Heartstone

by Phillip Margolin

  Heider had never been the person responsible for what had happened in the Murray-Walters case anyway. From the beginning it had been Roy Shindler. In the years that had followed the dramatic ending of the trial of Bobby Coolidge, Caproni had tried to find out if there was any truth to the ugly rumors that he had heard about Shindler’s part in the case. He had always come up against a wall of silence. Shindler was too well respected in the department to be crucified for one lapse of faith.

  Maybe Caproni, with his influence, could have discovered the truth if he had really tried, but his reflection in the mirror stared out accusingly, reminding him that he, as much as anyone else, was responsible for what had happened. There was a point in time when he could have made a decision that would have made a difference, but he had lacked the courage. Maybe he had never really wanted to find out the truth. All the guilt and uncertainty that he had stored in the attic of his mind pressed once more against his shoulders. The weight made him tired and he slumped in his chair.

  Pat Kelly, Caproni’s chief investigator, entered the office. The thin, frightened man beside him was obviously down on his luck. He looked like a child next to Kelly. Caproni decided that Weaver did not appear to be too steady on his feet and he signaled him into a chair as soon as the introductions had been made.

  “Mr. Weaver, I understand that you are a friend of William Heartstone?”

  “You mean Willie? Yes, sir. We go way back. I met him at the V.A. after he lost his leg.”

  “He lost a leg? I didn’t know that.”

  “He was in an awful accident. It done somethin’ to him up here,” Weaver said, pointing to his head. “But he ain’t mean and he never hurt no one, honest.”

  “Why did you feel you had to tell me that he wouldn’t hurt anyone, Mr. Weaver?”

  Louis bowed his head and stared into his lap.

  “It’s about why I come. Willie got religion in Fort Worth and ever since he’s been talkin’ about his soul and the bad thing he done. Only I ain’t never seen him act like he says he did.

  “Then he got sick and he wouldn’t talk about anything else except coming back to Portsmouth and seeing you.”

  “Where is Willie now?”

  “He’s at the Cordova on Tenth Street.”

  Caproni knew the Hotel Cordova from his police days. It had changed management a dozen times since then, but it had not changed. It was still one of the many dollar-a-night flophouses in the lower Water Street district that catered to alcoholics, drifters and pensioners.

  “How sick is Willie?”

  Louis’s fingers kneaded the brim of his hat, twisting and curving it. Caproni’s question made him think of Willie, alone on the hotel bed. Poor Willie, coughing and sweating and moaning in his own personal hell.

  “I think he’s going to die.”

  “Has he seen a doctor?”

  Louis shook his head.

  “We didn’t have the money. I spent my last dollars on the room. And when I talked about the V.A. or the County Hospital he would get all excited. The only thing he talks about is seeing you and making his peace.”

  Caproni gave his secretary instructions to have a doctor sent to the Cordova. Then he, Kelly and Weaver took the elevator to the lobby. Kelly ran into the cold to get the car and Weaver and Caproni stood in the lobby.

  “Willie’s not in any trouble, is he, Mr. Caproni? We’ve been good friends for a while now and I know he done some small things. I mean we both pinched some wine now and then. But I ain’t never seen him do something real bad.”

  Caproni stuffed his hands into his overcoat pockets and stared out at the snow-covered trees in the park across the street. The park took up the whole block across from the courthouse. It was small and, during the summer, it was overcrowded and dirty. The winter had emptied and purified it, transforming its tired and beggarly trees and grass into royalty by draping them with cloaks of smooth white snow. It was nice to think about nature’s ability to change the sordid and unclean into something regal, but Caproni knew that the dirt still existed beneath the snow.

  The Murray-Walters case was like that. The years had smoothed over the questions and the doubts, but Caproni knew about the dirt. He had never forgotten what Shindler and Heider had done and he had never forgiven himself for his lack of courage when he had been faced with a choice between his own career and another man’s life.

  “Willie’s not in any trouble, is he?” Louis repeated. Pat Kelly drove the car in front of the entrance.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Weaver,” Albert Caproni said as they moved into the storm.

  PART TWO. DEATH

  1

  Elaine Murray was so excited that her hand shook and she smeared her lipstick. She rubbed her lips together to even the Tahitian Passion. She saw the spot the smear had made on the skin beneath her lower lip and used a tissue to wipe it away. She said, “Oh, damn,” when the spot resisted. Then she giggled. She liked to swear in the privacy of her room or when she was with close friends, but using swear words always caused a nervous giggle, because she knew her folks would never approve. They were both very square.

  Her hair looked fine. It was natural auburn brown. Sometimes, when the sun was just right, Richie said it looked like it was on fire. She patted the edges with approval.

  Elaine stood up and walked over to a full-length mirror that hung on her closet door. She struck a pose and smiled. Her body was trim and athletic. Her stomach was very flat from exercise and her hips were wide and curvy. When she looked at her breasts, she frowned a little. They were beautifully shaped, but small. She knew that men liked large breasts and she hoped that Richie would not be disappointed. She had thought about wearing falsies, but rejected the idea. She was sure that tonight would be the night and she did not want to be a phony. She wanted Richie to know exactly what he was going to get. Besides, Richie was a gentleman and he would never tell that she was smaller than she usually appeared. That would be their secret. One of the things that they would share-maybe forever.

  Forever! Elaine closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. She tried to imagine Richie and her married. Of course, that wouldn’t happen for some time. After all, they weren’t even going steady…yet. But after tonight…

  Elaine didn’t want to think about it. Maybe she was guessing wrong and he would not ask her. After all, they had only been dating seriously for a month. A month. It seemed like forever. She could not remember when she had been so happy. Richie Walters. It seemed like a dream come true.

  Elaine had had a crush on Richie Walters since her sophomore year, but he had not even noticed her until this summer when they had both worked at the Empire Department Store. At first he had just talked with her at breaks or when he passed through her department. Her father, Dr. Harold Murray, knew the Empire’s store manager and he had gotten her the job for the summer. Richie had gotten his job the same way. They had joked about being rich and having pull. Elaine was sure, though, that Richie could have gotten any job he wanted on his own. He was so handsome. She loved his curly blond hair and blue eyes. His nose was so perfect. And he was so smart, so deep. Richie knew all about things. He had worked on President Kennedy’s campaign this fall and had actually met the President when he had campaigned in Portsmouth. She knew Richie had applied to a lot of colleges and was so smart that he could probably go where he wanted, but she hoped that he would choose State, where she was hoping to go. It would be hard to go steady and be separated. She knew that she would remain faithful, but…There she went again. He hasn’t even asked you, dope, she thought. Then, again, she was sure, positive, he would. Wendy Blair was going with Frank Coppella and Frank played football with Richie and was his best friend and he had told Wendy that Richie had been thinking about it and Richie had been acting funny this week.

  Elaine pulled herself up and sat down again in front of her dressing table. She applied eyeliner and mascara and turned her head back and forth. She thought that she was pretty. Not beautiful like Alice Fay, the queen of
last year’s prom, but pretty. And there were plenty of boys who thought so, too. She was a cheerleader and had been a princess in Alice’s court, so she was no wallflower.

  Elaine slipped on a pair of white panties and hooked up her bra. Then she put on tan toreador slacks and a white blouse. She pulled a red and black ski sweater over the blouse. It had been a funny winter, she mused. Here it was, just after Thanksgiving, and it was not all that cold. That was fine with Elaine. She never did like the cold weather.

  Elaine doublechecked her blouse and noticed that one of the buttons was undone. As she rebuttoned it she felt a thrill of excitement. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Richie’s strong fingers unbuttoning the blouse, one button at a time. Very slowly and deliberately. Her mouth was suddenly dry and her stomach tight. Her nipples were growing taut beneath her bra and the friction between them and the cloth was not unpleasant.

  Richie was a gentleman in every way, but he had the urges that all men had. Elaine had talked to her mother about sex and men. Her mother had told her to hold on to her virginity, because she would lose a man’s respect if she was too free. She had followed her mother’s advice even though it had been hard at times. Like when she was in Richie’s arms and he was caressing her breasts through her blouse. When he did that she just wanted to let him do it like he asked. But she was glad she had not given in yet. A woman’s body was a gift for the man she married. Her present to him. It would be so much better if they were married. And what her mother had said about respect was true. Look at the way the boys talked about Eleanor Strom behind her back and everyone knew how far you could get with her. But, tonight, she had made up her mind. Tonight, if he asked her to go steady, she would let him touch her breasts. It would only be fair and she would want him to have a reason to stay with her.

  She looked at the clock. Holy cow, it was after eight and he would be here any minute. She slipped on a pair of tennis sneakers and looked at herself once more. Downstairs the doorbell was ringing.

  Bobby Coolidge was standing in front of the mirror in the men’s room of Bob’s Hamburger Heaven, admiring himself. With great precision he raised the black plastic comb and drew it through his thick, greasy jet black hair. First, he swept the hair on the sides straight back. The hair on both sides of his head resembled wings and there was a little “tail” where the hair on each side joined behind his head. Bobby surveyed his work. A perfect duck’s ass if he had to say so himself. He twirled the curl that he had placed in the center of his forehead one more time. Presley never did it better, he thought.

  “Lend me the comb when you’re through, greaseball,” his brother Billy said as he zipped the fly on his tight-fitting jeans.

  “Just one second, man,” Bobby said. There had been a hair out of place on the left side of his head. He stepped back from the mirror and ran the comb through again. When he was satisfied, he rinsed off the comb and handed it to Billy.

  Billy stepped in front of the mirror and Bobby leaned against the bathroom wall, taking a cigarette out of the pack he kept in one of the zippered pockets of his black leather jacket.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

  “What I don’t want to do is stick around this joint anymore tonight. That pussy Delores is giving me a pain.”

  “The waitress with the pimples?”

  Bobby nodded and Billy saw him in the mirror.

  “The word’s out on her, Bobby. Harry Capri says she toots on the root.”

  “Well, I got more class than Harry Capri. Do you ever see the pigs he goes out with?”

  “Listen, Capri says she gives a hum job to the tune of Yankee Doodle and makes you come on the last note.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  Billy shrugged.

  “Would I lie to my own brother?”

  “If she’s so hot, how come you ain’t made a play for her?”

  “Too ugly. I save the ugly ones for you.”

  Bobby laughed. He was lucky to have a brother who was also a good friend. The Coolidge brothers stuck together. They fought together. They screwed together. He smiled, took a drag on his cigarette and tried to picture Delores giving him a blow job. Nah, he couldn’t do it. Shit, he’d never be that horny.

  Billy straightened up and handed Bobby his comb.

  “You still didn’t answer me.”

  “About what?”

  “What to do.”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “We could crash Alice Fay’s party.”

  “She having a party?” Bobby asked with interest.

  “That’s what Rog says. We can ask him when we get back to the table.”

  Billy pushed open the bathroom door and they wound their way through the usual tables of squares and teeny-boppers to their table in the far corner of the restaurant. Roger Hessey and Esther Freemont were eating their hamburgers and Esther, as usual, was finishing an extra shake. Bobby absentmindedly scratched his crotch when he looked at Esther. She had big tits, and Bobby liked big tits, and she wasn’t bad looking, either. All the same, she fucked anything that walked and Bobby’s personal opinion was that a good-looking guy like Hessey could do a lot better for himself. Also, she was a pain. She had a crush on Bobby and was always making cow eyes at him and giving him the big come-on. Bobby knew he could fuck her if he wanted, but he knew a broad as dumb as Esther wouldn’t keep his interest long and he couldn’t hack the big scene he knew would happen when he told her to get lost. He was also a little nervous, because he knew that Esther had stabbed a guy at Stuyvesant High who had tried something funny when she wasn’t in the mood and he didn’t want any of that scene. Nah, all in all, it was best to leave Esther alone. Now Alice Fay or Elaine Murray-there was class. Too bad they were such stuck-up bitches. He’d sure like to pop one of them.

  “Rog, didn’t you tell me that Alice Fay was having a party tonight?” Billy asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe Bobby and me would go.”

  “You ain’t invited,” Roger said.

  “I know that, asshole. That has nothing to do with whether we go or not.”

  Roger shook his head.

  “That’s just gonna mean trouble.”

  Bobby grinned.

  “You ain’t afraid of a little trouble, are you?”

  “Shit no,” Roger said uneasily. “I just ain’t in the mood for it tonight.”

  “Who says there has to be trouble?” Billy asked. “All I was thinkin’ of doing was going to a party. I ain’t gonna start any trouble.”

  “One of those jocks will.”

  “Jocks are basically candyasses, right, Bob?”

  Bobby nodded in agreement.

  “Well count me out,” Roger said.

  “Oh, Rog, can’t we go? I never saw Alice Fay’s house,” Esther said.

  “What do you want to see her house for. It’s just another spoiled rich kid’s house.”

  “I know, but I’d like to. Couldn’t we, please?”

  “I told you, I ain’t going to no fucking party where I ain’t been invited. Alice Fay has got her nose stuck up her ass anyway.”

  “I know something I’d like to stick up her ass,” Billy said.

  “You watch your mouth,” Esther said angrily. Billy just grinned.

  “Look,” Billy said, “I’m crashing. Who’s gonna come with me?”

  “Count me in,” Bobby said.

  “I’m just going home,” Roger said.

  “Can I come with you guys?” Esther pleaded.

  Bobby looked at Billy. It would be a real pain to have to take Esther along, but, if they said yes, Roger would probably come so as not to lose face.

  “Sure, Esther, come on.”

  Roger looked at his plate.

  “Ah, if you’re going, I’m coming.”

  “Good. I knew you weren’t chicken.”

  “Who’s chicken?” Roger bristled.

  Bob
by and Billy laughed.

  “No one is chicken, man. We were just riding you.”

  “Yeah, Rog. Everyone knows you’re a good man in a fight.”

  “Almost as good as this,” Billy said and Bobby heard the familiar click as the long steel of Billy’s switchblade snapped out under the table. “The Old Equalizer,” Billy liked to call it and it had sure come in handy in the past. Bobby smiled as he remembered the time they had gone to the movies and the two niggers had sat down behind them and made all that noise. Bobby hated niggers. Bobby and Billy were Cobras and from time to time the Cobras would ride over to the nigger section of town and beat the shit out of one or two. But that time at the movies there had just been the two of them and these two noisy jig-aboos and Billy had asked them real polite to shut up, but they started with this wiseass jive and just kept making more noise and talking cool about white boys and one nigger leaned down next to Billy’s ear and whispered real low about how he was going to wait till the show was over and follow Billy outside and stomp him good. Bobby had started to turn, but he had felt Billy’s hand on his knee and had heard the sound of the blade being withdrawn from Billy’s pocket. The nigger’s lips were practically touching Billy’s ear and his nose was leaning down over Billy’s left shoulder. The nigger never saw the knife in the dark until it was too late. Billy brought it up real slow with his right hand and pressed the button. The tip of the blade had shot out just right, poking the tiniest hole in the tip of the nigger’s nose. The nigger had screamed in pain. Blood was pouring out of his nostril and Billy was up on his seat screaming. Those coons sure had run fast. Billy always ended the story by saying that it was the only time he ever saw a nigger turn white.

  Esther was finishing her shake and Billy and Roger went over to the cashier and paid the bill. Bobby knew where Alice lived and Roger did not, so they decided that Roger and Esther would follow Bobby and Billy. Bobby felt good. He knew that something would happen tonight. He had that tingly feeling in his stomach that he would get when he was nervous, but cool. Like before a rumble or before he would start to put the make on some chick. The clock in the hamburger joint read eight fifty-five.