Saints Of New York (10 page)

'Well, I have to
love you and leave you now, but tomorrow we'll talk about Lufthansa, and the
better part of six million dollars they took from an airline hangar. Up to then
it was the largest heist ever in the history of the United States.'

'And your
father—'

'That was a
Saints job right from the get-go. And that explains why they only ever
recovered a hundred thousand dollars out of the six million, and why the vast
majority of the people involved in it wound up dead, and no-one - not one
single person - has ever been arrested or charged with those murders.'

'Okay, so you
tell me tomorrow. And what is happening with your current cases Frank? The dead
girl and her brother?'

'We have to go
to work on that today. I have to find her friends, the people she spent her
time with.'

'Here in
Brooklyn?'

'Williamsburg.'

'She's important
to you, isn't she? The girl that was strangled?'

'I don't know.
Maybe. I'm not sure what to think about it. Yesterday I saw the woman who took
care of her after her parents died. A good woman. She's gonna get some shit for
not coloring inside the lines, but that's always the way with these situations.

Someone gets hurt, and they can't just
leave it at that. The people on the edges have to get hurt as well.'

'You sound like you're taking it
personally.'

'No, not really. I'm just a little
bitter when it comes to such things.'

'So she has become important to you.
Finding out what happened, I mean. More than would be the case usually.'

'Maybe it has. Hell, she's turning up in
my dreams, isn't she?

The rain came without warning,
and by the time Parrish and Radick reached the outskirts of Williamsburg it was
pounding down on the roof of the car.

They sat for a while, hoping it
would ease off.

'We do the school first, right?'
Radick asked.

'Sure. I called the principal and
he's expecting us.'

'And anything more on Danny
Lange's friends?'

'Danny Lange didn't have any
friends.' Parrish turned and looked at Radick. 'You did Narco, Jimmy. You know
how this goes. Junkies are a breed all their own. Addiction is stronger than
any loyalty. Friends, family, it all goes by the board. The only thing that
will get any of his compadres or associates talking is money.'

'You have money?'

'Don't worry about it,' Parrish
replied.

At eleven they left the car and
hurried across the street. They checked in at the front lobby, waited for
someone to come collect them, and then made their way through a maze of
bi-colored hallways to the principal's office.

The principal got up as they were
shown in.

'Frank Parrish. We talked on the
phone.'

'Of course.'

'This is my partner, Jimmy
Radick.'

Radick extended his hand.

'David Carlisle.' Carlisle walked
around his desk. 'Please,'
he
said,
'take a seat.'

Parrish asked the usual
questions. Carlisle wasn't defensive.

'I have six hundred students
here, Detective. I do my damnedest to keep track of all of them, but it's
simply not possible twenty-four seven. Rebecca didn't show for school on Monday
morning—'

'She
didn't show on Monday?'

'Right.
She was here last Friday, and then didn't appear Monday morning.'

'And
you contacted her guardian?' Radick asked.

'I'm
afraid that's where we fell down, Detective. Strictly speaking we should have
called, but we did not. We had a couple of teachers away on a course, we had
subs in . . .' Carlisle shook his head wearily.

'But
you called on Tuesday?' Parrish said.

'Rebecca's
father called us.'

'Her
father?'

'Yes,'
Carlisle said. 'Her father called Student Reception on Tuesday, told them that
Rebecca had been ill on Monday, would be back on Wednesday. Then later that day
we got a call from this woman, Helen Jarvis, and she said she was Rebecca's
legal guardian. That was when Reception informed me of the situation. I didn't
tell Miss Jarvis that the girl's father had called, I just called the police
immediately. They told me that they had some information on it, and they were
waiting for the guardian to file a Missing Persons Report. I then checked our
records and we had Helen Jarvis listed as Rebecca's mother, not her guardian.
It's not that uncommon to find mothers and daughters with different surnames
these days.'

'And
did you tell the police about the call from the girl's father?'

'Yes
I did.'

Radick
was taking notes, and then he looked up at Carlisle. Carlisle was confronting
the fact that he had a great deal more to deal with than a missing student.

'She
didn't come in on Tuesday because she was already dead,' Parrish said
matter-of-factly. 'We can only assume now that her killer called in and posed
as her father to delay any alarm being raised about Rebecca's disappearance.'

'Dead?'
Carlisle echoed. 'Oh my God . . .'

'She
was dead on Monday,' Parrish repeated.

'Oh
my good God almighty . . .'

'And
whoever called on Tuesday saying that he was the girl's father wasn't her
father at all,' Radick said. 'We need to know who you spoke to and at which
precinct.'

'Yes
. . . er . . . yes, of course. Oh this is terrible. This is truly terrible. I
don't know what to say.'

'There
isn't a great deal you
can
say, Principal Carlisle. The details of whoever you spoke to at the police
precinct would be really appreciated.'

'Yes
... I think his name was Trevitt. I'll see to it now.'

 
Later, so many more hours of talking this
thing back and forth,

 
Parrish sent Radick home for the night.
Parrish took the subway to his apartment, called Eve when he got there and was
directed to voicemail. That meant she had a client.

He
finished a fifth of Bushmills by nine, and went out for another.

He
watched TV when he returned. Thought to call Caitlin but decided against it.
She would know he'd been drinking and bitch at him for his own good. If it was
for his own good how come it felt so bad when she did it?

He
tried to focus on Rebecca's motives, her methods, her opportunities. He tried
to imagine what might have possessed her to skip school and come to Brooklyn.
He knew it wasn't just her brother. He knew it was something else.

He
fell asleep on the couch just after eleven. He didn't wake until five and the
TV was still on.

'So
what makes you think she was into something?'

 
'Her brother, and the fact that she took off
from school and came here to Brooklyn. That, and the way she looked . . . her
nails, her hair. Her guardian, this Helen Jarvis, said she never used nail
varnish and her hair was cut long, but when she died her hair was short. I was
up thinking about it last night, and the only idea I had was that maybe Danny got
her hooked up with someone. Someone who had money. Maybe he was using her in
some way . . .'

'He
would have done that to his own sister?'

'You
don't know junkies.'

'Okay,
but why don't you think she was kidnapped-'

'Because
kidnap victims are tied up and beaten usually, and the sex isn't consensual,
it's forced. It's rape, and she wasn't raped. She'd had sex, but there were no
signs of physical violence, nothing to indicate she'd been held against her
will. Truth is, I don't know what to say. Maybe it was an older lover, a man
with money . . . maybe there was someone who could afford to have her get a
haircut and a manicure.'

'You
just don't know, right?'

'I
just don't know.'

'So
what now?'

'Me
and Radick ... we get to canvass the beauty salons and hair salons and nail
manicure places in Brooklyn and Williamsburg. We take a picture around and see
if anyone recognizes her.'

'How's
it going with your new partner?'

'He's
okay.'

'Different
from the last one.'

'They're
all different. That's how people are.'

'The
last one died, didn't he?'

'Yeah,
he died.'

'Do
you want to say anything about that?'

'No,
I don't want to say anything about that.'

'Okay,
Frank, I understand . . . So . . . you were going to tell me about the
Lufthansa heist.'

'I
was. But first I have to tell you about the airport system and the Saints
themselves. You have to get a little bit of the back story on this thing
otherwise it won't make sense.'