AND A TIME TO DIE

by Walter Erickson

  “Sorry, handsome, it don’t ring no bells. What’s he done?”

  “Is there any male of any description who either regularly or occasionally arrives on foot?”

  “People arrive on foot all the time. This is a residential neighborhood. We’re convenient. Get drunk, get laid, go home. This is not a complicated business.”

  “A woman was killed here Thursday before last. Can you tell me the name of the person who rented unit four?”

  “That’s the night the society dame got scragged, isn’t it? The cops already got everything there is to know. Who you working for?”

  “The victim’s mother.”

  “I’m a mother myself, so I sympathize, but I can’t just give out information like that to anybody who wanders in.” She sounded more amused than belligerent.

  “There’s a ten thousand dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the woman’s murderer.”

  “You think it’s that important?”

  “It might be, it might not be. We won’t know till we find out.”

  “Ten thousand dollars, eh? We don’t have no register. We have cards. I’ll tell you what you want to know, and if it pans out, you remember where you got it.” I heard some scuffling, some shuffling of feet. I leaned on the counter, the picture of a patient man. “Here we are,” she said finally, wheezing from exertion. For some reason I pictured her as fat, with bright orange hair. “All the cards for that night.”

  “Did the police take any?”

  “No, they copied down the information. There’s seventeen cards for Thursday night. Thursday’s our slow night.”

  “Who’s signed in to unit four?”

  “A Robert Morag.”

  “Do you know anybody named Robert Morag?”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Thanks. And your name is?”

  “Thelma.”

  I said thanks again and headed back for the subway. If Thelma was telling the truth, and I had no reason to doubt her, then the white male Tomas and Youssef saw walking across the parking lot was but one of many. Still, none of the others had walked across the parking lot at about the time Louise Driscoll was killed. And the name Robert Morag meant absolutely nothing to me.

  There didn’t seem to be many people out on the street. I could hear the traffic flow by, but there didn’t seem to be many pedestrians. We’d gone about two blocks when I felt someone bump into me. I said, “Excuse me,” even though it wasn’t my fault. Whoever it was didn’t answer. I felt someone come up behind me. I felt a hand on my back and whirled around, taking my hand off the harness to bring them both up in front of me. I didn’t know what was going on. Street punks, or Leon? An ordinary daylight mugging, or had Leon tired of taunting? I tensed, waiting for the blow.

  Hands began patting me down front and back, and now I had a handle on it. Just a couple of punks. Two guys, working together. I felt the one in back reaching for my wallet. I slammed him with an elbow and heard him grunt. Buster reacted with a snarl and went after the guy. The guy in front tried to get a headlock on me. That was a mistake on his part, because he was pressed up against me and I knew where he was now. I hit him in the solar plexus with a short right and heard him gasp, but I didn’t hear him go down. By this time the guy in the back had his arms around my neck, trying to pull me backwards, trying to put me on the ground. Buster was still after him and I realized the guy wasn’t trying to put me on the ground, he was trying to get me between himself and Buster. I gave him another elbow and heard him oof. His arms relaxed on my neck and I turned and grabbed him. I hit him with a short, sharp left to the body and he’d had enough. I turned around, ready for the other one, but nothing happened. I heard running footsteps, at least one set coming toward me, and braced for another attack.

  “You all right, buddy?” a guy shouted, footsteps still pounding the sidewalk.

  He stopped, and I could feel him near me.

  “Couple of punk kids,” the man cried indignantly. “No respect whatever. Attacking a blind man! You all right?”

  “Are they still here?”

  “No, they took off.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “No, never seen them before. You want I should call the cops?”

  “Is there anybody else around who might have seen them?”

  “There doesn’t seem to be. Maybe somebody was looking out a window.”

  I got out my cell phone and said, “Nine one one.” The phone automatically dialed it and I told the dispatcher who I was and where I was and what happened. The dispatcher said to wait there and someone would be along shortly.

  “That’s amazing,” the man said. “You just talk into the phone and it gets the number for you. Does it get all numbers or just the police? My name’s Julio by the way.”

  “Good to know you, Julio,” I said. “Thanks for rendering assistance. The phone gets whatever number you tell it to get.”

  “Amazing,” he said again. “Glad to help, though you really didn’t need it. You and the dog took care of them pretty good. I didn’t know them blind man’s dogs would do that. I thought all they did was tell you when the light was green.”

  “They’re very protective,” I said.

  “Protective as hell. You must’ve been a boxer. I done a little of it myself and I can tell a man who can handle himself.”

  I admitted I’d done some boxing in the Marines. I didn’t tell him I’d reached battalion light-heavyweight finals a couple of times. A couple of minutes later I heard a car pull up to the curb.

  “Here’s the cops,” Julio said.

  “Which one of you is Doyle,” a tough sounding female voice said.

  I said I was, and told her my story. Julio backed me up. The cop said, “You want to ride around, see if we see them?”

  She was either very unobservant or was talking to Julio.

  Julio said, “All right with me if Mr. Doyle wants to. I never saw them before, but I think I’d recognize them.”

  We drove around for fifteen minutes but they were long gone. She dropped Julio off where she found him and dropped me off at the subway.

  I walked down the steps and into the coolness. A train pulled into the station as I got there, but I didn’t rush. There’d be another in a couple of minutes. I waited outside the turnstiles for the train to pull out before heading for the cashier’s booth to be buzzed through. A familiar voice nearby said, “Hello, Mr. Doyle.”

  “Hello, Leon,” I said. “What brings you here? Doing some shopping? Need more fake spiders?”

  “Nothing like that, Mr. Doyle. That was an interesting confrontation with those kids. I saw you could handle yourself.”

  People began arriving, moving past us, moving through the turnstiles. A train pulled into the station with a screech, iron wheels on iron rails, going the other way from the sound of it.

  “You been following me, Leon?”

  “Yes I have, Mr. Doyle. You interest me. It’s all part of the game.”

  “I’m not playing your game, Leon.”

  He laughed. “Oh yes you are, Mr. Doyle. And playing your part very nicely, too.”

  I started to move away. “I’m getting on a train and going back to the office, Leon. If you want to follow me, feel free.”

  “If you insist, but I really wanted to talk to you. About Maggie Swain and Constance Delavaria and all the others. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately, and I need someone to talk to.”

  “This is hardly the place, Leon.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Doyle, this is an ideal place. I followed you to the motel and when I saw you were all right after the kids ran away I came back here and waited for you.”

  “I’ve gotten into the habit of calling you Leon, but I don’t believe that’s your name. I don’t think Robert Morag’s your name either.”

  “You are correct, Mr. Doyle. My name is neither Leon nor Robert Morag. What kind of idiot would I be to leave my real name in a room where I just kill
ed someone?”

  A train came in, drowning out all sound. People are mostly silent while standing on a platform waiting for a train, but when the train stopped I was aware, in the sudden stillness, of running footsteps and clacking turnstiles. The train accelerated, and all again was still.

  “You wanted to talk about Maggie Swain?”

  “Especially Maggie. One always has certain feelings for one’s first, feelings one doesn’t have for succeeding conquests, though I liked Constance Delavaria very much.”

  “There was a fifteen year old in Atlantic City.”

  “Yes. Pretty little girl, but a whore and a junkie nonetheless. She was better off in heaven, where she is now.”

  “Is Maggie Swain in heaven too?”

  “They all are, don’t you think?”

  “Is that what this is about, Leon? God telling you to send whores to Him?”

  “Partly. Nothing is ever simple, Mr. Doyle. The world is a complex place, and people are complex, even people such as I.”

  My mind went back to the talk with Jeannie Karpas. Organized, impulsive, or visionary. Categories. Yet Leon didn’t seem to fit neatly into one category. He was certainly organized, at least at first, selecting victims, taking them to a pre-arranged place, tying them up, slitting their throats, ejaculating semen all over them. Can’t get more organized than that.

  “Driscoll fits the pattern, Leon,” I said, “but Zobranski doesn’t. There was a spider, yes, and she was tied up, but I don’t see you singling her out like you did Maggie and the others. Not organized like the others. Impulsive, maybe.”

  “It was impulsive, Mr. Doyle. I shall go no further. I didn’t want to kill her, but you made me do it.”

  “I made you do it?”

  “Let’s not talk about it now. Plenty of time for that, later in the game.”

  “Goodbye, Leon. There is no game. I hear a train coming.”

  “Don’t you want to hear about Constance Delavaria?”

  “What about her?”

  “Do you remember where you found her?”

  “Yes I do. We found her in a falling down old warehouse. Is there some significance to the location?”

  “Not at the time, no, but I believe there will be.”

  “Part of the game?”

  “Part of the game. Goodbye, Mr. Doyle.”

  I heard nothing, but I could feel he was gone. I walked to the cashier’s booth and was buzzed through just in time to catch a train back to center city. The ride back was without further incident. We walked into the office and Kelley was still working on the insurance.

  “How was West Philly?”

  “Uneventful,” I said. “How’s the insurance coming?”

  I called Sammy Weese and asked him to call Steve the hoagie man and convince him to talk to us. He said he’d try.

  “Incidentally,” he said, “Jimmy Pompo made bail.”

  “Only a matter of time,” I said. “What happened to those other operatives you hired to look for Maureen?”

  “We paid them off when you found her.”

  “I think you should rehire them. If those diamonds are still around, we need a tail on both Irene DeMarco and Max Kimmel, and I don’t have the manpower.”

  “Those diamonds are gone. Whoever killed Tommy sold them to Max, probably within hours of the murder. If you uncover anything that leads you to believe the diamonds are still in play, we’ll get those extra people for you.”

  A long day drawing to a close, Eddie called, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice.

  “Made it safely to Stone Harbor, Matthew,” he said. “Beautiful weather, sunshine and sea breezes. Had a long talk with the bartender at the yacht club, fellow named Jerry. Nice man, very talkative, very friendly. Talked to him about buying a boat and heading for the Bahamas like Max Kimmel. One thing led to another and lo and behold Jerry remembers Max Kimmel getting home early. Supposed to be gone for a month, he says, but cut it short.”

  “How short?”

  “That he didn’t know. He couldn’t remember the day or date, either, but he knows he was surprised when Max walked into the bar one day and sat down and ordered a gin and tonic.”

  “He can remember the gin and tonic but not what day it was?”

  “Memory is like that, Matthew. Jerry says he asked what he was doing back early, and Max said the weather was getting on his nerves.”

  “Any way of checking which day it was he got back?”

  “The bar runs by check. Members sign for everything and get a bill at the end of the month. If I can get a look at the accounts, I can tell which day he came back by his bar bill.”

  “Acker could get you a look at them.”

  “He could if he thought it was important, but I don’t think I have enough to take to him at this point. I might have to try other methods. Maybe if I offer Jerry an inducement, he’ll go for it. What’s the upside?”

  “Sammy says whatever’s reasonable. What do you think he’d go for?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll sound him out. I’ll try to catch him later this evening. Jerry says there’s a quiet time right after the dinner crowd, and he’d be happy to talk to me some more.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “All they talk about is boats, Matthew. Boats and golf. You’d think there wasn’t anything else in the world.”

  “To some people there isn’t.”

  We said solong, and Kelley cried, “Finished! At least until next time. Let’s get something to drink.”

  11

  Next morning, Kelley about to head for North Philly to look for Tamika Johnson, Buster softly snoring in his corner, Frank Kopf called to say they found another one. A young woman named Sissy Pagano, found in a cheap hotel room on North Broad Street, spread-eagled, throat slashed, and a fake rubber spider in her vagina.

  “That’s three in seven days, Frank,” I said. “The sonofabitch is on a rampage.” I told him about my meeting Leon in the subway, and his wanting to talk about the past.

  “Well, I don’t think he’s getting remorseful.”

  “Neither do I, but he’s up to something besides killing whores. He keeps telling me I’m in the game, but doesn’t say what the game is. He seemed insistent I remember the details of where we found Delavaria.”

  “Any idea what it means?”

  “None.”

  “Well, watch your step. The sooner we get this guy the better for everyone, me included. What I don’t understand is, what is his connection to you, besides putting you onto Zobranski?”

  “That’s it, that’s the only connection. He’s told me Maureen died because of me, but I’m at a loss to see what I could have done that he blames me for it.”

  “These guys don’t need reasons, partner, not rational ones. I don’t think you’re on his list, he’s a whore killer, and we’ve all seen that before. Something to do with his mother, probably. Those guys usually don’t go outside their own fantasies. Meantime, we’ve taken a look at Driscoll’s mail, and there’s no Leon there. Nothing leaps out at us at all. The court order came through, and we’ll start matching up the usernames with the real names and addresses and phone numbers. Just a matter of time, buddy. Speaking of Driscoll, I didn’t get a chance to thank you again for that computer stuff you found in the Driscoll dame’s apartment. Like I said, we got the court order, and as soon as we hear from the computer services we’ll be running down the name and address of every guy who contacted her, and every guy she contacted. Plus, we’re looking into everybody who got sent away after he done Maggie and the others eight years ago and who recently got out.”

  I didn’t have anything useful to say, so I said, “Sounds like a big job.”

  “A big mother of a job,” Frank agreed, “but now all we gotta do is match names. If a guy just got out of jail and shows up on the Driscoll dame’s computer, he’s our man.”

  “I don’t envy you,” I said, though I did. “Thousands of guys have been in and out of jail in that time. Plus, you
’ll be dealing with other jurisdictions, other states. Who’s to say the perp’s from Philly? He could be from Jersey or Delaware. He could be from any one of a half dozen counties. He could’ve been arrested in Georgia, for all you know. He didn’t even have to be in jail. He could’ve been anywhere in the United States for the last eight years. He could’ve been visiting his in-laws.”

  “I know,” Frank sighed, “don’t make it worse than it is. We’re betting he was in jail, and if he wasn’t, well we’re betting he’s still one of the guys on Driscoll’s computer. If he is, he’s one of three hundred and twenty-six different guys in her message files. The woman was busy. I hope it don’t turn out she saw all of them.”

  “When will you have the list?”

  “Monday, probably. The services that showed up in her files been notified to give us all the names and home addresses. We’re working on it. Things are moving, partner. Let’s hope we get him before he does someone else.”

  “A final question, Frank. I spoke to the manager at the Almiranta yesterday. The guy who signed in for unit four the night of the Driscoll killing used the name Robert Morag. Do you have anything on that?”

  “Yeah, we noticed that, and no, it was a phony, as you’d expect. Give me a call if you hear from Leon.”

  “Frank, you don’t need to match names to guys let out of jail. I’ve heard his voice. I’ll recognize it when I hear it. Get me the phone numbers and let me call them.”

  “I’ll have to think about that one, partner. If you was still with the force there’d be no problem, but you’re not. Let me check it with the powers that be. You were here long enough to know how the guys upstairs are. Like to keep everything in their own hands.”

  “It’s the sensible thing to do, Frank.”

  “I know, but sensible ain’t the only consideration. I’ll try. In the meantime, watch your back.”

  We hung up and Kelley said, “They found another one?”

  “Another one, woman named Sissy Pagano.” I told her about my meeting Leon in the subway yesterday, and how he sounded completely rational.

  “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”