,” Dave said, “I still can’t tell you who the Ladykiller is. And I don’t give a damn about Mancuso’s feelings or what I told the media. It’s irrelevant.”
Blake emitted an exasperated gasp. “Irrelevant? He’s got you off the task force.And pending an investigation, I have to take your badge.”
“Today is Wednesday,” Dave said. “Give me until Friday.What difference does it make? The task force is going away, and I am too. No matter what. But I can see now how to catch this fucker.”
Blake shook his head and gave a small chuckle of disbelief. “You tell me how, Dave. You tell me how, after all the time we’ve put in, after all the false starts, how we can collar this bastard by Friday.” This taunting tone was new to Blake. “You tell me, Dave. Come on.Tell me.”
“The key is the West Side Crisis Center.”
“You keep on harping about that,” Blake said. “And what have we got to show for it? We got shit, my friend.”
“Listen,” Dave said, “Ace linked each of the victims with the crisis center.We were able to corroborate that with others.”
“Oh, please.Where has that gotten us?”
“Listen,” Dave said, “Reuben Silver and Jimmy Conlon also died because of their association with the crisis center. And I think Billy Ray Battle did, as well. He and Ace were friends. I think Billy Ray stumbled onto something.”
“You think, do you? Your buddy Conlon was a robbery victim. His wallet was gone. He wasn’t shot in the right eye.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “His notebook suggests he was lured outside to his death. He must have known something. Must have had enough for the killer to move on him.”
“Dave, you listen to me for a moment,” Blake said. “Your theories and suspicions don’t get us anywhere.There’s not a chance we can win a court fight to interview the loonies at the crisis center. Not with Mancuso on our ass. And not by Friday.”
“Listen,” Dave said, “The phone is the way in.”
“The phone?”
“The West Side Crisis Center hotline. A lot of their clients use it when they get too weirded out. Reuben Silver was on the hotline the night he was killed. I bet the killer called him and made him go outside, where he got shot. Billy Ray Battle had the hotline number written on his palm.”
Blake sat down heavily on the edge of his desk. “What do you want, Dave?”
“Tap their phones,” Dave said. “It’s our last chance. But why not? What do we have to lose? We can get a court order, without the crisis center learning about it.They can’t stop us in court if they don’t know.”
“We’re so deep on Mancuso’s bad side that he wouldn’t piss on us if our guts were on fire,” Blake said skeptically. “We need to go through him for any court order.”
Jamie knocked on Blake’s door and poked her head in. She tried not to look at Dave. “Chief Mancuso’s here.”
Dave looked at Blake, waiting to be asked for his badge again. “Stay out of sight,” he told Dave.
Dave disappeared down a hallway seconds before Mancuso and his procession stomped into Blake’s office.
Jamie found him and took his hands. “Oh, Dave,” she said.
They stood mutely in the hallway, holding hands. The yelling from Blake’s office carried down the corridor with the force of a spring squall. Safir and Wise wandered by. They both patted Dave slowly on the back.
At last, Blake appeared at the head of the hallway with an odd grin. “Let’s get that court order.”
“What happened?” a bewildered Jamie blurted.
“We’re going ahead with the wiretap on the crisis center,” Blake said. “I told Mancuso I’d bring him up on charges. He regularly made ethnically insensitive remarks. Not smart in a multicultural urban environment. I bought us till Friday.”
“What happens then?”Wise asked. Blake’s grin faded.
“What happens, Loo?” asked Saffir.
“If we don’t deliver by Friday, Mancuso’s gonna hang us,” Blake said. “No, before, he was gonna hang us. Now, he’s gonna hang us, draw us, and quarter us. So this had better work.”
“Big Dick Mancuso,”Wise said.
“Before he dicks us,” Saffir said darkly.
“We better be successful, Dave,” Blake said quietly, back to his old self.
“We will be,” Dave said.
Nita, usually fastidious, caused a stir when she showed up for work that morning. Her hair was barely brushed. She had on a wrinkled blouse with a tear at the shoulder seam. Her eyes were a roadmap of red capillaries with dark bags under them.
“Oh, Nita, dear,” Rose said. “What’s the matter?”
Nita didn’t answer. She sat at her desk and pretended to sort through her in-box.
“Can I get you some coffee?” Tim suggested.
Nita shook her head without glancing up.
Control. She was losing control. The scene with Conlon had been chaos. She almost had lost everything. What if he had escaped? Now Dillon was trying to make him into a martyr on television. And Ace remained on the loose. There were too many unpredictable factors. Most frightening was her reaction to the melee with Condon. Her head had been in the toilet the entire night. When not throwing up, she lay on the bathroom floor and shook. In the past, the removals had been clean and efficient.That had to be restored. Control.
Tim met Megan at the top of the stairs and whispered to her. Megan gingerly approached Nita’s desk.
“Good morning, Nita,” she said. “How about I feed your fish for you?” She had an odd wistfulness about her.
Nita shrugged.
After Megan sprinkled the fish food into the tank, she came up to Nita’s desk again. “May I have a word with you?”
“Not now,” Nita said shortly. “I’m tied up.”
“It’s important,” Megan said.
Mouth twisted in a pained expression, Nita looked up at her.
“It’s about Dave.”
“Dave? Detective Dave?”
Megan leaned over the desk and lowered her voice so the others wouldn’t overhear. “I can’t help myself. I love him. He’s what I want. He’s smart and strong. He’s good and caring. He loves me.”
Nita sneered. “He’s an idiot. Get together with him and you throw your life away.”
“I don’t agree,” Megan said, striving to stay calm despite an intrusive quaver. “You don’t know him. You have some distorted, unreal view of him.”
“Unreal?” Nita thundered. She leapt to her feet. “How dare you say that to me?”
Everyone in the large room watched Nita as she stal
ked around her desk and, with a stiff finger, jabbed Megan on the breastbone.
“How dare you challenge me,” Nita cried. She jabbed Megan once more, forcing her to retreat a step backward. “I have made you what you are. I’ve given you a life. I’ve given you a purpose. Of all the people I could have chosen, I chose you.And you want to defy me? You want to fritter your gift away because you want this Keystone Kop in your bed?” She jabbed Megan again.
“Stop,” Megan whispered. “You’re hurting me.” She moved back another step.
“Do you have any inkling of the cause you serve?” Nita roared. “You’re a traitor.That’s what you are. A traitor.”
Another jab bounced off Megan’s chest. “Nita, please,” she sobbed. “Don’t.”
Nita turned to the fish tank.With both hands, she pulled it off the table. It smashed to the floor in a vast explosion of glass.Water sluiced across the tiles. Fish flopped about, dying. Nita, arms akimbo, stood over the ruin, panting.Then she whirled on Megan and pointed at her. “You’re a disgrace.You selfish child. I hope you rot in mediocrity.”
Hands to face, crying wildly, Megan ran from the room and down the stairs.
A terrible silence followed. The only sounds were the pockpock-pocking of rain on the windowpanes, and the tiny slapping of the fish in their last spasms.
Dr. Solomon wandered in, filled with dithering anxiety. “Oh, my. Nita? Oh, my. Are you all right? Would you like to go home?”
“Home?” Nita yelled. She burst out into a short staccato riff of hysterical laughter. “This is my home. I have work to do here. I’m on the hotline for the next two nights. And I’m going to do my job. So help me.”
Ace sat alone on a rock inside the railroad culvert, where he used to hang as a kid, and listened to the rain batter the world. A cold wind began to howl through the tunnel.
He remembered a whore who hung at the pool hall.Working girls weren’t as plentiful in Rahway as on the Deuce, but if you looked long enough you could find them. He ventured back to the pool hall and managed to find the number written on the wall next to the pay phone.
“Fifty bucks,” the girl at the other end of the phone said. “Twenty-five for a blow job. I should charge more, but you sound like a nice kid.” She laughed mirthlessly.
Ace fingered his dwindling billfold. “Okay.”
He went to the girl’s tiny room above the hairdresser’s, across the street from the pool hall. She was a little chubby and had broken teeth.Yet the mole on her cheek reminded him of Madonna.
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