Mitchell Smith (65 page)

Then into the great hall again, past the glorious lilies, and left onto the grand staircase, and up.

At the top of the stairs-she’d felt the tiny pressures of the butterfly bandages against the soles of her feet as she’d climbed-Ellie walked left down the passage to the Andre Meyer Galleries, went to visit Degas’

little ballerina, and then commenced her accustomed round of miracles observed-surprised and pleased, as usual, that she was able to understand the strokes they’d used, comprehend very well the colors . .

. puzzled and annoyed that the unity of each scheme had not suggested itself to her.

She spent two hours in that gallery—rushed, as usual, when it came to the French landscapists at the rear-then walked back to the picture she almost always saved for last. Her apple trees, by Monet. An apple orchard in late spring . . . two small, propped trees closest, in the middle ground, exploding silently into pink-white, blue-white, green-white blossoms on a sunny day, but not a brilliant day. A breezy day, but with no strong wind. The small trees marched away to the right up a gentle slope, each blossom caught, every shade of green in the shivers of the light. Ellie imagined herself in the painter’s day.

Herself in a white dress, in the picture. -An American friend of a friend, and asked casually if she’d care for a i , day in the country-if she wouldn’t be bored, Had sad in her poor French, “Bien s4r, ” and been included . . .

helped pack the lunch-long, thin loaves, a tomato salad with basil, fresh dill, a fat cold spiced sausage, two small round sweating cheeses from the village, a cold dressed hen roasted the night before, and little white frosted cakes, also from the village (baked by a Madame Davouste, nervous, thin, ancient and mustached). Had gone out in the spring morning with the others, sitting at the side of the slow-wheeling wagon, swaying on cracked leather horsehair cushions, listening to the musical mysteries of French, their swift trilling talk. Then, hours later, after a lunch of hours, while something else was painted, had walked a steep, sunny path to the little orchard. There, sweating slightly in her long white-lawn dress (ruffled at the throat), sleepy from wines barely in the bottle, she had lain down in the shady orchard grass, head on her arm, her long hair escaped as she dreamed of home . .

.

and wakened to laughter-the others watching as he painted her among her apple trees.

“I wish to apologize to you, personally, Sergeant.”

The Colonel lay in disarray-white shirt, beige slacks, and black socks only—on the spare bed. He’d checked out and moved down from the Algonquin, and was drunk.

… An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth was the quotation I was given by our lords and masters, when I told them I’d been informed by our source that our friends in blue were apparently not yet discouraged, were M still digging for those two witnesses. I reminded them this M

game was getting quite expensive . . . asked them if they A were going to give us any help at all. . . .”

“M-Tucker had had reason to suspect before-that teary I funeral in the campo behind El Paraiso-that the Colonel, silly in so many ways, felt personally responsible for his men. Tucker suspected as well that his Colonel, though physically quite brave, had no strength for bearing losses.

A tender officer, a cracked vessel. -This consideration gave the sergeant such a surge of pleasure, so deep a joy, he couldn’t conceive a reasonable source for it.

His object now sighed, said, “And the letters, Tuck -revealing a . . .

rolled over to turn his face to the wall, slack and aging bottom in pleated pants-and added, “For God’s sake . . . please be careful.

The arraignment started only an hour late-surprising almost everyone, and causing a small bustle in the hall outside number nineteen. This was a modern room, dropceilinged, indirectly fit, the benches padded, colorful (light blue), and even less comfortable than the ‘dark, solid wooden brutes they replaced. Ellie-who’d been talking in the corridor with a cop named Sarakian, an almost elderly officer in permanent service to the courts-hurried in with a small chatty crowd of reporters, mildly interested in what reporter Avril Reedy classified as a four pussy case (victim, killers, and cop) and rare as a four-leaf clover.

Reedy had talked to Ellie-catching her as she walked into the courthouse-and asked for some details (with as much gravy as possible) on the two lesbo thrill killers.

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Ellie said.

“I didn’t ask you what it was like, honey. -I want you to tell me what it could have been like, with lots of gravy.”

“I’m not commenting on the case, Avril,”

“Not very good. Not very cooperative, Detective Klein. -Don’t you want a friendly press?”

“More than you know.”

“Meaning? -What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Is your no-longer-chicken but still shapely ass in some sort of sling?”

“Not that I know of.”

” ‘Not that you know of . . .7’

As she walked away, Reedy called after her, “Sorry about Tommy, honey.-He was one of the good ones.”

The arraigning magistrate was a black woman, Margaret Baxley, and she didn’t appear to intend to waste much time with it. She called the Assistant D.A., a big, blond young man named Richter, who had a hiprolling limp and used an aluminum cane; he called Ellie and swore her, and Ellie answered his questions-one, two, three. He’d done his homework. All through this, Rebecca, in a dark blue dress (no jewelry permitted), sat beside her attorneys thin, balding young man Ellie didn’t know-and smiled at Ellie encouragingly (exposing two broken teeth), made confirmatory faces, once rolled her eyes in disbelief, and gave the thumbs-up sign (her hands bandaged) as Ellie left the chair.

Susan Margolies, seated separately at the table’s other end, sat in a dark gray suit, her head down, and didn’t answer when Birnbaum, sitting beside, spoke to her. A man and woman sat just behind them in spectators’ seats, uneasy-the man resembling Susan a good deal. -Her son, Ellie thought . . . and couldn’t remember the name.

Having ordered the defendants held on a charge of murder in the first-no motion for bail being considered, though both attorneys made that plea-Judge Baxley remanded the defendants to the custody of the state in a rapid Brooklyn patter at odds with her-ponderous body, her deliberate manner of moving onto the bench-and now, after a snappy rap of her gavel-off it. Friday, late, was not a favored time for judicial duty.

Rebecca first, then Su ‘ , were led away through a san side door by stocky women in blue skirts and white blouses—Rebecca looking over at Ellie, mouthing, Come . . . see . . . me . . . as she went through the door.

“I’m sorry,” Todd Birnbaum said. “I hope you don’t think I’m being ungrateful in representing Susan. . . .”

He’d persisted through the casual crowd, and caught Ellie at the door.

“No, I don’t-“

“She’s such an old friend. -It would have been too cruel not to.”

“Counselor-it doesn’t bother me at all. Susan’s entitled to be represented-and who by, is none of my business,”

“O.K. -I just didn’t want you to think I was being an asshole. . . .”

“I don’t-“

“You’re not the asshole here, buddy,” Leahy said, the fat man having appeared and taken Ellie by the arm.

“The asshole around here’s somebody else entirely.

ut of the crowd, -Excuse us. He tugged Ellie o ‘ started her down the corridor toward the stairs, walking beside her without talking, then took her arm again to steer her to a space past several phones. There was no one near them.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. . . .”

“Don’t even say that,” Leahy said. He was wearing his trench coat, its blue complementing his eyes’ light, furious color. “-Shit like that is just a waste of time. What do you have? You have some idea doin’ this Gaither thing makes you special around here? Makes’it so you can go an’

fuck up a major investigation, ‘cause the guy was your partner? You think that, you been watchin’ too much TV. You understand me? -You are headin’ right for a Departmental trial, and I’ll tell you something-you earned it. You got me in bad trouble; you made the whole Squad look lousy.”

“But I got something up there.

“You got shit.”

“I know where their witness is-is that shit?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to? I’m your fuckin’ commander. -You lie to me?”

“I’m not lying.” Two lawyers walked past them, arguing, briefcases swinging at their sides.

“-No? Anderson just happened to tell me Connors asked you if you got anything—guy was willin’ to let you walk! “

“I didn’t tell him.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t tell him.”

“If I tell you-what then?”

“Oooh . . . you gotta be out of your mind! What’s the matter with you? What am I dealin’ with here? -The change of life, or what?”

Ellie laughed. It was a relief to be able to laugh.

“Ha, ha-you think that’s funny? Well, I got news for you, you better come up with something’ medical, or you could lose your shield over this. I already tried you were still in shock from that scramble you had yesterday-an’ let me tell you, Anderson didn’t buy that one for a minute. Oh-an’ there’s something’ else. Anderson wants those letters that whore wrote her kid. He wants ‘ein right up in his office-but quick.”

“But there’s no need-“

“Don’t give me that. -Just obey a fuckin’ order for once!”

“But I promised I wouldn’t-unless we needed it.

There’s no evidence in there for a court, Lieutenant there’s just some personal stuff that would be embarrassing for her daughter. Stuff that doesn’t need to be on the public record!”

“That’s great-that’s what you want me to tell Anderson, so he can tell the Chief?”

“I don’t care.”

” 7 don’t care. Who the hell do you think you are-fuckin’ Joan of Arc?

You think because we worry about you, you get cut up-what do you think?

You think you’re different from everybody else ‘cause you got tits an’

you lost a partner? You better wise up, lady. You are a policewoman-and you obey your orders, or you get your ass off this police force. Period!’

“I don’t think I’m better-“

“You shut up. You said enough.”

“The witness is in Vineland-“

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”

“Vineland, New Jersey, It’s Maurice Garrison; he works at DiNunzio . .

. Produce . . . something.”

“Christ - - - Thanks a lot,” Leahy s-aid, his fat face flushed. A really appreciate your shittin’ on my shoes like this. You had to tell me-right?”

“-And I’ll say you ordered me not to interfere in Tommy’s thing in any way. . . . You take it to Connors, Lieutenant.”

“Great. I see. It’s all right if I make an asshole out of myself, tellin’ Michael Connors his business. -You didn’t want to do that, I notice. You got a habit, you know, lettin’ other people take the shit for you. . - - This Gaither thing is the ‘one an’ only you did on your own-and now you fucked up with Connors, stickin’ your nose in where you didn’t have any business.”

Ellie said nothini.

“So? What’s this-‘no wise-ass answer? No excuses … ?

Well, I got news for You-tomorrow mornin’ eight-thirty on the dot, you’re going’ to be up in Anderson’s office talkin’ to Connors again.

That guy in Vineland an’ all the other shit you got to say. You-not me, an’ not anybody else, either.”

A don’t trust him. . . . I think it was cops—”

“Oh, please, please don’t give me that ‘cops’ shit!”

Leahy paused as a group of people came by . . . jurors, they looked like. “-I think Tommy got that all wrong, an’ I think you got it all wrong. An’ when you’re talkin’ about not trustin’ Connors, I know you’re full of it. I know about Connors. Everybody knows about that guy. —Connors would book his mother, he caught her playin’ wrong bingo.

The guy’s so fuckin’ honest he’s a royal pain in the ass! -You can’t trust him, let me tell you, you can’t trust nobody.”

Leahy turned to go, then turned again. “You get up to Anderson tomorrow-eight-thirty. An’ I don’t mean eight-thirty-one! An’ even if you kiss enough ass up there you don’t get bumped, I don’t want to see you in the Squad for anyway a week. You had enough fuckin’

congratulations in there. You had maybe too much; maybe we been treatin’ you like a fuckin’ baby in there-‘you will do this, you won’t do that-so Tommy had to work for the both of you, sometimes. You think I don’t notice who’s in that office getting’ the shit work done? -You been ridin’ free a long time, lady’-and lumbered swiftly away to the head of the stairs, and on down them, the tail of his blue trench coat flapping behind him.

“Detective Klein?”

Ellie, her face hot, knowing she must be blushing, turned and saw the young Assistant D.A. some distance down the hall. He must have stayed back when he’d heard the tone of Leahy’s voice.

“Yes … ?”

He walked over in his rolling, dipping gait, leaning heavily on the cane. “I didn’t want to interrupt .

“I was getting my butt kicked, Mr. Richter.”

“Happens to the best of us. . . .” Richter said. “I thought the boss was going to murder me last week. I forgot to prepare an indictment.”

just plain forgot it,” He was trying to make her feel better.

“What can I do for you?”

“Two things. I need to go over the case with you, step by step-not the paperwork, that was very complete. I mean the little things . . .

what you felt about each defendant, what made you particularly suspicious of them …. anything specific they said, even if it doesn’t seem germane.

In other words, anything you have that you didn’t put on paper. Point is, you knew them before they were defendants-before they had lawyers. I need to know what they were like, then. -It’s fill-in, shouldn’t take long……

“O, K.”

“That was the first thing. The second thing is, I’d like to cover this stuff over a drink. -This is not a pass; I’m married. I’ve just had a long day … and I’m buying.”