We were supposed to stay clear of credit-card freaks, guys with fifteen different cards and just a pair of twenties in their pockets. We never stole plastic. ''re not in the forgery business,' Diana said."
Janek knew Kirstin was stalling, putting off telling what had happened.
She seemed to realize she'd digressed, for she took another deep breath and went on:
"So anyway, I went upstairs with this guy, put out his lights, then started going through his stuff. Nothing too interesting till I got to the closet. There was a locked briefcase on the upper rack. Earlier I had found a key on a chain around his neck. The key fit the briefcase.
Soon as I opened it up-ta-da! Lotsa cash."
Kirstin's large blue eyes lit up. She can still make herself high, Janek thought, recalling the memory of all that loot.
"Maybe he was a dealer. There must've been thirty or forty grand. He was what Diana called Mr. Bucks. She always told us that's what the business was about-hitting up on a hundred marks, waiting for Mr. Bucks to show.
' won't recognize him,' she'd tell us. ' you find him, it'll be a surprise. But he's out there,' she assured us.
"Catching him's the high." She was right. When I saw all that money, I felt… great. And the next thought through my head was: '! I'm not sharing this with anyone!"
Kirstin glanced quickly at Janek, perhaps embarrassed about admitting to her greed.
"I checked my watch, I was running late. I had less than twenty minutes before my pickup. I grabbed the briefcase, strode down to the lobby, then scooted through this tunnel that connects to Grand Central.
I stashed the briefcase in the baggage claim, then ran back to my pickup point. I got there just as Kim drove up."
"How did Diana find out?" Sue asked.
"I was stupid. I had to tell someone. I picked the wrong person, that's all. I hinted I'd lucked into something big to a girl I thought was my friend. She was jealous, she told Diana and when Diana heard she decided to make an example of me."
Janek glanced at Sue; she was rapt. Even as he felt revulsion, he was fascinated, too.
"First thing, she forced me to turn over my money, not just the briefcase either. She made me tell her where I kept my savings from two years on the job. Lucky for me I kept some of it hidden in this couch.
That's all I was left with. I've been living on it ever since. Basically she cleaned me out, kept half for herself and divided the rest among the others. Then she had them hold me down while she took a knife and… "
Kirstin brought her hands to her cheeks. Tears formed in her eyes.
"She cut me. She said it was to teach me a lesson. ' won't be picking up too many guys now." I think she liked doing it. She grinned when I screamed. Nobody said a word. Maybe I would have kept quiet, too, if I'd been one of them. Thanks to her, they all got rich, didn't they'."'
Kirstin wiped away her tears. "Maybe she was right. I knew the rules. I broke them. I deserved what I got." The tears began to flow again. "I just didn't think she'd go that far, that's all. I would never have done it if I'd known she'd cut me up… "
Janek was appalled, perhaps less by Kirstin's story than by her notion that somehow she had gotten what she deserved. It was a familiar paradox, the psychology of the masochist, the basis of most relationships between hookers and pimps. It never ceased to sicken him whenever he heard it expressed, especially by a victim to justify abuse by a tormentor on account of "infractions" of some phony "code of honor" devised by a psychopath to control underlings.
Sue seemed to have trouble imagining the scene. "The others helped by holding you down?"
"Two of them did. The other three turned away."
"What about the one who turned you in?"
"She held me the tightest," Kirstin said.
Sue's face was filled with indignation. "We're going to have to find Diana and put her away. What's her full name? Where does she live?"
As soon as Janek heard Sue speak, he knew she'd made a mistake. Her tone was wrong-abrupt, harsh, accusatory, when she should have been focusing on Kirstin's tragedy. Sue seemed to recognize her error; she reached out for one of Kirstin's hands. But she was too late. The dynamics had changed. Kirstin pulled her hand into her lap. It was as if she'd drawn a curtain.
"Okay," Janek said, " we don't want to tire you. You've helped us." No response. "There's just one thing." He picked up the sketch of the redhead, turned it right side up and placed it in front of Kirstin again. "I know you know her. It's okay." He studied Kirstin's eyes, detected a trace of liveliness. "We're not going to do anything to her.
But we need to talk to her. A man's been killed. She may be able to tell us how or why."
Kirstin stared down at the sketch. "We were pretty good friends."
"Can you tell us her name?"
Kirstin nodded. "Gelsey. I never knew where she lived. None of us did.
She was kind of… mysterious."
"She was one of the girls who turned away, wasn't she?"
Again Kirstin nodded. "She'd never hurt anyone."
"But she took down marks?"
"Like the rest of us."
"Anything more you can tell us?"
Kirstin looked up. "She had this thing about mirrors. It was spooky.
She could do mirror writing, too. She told me she liked writing on marks that way. ''s like signing my work,' she said."
Janek stood. He was surprised that Kirstin had been so forthcoming, and even more surprised that Gelsey had apparently used her real name with Carlson. But Kirstin had something to add:
"The night Diana cut me-that same night Gelsey quit. Way I heard it, she took off her clothes, threw them on the floor and walked. Diana was furious." Kirstin smiled. "Gelsey was her top producer."
On the way down the stairs, which were even more redolent now with the smell of fish, Sue apologized.
"I know I messed up, Frank. Sorry." "Forget it," Janek said. "We learned a lot. Kirstin obviously knows where Diana lives. She'll tell you, too, if you handle her right. Let her think about it a couple days, then come back alone and talk about yourself, your work in the Sex Crimes Unit, how you feel about things-your job, your life."
"Girl talk."
Janek nodded. "Gain her confidence again and she'll probably tell all.
Then you may get your chance to collar Diana."
In front of the fish market, he and Sue split up. She returned to Special Squad. He started walking east.
As he passed ethnic-food shops and mom-and-pop cigarette stores, he asked himself why he felt depressed instead of energized. His case was moving. Now he knew who he was looking for, had a name for his redheaded quarry. Her name was Gelsey and he even had a sense of what she might be like.
But for some reason that knowledge did not delight him. The hour spent with Kirstin had brought him down. He wanted not to think about the way she'd been deliberately scarred, the fear in which she lived, her belief that she deserved her fate, her rat-hole of an apartment, the smell of fish, the smell of a wasted life.
He didn't want to think about any of that, or that he could have been blown up inside his car, or about Mendoza, Da kin, Timmy and his demons, Sarah stirring up old regrets or his sadness that he had never fathered a child. But as much as he wanted to fasten onto something positive, he could not rid himself of the vision of Kirstin, held down tight by the other girls, staring with terror at the gleaming knife descending in Diana's hand toward the sweet pink center of her cheek.
He thought of something Luis Ortiz had said within the first few minutes of their acquaintance-that, in such difficult times in Cuba, all he had to hold on to was his honesty.
So, what have I got to hold on to? Janek asked himself. Pride in my skill? Pride in being a cop?
Approaching Forty-second Street, that particular pair of virtues didn't seem half good enough. The city was mean. He knew the worst of it, had spent the better part of his life witnessing its cruelties. But, unlike so many of his colleagues, he had never
grown inured to the malignancy.
That was, he thought, his greatest strength, and also, perhaps, his weakness. He still could feel the pain of others, and each time he did he felt his own pain, too. Kirstin had brought him closer to the hurt within, a hurt deeper and more grievous than anything Fonseca and Violetta could inflict. They had only tried to break his pride. The real damage occurred when some of that hurt he shared with the injured of the world-the Kirstins, Stiegels, even his tormentors in Havana-spewed up from the secret lake inside. When that happened, as it had that morning, the melancholy nearly overwhelmed him.
That night he got a call from Kit. Netti Rampersad had, that very afternoon, filed papers on behalf of Jake Mendoza.
"Works fast, doesn't she?" Janek said. "I suppose she wants a new trial."
You bet," Kit said. "And not only on the basis of youe Figueras affidavit. She's got something else. A homicide down in Texas. Took place three years ago. Some society woman was strung up and beaten to death just like Mrs. Mendoza. Rampersad is pleading that the similarity shows the killer is still at large. Therefore Jake's conviction shouldn't stand."
Janek had never heard of the Texas case. "Did we know about this?"
"Sure. We figured it for a copycat job. We've been in touch with the El Paso police-who still haven't solved it, by the way."
"What if it wasn't a copycat?"
"That's Rampersad's problem. Let her convince a judge."
"How'd she find out about it?"
"Probably through her partner, Rudnick. He's a digger, smart and very good."
"I met him. Wears a skullcap. Seemed nice enough."
"I don't know if he's nice. He's the kind can find a legal precedent for anything."
"What's the story on Rampersad? I never heard of her until that night in Queens."
"No one heard of her till last year when she won a big case in Rockland County. Now she's the new hot defense attorney in town. We get a couple of those every year. Actually, she's better than most."
"Still, if the Metaxas note was fake, and there's someone going around killing women the same way-then the whole goddamn case falls apart."
"Makes your head spin, doesn't it?" Kit said.
After he put down the phone, he did feel his head begin to spin. With Mendoza the possibilities were mind boggling, the permutations endless.
He tried to sleep, but couldn't. Ever since the bombing, insomnia had become a problem. Perhaps, he thought, he was afraid that if he let himself doze off, there'd be another explosion and he'd die. I guess when they kill me I want to be awake.
Still restless at one in the morning, he decided to call Timmy. He wasn't sure what he wanted from him: confrontation or friendship. What he got was banter.
Timmy, as it happened, was awake, too. He sounded as if he'd been drinking, but not so much that he was out of control.
Heard about your car, partner." Timmy's voice was sweet and sad. "Too bad. She was a nice jalopy."
I was wondering if you had something to do with her demise."
"Were you, now? And what might my motive have been?"
"Get me to stay away from Mendoza."
Timmy laughed. "If there's one thing I can think of that would keep you on Mendoza, it would probably be something like that."
"So maybe you wanted to take me out and the bomb went off early by mistake."
"Oh, that's grand, Frank. You always had a grand imagination. If you ask me, you should put it to better use."
"Is that your advice, Timmy?"
"Wanna know something? I can't believe we're having this conversation.
I must be dreaming. That's the only thing can explain it. Maybe when I wake up this whole bad dream will go away."
"That'd be nice, wouldn't it? But I wouldn't count on it… partner.
" Timmy hung up.
He and Aaron ate lunch at Aaron's favorite pizza place on East Ninth.
Aaron, who was wearing a particularly gaudy yellow and red Hawaiian shirt, insisted that pizza was "a perfect food," high in carbohydrates, low in cholesterol and a treat for the palate, too.
While they waited for their pie, Janek talked about losing his car: @'I was having this awful conversation with Sarah when I heard it blow.
Soon as I saw the wreckage I started to shake. Who the hell did this to me? Why? Then, when Kit turned up, she was so cool, I managed to calm down. Now I'm mad again, but in a different way-like a deep, cold fury.
Some jerk took away my wheels. I want to put him away for good."
"It's like you're a sheriff and an outlaw rides by and shoots your horse on the street."
Janek smiled. "Exactly!"
"So"-Aaron stretched-"when're you going to replace it?"
"I'm thinking of giving up the concept of car ownership. No more parking problems. No more insurance. Whenever I need wheels, I rent a set. The rest of the time… hell with it!"
"And don't forget, Frank-you've got loyal subordinates like me and Sue who'll chauffeur you around." Janek twisted in his seat. "Tell me something."
"Anything."
He looked away. "What're the odds an adoption agency would let me adopt a child?"
"You're serious?" Janek nodded. "Okay, I'll give it to you straight.
One, you're single. Two, you're middle-aged. Three, you're a cop.
Three strikes like that and, basically, you're out."
"That's how I figure it, too. Anyway, it probably wouldn't be a good idea. Not that I don't think I'd make a pretty good dad. It just wouldn't work out, for me or the kid." He turned back to Aaron. "Tell me about Mr. Stephen Kane."
Aaron quickly filled him in. A personnel officer in the L.A. sheriff's office remembered Kane well. Kane had worked for the department for six years, first as an investigator and then as an intelligence operative in the Industrial Espionage Division. Near the end of his tenure there'd been some trouble. Kane was suspected of acting as a double agent, feeding sensitive information back to targeted people.
There was no proof, but when two undercover informants were killed, Kane was transferred to a routine job.
"That double-agent stuff bothers me," Aaron said. "You'd think Cavanaugh over at Sonoron would have checked him out." "Maybe Cavanaugh did,"
Janek said. "Maybe Kane's just the type he wanted."
In the middle of the meal, Aaron laid a brown eight-by-ten envelope on the table, then pushed it slowly toward Janek. Janek looked at it, but didn't pick it up.
"What's that?"
"Some stuff I dug up. On my own time."
"What kind of stuff?"
"It has to do with another matter."
Janek stared at him. Aaron was embarrassed. "What's it about?" Janek asked, casually.
"Look, we're friends, right?"
"You're probably the closest friend I've got."
"So, when you're friends with someone-real friends you should feel free to be open about stuff even when you know it's going to hurt."
"Is the stuff in this envelope going to hurt?"
Aaron nodded. "Probably." He paused. "It's about Sarah and Roy Gilette, that accountant she's been living with."
Janek felt himself go tense. "They don't live together. They go out together. Occasionally he stays over. They're not kids. They're entitled to get it on like everybody else."
Aaron shook his head. "That's not how it is, Frank. He doesn't just stay over. He's moved in. His mail's delivered there. His driver's license lists him there. So do his tax returns. He doesn't live any other place."
Janek groaned. He'd suspected as much; now, he realized, he'd refused to face the fact because the thought of Gilette living with Sarah in his old house was too upsetting to deal with. Maybe that was why he'd decided not to help Sarah with the roof-if she and Gilette were cohabiting why should he pay the bill?
"I want you to know something, Frank." Aaron looked solemn. "It was not my pleasure to gather this information. But it wasn't hard to do and I felt you ought to have it. So now, if you'l
l allow me, I'll fill you in on what's been going down."
Janek nodded.
"This is going to be fairly painful, so I'm going to give it to you quick. First, Sarah no longer works at Saks. Gilette's got her on the payroll at his firm, where she pulls down forty K. Between the two of them, they're knocking down over a hundred seventy per and probably more with bonuses."
Janek winced.
"Two months ago they went to Hawaii for a two-week vacation. It wasn't one of those package deals. It was deluxe all the way. Credit-card records show they flew first class. Then they stayed at the Kahala Hilton. That's minimum three-seventy-five per night. Hear what I'm saying, Frank?"
"Yeah, I hear-goddammit!" He felt like vomiting his lunch.
"I could go on. They left one hell of a trail. It's all there in the envelope. You can follow it yourself."
"Not necessary. I get the picture." Aaron, he knew, was one of the best paper-trail detectives in the Department. Whatever he'd found would be accurate.
"As I said-this was not a pleasant task."
"I appreciate that." "Any thoughts about what you're going to do?"
"Yeah," said Janek, stretching, "I've got a few thoughts. They're flashing through my mind right now. There's this tough female attorney I met recently who seems like she likes to kick butt. Her name's Henrietta Rampersad. I'm thinking maybe I can induce her to take a swipe at Sarah's."
Aaron grinned. "I like the sound of that, Frank. Take no prisoners.
Yeah, I like that a lot."
That afternoon when he passed through the outer room of Special Squad, Ray Galindez approached, asked if he could speak to him privately.
"Sure," Janek said, motioning him into his office.
Ray stood solemnly before the desk, then he touched a corner of his mustache.
"I feel a little awkward asking this. I want to make it easy for you to say no."
"Maybe the best move is just to ask, Ray. If it's about a transfer, you know that won't be a problem."
Ray grinned. "It's not about a transfer, Frank. It's about being godfather to my child. Grecia and I talked it over last night. We'd be honored if you'd agree to stand with us at the christening."
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