The Ashes of an Oak (2 page)

Mrs Dybek chuckled. ‘You look like Frank Sinatra,’ she said.

‘Yeah? That’s my nickname around here. Sinatra.’ He took the hat off and showed it to Mrs Dybek. ‘Do you know that that’s the exact same hat that Frank wore on the cover of
Songs for Swingin’ Lovers
back in fifty-six?’

‘Is it really?’

‘Yeah. And you know what?’

‘What?’ asked Mrs Dybek.

‘My singing’s almost as good as my drawing.’ He put the hat back on. ‘You stay there Mrs Dybek while I go and get you that ride.’

Chapter 2

The tan Plymouth Fury growled as Steve Wayt took it as fast as he dared down Pitkin.

They passed Pine Street. There was still a tang of burnt wood in the air after the March fire. Frank didn’t think it would ever go away. Whether it was imagined or real, the smell would never go away. It was a part of history now, as indelible as a tattoo. Another scar upon the land, another layer of sediment upon which to raise a new world.

There had been many fires that year. Someone was playing with matches. The whole place was tinder. Frank wondered what else was to come. It hadn’t finished yet, he was certain of that.

‘Pull over,’ he said.

Steve pulled over next to a crowd, behind a squad car. Among the dots of bright reds and greens, T-shirts and shorts, jeans and flimsy skirts, Frank could see two uniforms holding people back, arms out, calmly asking them to take a couple of steps back. It was a well-practised routine.

Frank went over and pushed through the crowd. Steve followed.

Frank headed to a large black patrolman. ‘What have we got, Jim?’

Jim Baker pushed the crowd back again and rolled his eyes as they two steps forward again. He turned to Frank. ‘A dead man, Frank. We have a dead man.’

‘No shit! Any I.D.?’

Jim took the dead man’s wallet out of his pocket and handed it to Frank. It was faded crocodile skin that at some time someone thought would look good in cherry red. ‘His name is Robinson Taylor. We know him. Uses and deals.’

Frank looked at the inert bundle that lay at the foot of someone’s steps. He’d been covered by a blanket from the back of the patrol car. ‘Any idea what happened?’

‘Well, I’m no detective you understand, but I think the enormous stab wound to the abdomen may have had something to do with it.’

Frank shook his head. ‘You see, this is why you’ll never make a detective, Jim. You aren’t funny. Wagon on its way?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Forensics?’

Jim nodded.

Frank turned to Steve. ‘Shall we take a look?’

Steve curled his lip. ‘Do we have to?’

‘No,’ said Frank. ‘But I think we ought to.’ He turned back to Jim. ‘Do me a favour and clear the area would you? At least thirty feet.’ He took out a cigarette and lit it.  ‘Christ! You’d think they’d seen this show a thousand times already.’

Steve shrugged. ‘Same show, new cast. Always pulls the crowds.’

They both knelt down next to the body. The grey blanket had already soaked up more blood than it could cope with. A bullseye had appeared in its centre.

Frank lifted the blanket and they both looked beneath it. ‘Jesus, Jim. You said a stab wound. This is a medical class going on here.’

Jim pursed his lips. ‘I guess that’s why I’m not a detective, Frank,’ he shouted. ‘It’s those little details that I tend to miss.’

Robinson Taylor had been opened up from his groin to his sternum. His shirt had been cut like tissue paper and, like some landed fish, his guts had tipped out and lay on the pavement next to him. A pool of overripe blood lay in the wound. The stench of faeces and blood bit at Frank’s nostrils and rested on the back of his tongue.

Steve took out a cigarette and lit it to get rid of the taste and smell. ‘That’s just very unfuckingnecessary,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to stab someone, do it, but don’t stand in the middle of Pitkin and play doctor.’ He gagged and turned away.

Before Frank dropped the blanket he took a look at the face. Not even his own mother would recognise the man now. His thin, bloodless lips fell across his teeth, which suddenly seemed too big for his mouth, like slugs, while his half-closed eyes saw nothing and gave nothing out. His pinched nose was as waxen and pale as the rest of his face.

‘I’m willing to bet nobody saw it either,’ he said. He went back to Jim. ‘Anybody come forward?’

An ambulance pulled up. The paramedics climbed down and went to the body. They took one look, exchanged a couple of words and returned to the cab.

‘Nobody seems to have seen a thing,’ said Jim. He pointed at the crowd. ‘But feel free to ask.’

Frank sighed. ‘You still aren’t funny.’

Frank cast an eye at the crowd. He wanted to slap every single one of their faces and tell them to stop feeding off the remnants, but they were remoras, grabbing the sharks’ leftovers in this litter-strewn, grey, cavity of decay. If there was one thing that was going to make them feel alive, that would sustain them through the day, it was someone else’s death.

‘You,’ said Frank. He crooked a finger at a middle-aged black man who was more likely than not wondering where the hell he was going to get his next fix now that the shop had closed. ‘What did you see?’

‘Nothing.’ The man didn’t take his eyes from the blanket.

‘You know this man?’

The man shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Then there’s no point you being here is there. Give your name to the officer and beat it. Hey, Tanner.’ The uniformed cop came over. ‘Take this guy’s name and send him on his way. In fact, take everybody’s name and get them the fuck out of here.’

Tanner stuck out a thick hand and pulled the man over.

Frank shook his head hopelessly. Same toilet, different shit. Brownsville.

It was the same day over and over. He rolled the figures over in his mind. They were tattooed on his brain that he could see on the back of his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes to sleep at night. He was stained. Nearly nineteen hundred murders in New York last year. Five thousand rapes, fifty-seven thousand assaults, one hundred and fifty thousand violent crimes. We haven’t evolved, he thought. We like to pretend we have, but we’re just a hair’s breadth away from being the animals we really are. We still leave out scent one way or another, we’re still driven by the need to eat and fuck and we’d still kill to get that last piece of meat.

Some people said that the difference between us and the animals was the ability to reason. In his book that was called premeditated. That was it. All these people and not one of them gave a damn about the other. They just fed off each other and when the table was empty, moved onto some other poor bastard.

He looked across the street and someone caught his eye. It was male, about six feet, white. He couldn’t see his face because he had a hat on, the brim pulled low over his eyes and casting a shadow over his face. He wore black shoes and a sharp dark grey suit. His legs crossed over at the ankles. He was relaxed. The man leaned against the wall, looking at the scene across the road from himself. He had one hand in his pocket while the other hung by his side.

Frank stared at him. He wasn’t waiting for a ride; he would’ve been watching the road. He wasn’t outside a shop waiting for it to open. What the hell?

‘Jim,’ called Frank. Jim came over and followed Frank’s pointed finger. ‘You know that guy?’

‘Which guy, Frank?’

The guy in the suit…’ He was gone. In as long as it took for a bus to go buy, the man had disappeared. ‘Never mind,’ said Frank.

‘Forensics are here,’ said Jim.

‘Okay.’ Frank stepped into the road and walked between the angry cars. He headed straight for where the man had been standing and looked at the ground. There was nothing. He stepped right and went into an alley. There was no one. He looked up at the fire escapes and strolled down passed some dumpsters. There were signs of humanity; needles and empty bags, candy wraps, food and discarded clothing, but there was no one down there.

He came back out of the alley and walked back across the street.

‘Where’d you go?’ asked Steve.

‘Thought I saw someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Just some guy taking an interest, that’s all.’

They walked back though the circle of vultures. Frank could smell the sweat on them. ‘Tanner,’ he pleaded. ‘Please, get these people out of here.’ Another unit pulled up. The uniforms got straight into the fray and started to move the crowd. He grabbed Steve’s arm. ‘Let’s go. There aren’t going to be any surprises here.’

‘Sure,’ said Steve.

Frank took one more look across the road at where the man in the suit had been. The place seemed emptier without him, like something was missing.

They climbed into the Plymouth and headed back to the precinct.

‘Hey, Sinatra. The Captain wants to see you.’ The desk sergeant, message delivered, went back to his work. His shirt was dark blue with sweat.

Frank and Steve walked up the stairs to the second floor. The place was busy and twice as hot as when they left. Frank didn’t think it could smell any worse, but the stench was crushing. 

Steve led the way. ‘Captain first then paperwork, okay?’

He knocked on Captain Diehl’s door and they were beckoned in. They sat down while he finished on the phone. It always amazed Frank at how softly-spoken Emmet Diehl was. He never seemed to raise his voice or display anger in any way. It was almost as if he was happy to let the world talk and he would chip in at the first silence and see what happened after that.

‘What you got?’ asked Diehl.

‘Stabbing on Pitkin,’ said Frank. ‘Nasty.’

‘Any clues?’

‘Well, he was bleeding a lot.’

Diehl looked wearily at the detective. ‘It’s very hot in here, Frank. Unlike you, I don’t have a window out of which I can throw myself to a quick and merciful death.’

Frank crossed his legs and held up his hands. ‘Sorry, Em. Dead dealer. Robinson Taylor. He got opened up.’

‘Like a fish,’ added Steve.

‘So, I ask again,’ said Diehl. ‘Any clues?’

‘Nobody saw or heard anything,’ said Frank. ‘Those thousand people that walked past the body while it lay bleeding on the pavement didn’t even notice it. In fact, they didn’t notice it until the uniforms turned up. Then they couldn’t get enough of it.’

‘We asked around,’ said Steve in the hope that it would give Frank a chance to draw breath. ‘They were all sightseers. Jim Baker, the uniform, knew the deceased. He didn’t express surprise.’

The Captain raised his eyebrows. ‘Jim Baker doesn’t show surprise. I’m not sure Jim Baker shows anything.’ He closed a buff folder and stood and filed it in a cabinet.

Frank stood up. ‘Is that it?’

Diehl gestured at him to sit down again. ‘No. You two know Violet Dybek?’

‘Sure we do,’ said Frank. ‘She’s in three, four times a week. Came in this morning. Something about a stranger in her apartment the last couple of nights. I got Reeger to take her home and do a search and said me and Steve would drop by later to see if we could find anything.’ He leaned forward as he sniffed the air. ‘Smells like tuna in here.’

Diehl looked impressed. ‘I’ve brought tuna sandwiches today. That’s a good sense of smell you have there, Frank.’

Frank screwed up his face. ‘It’s like I can smell everything today. It’s crazy.’

‘Probably the heat,’ said Steve. ‘Everything smells worse in the heat.’

The Captain snapped his fingers. ‘Yeah, that’ll be it.’

‘Then bring on winter,’ said Frank. ‘Mrs Dybek, Emmet?’

Diehl leaned back and scratched at the back of his head. ‘She’s dead, Frank.’

Frank instinctively went for his cigarettes. ‘What the hell happened?’

‘She took a dive over the railings in her apartment building. Fell four floors.’

‘Well, that’s just shit,’ said Frank.

Steve too lit a cigarette. ‘I’ll say. I didn’t think she could be killed.’

‘Do you mind?’ snapped Frank.

‘Sorry, Frank. She was feisty and scary.’

Frank growled. ‘You want us to go out?’

‘You up for it?’

‘Damned right I’m up for it. Five years that woman’s been coming up here. We were probably the only people she trusted.’

‘Mike Patton and Bob Simmons have it at the moment. Go to the scene, get up to date and tell them to come back. I’ll reassign them.’

‘Okay.’

Diehl picked up his mug and realised it was empty. It had a picture of a Chihuahua on it. Emmet and his wife were crazy about the damned things.  ‘Sorry, guys. I know you liked her. You’re kindness didn’t go unnoticed.’

‘Yeah,’ said Frank. ‘Lot of good it did her.’ Frank put a hand on Steve’s arm. ‘Could you give me a minute, Steve? I just want a quiet moment with the Captain.’

‘Sure, Frank. I’ll be outside.’

Frank waited for the door to close.

‘What’s up?’ asked Diehl.

Frank took a long ruminative drag on his Camel. ‘I think I want to retire.’

Diehl frowned. ‘You think?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Any reason?’

‘Thirty years’ worth.’

‘Specifically, Frank.’

Frank paused like a horse that had reached a high fence. ‘This guy, Robinson Taylor. I saw his face today.’

‘Well, of course you did.’

‘No, I mean, I really saw it.’ Frank shifted uncomfortably. ‘I stopped looking at the faces a long time ago, Emmet. I realised it did no good. All those deaths, all those people, were just labels; a stabbing, a shooting, a strangling. They became verbs, statistics, a mess to clean up. It was like society had thrown up and we were the mop.’