Read Saints Of New York Online
Authors: R.J. Ellory
Saints Of New York (17 page)
'Look,
Marie: if I tell them, it becomes official. These old cases become new
workload. If I get nowhere with them I wind up with another five unclosed cases
on my list, and that doesn't look so good. If I say nothing and nothing happens
with them, then it's not a problem. No-one loses. I also avoid any possibility
of generating ill-will with the other guys.'
'And
if you solve the cases?'
'Well,
I would hope that my fellow homicide detectives would be big enough to
recognize that a solved case is a lot more important than who did it or how.'
'I
imagine your superiors would think that, but I'm really not at all sure your
colleagues will agree with you.'
'We'll
see. The only important thing right now is whether or not the cases come to
anything, whether there is a link between them.'
'Are
you hoping that there is?'
'You're
damn right I am.'
'So
you can get a commendation?'
'No!
For God's sake, you think this is what it's about?'
'I
don't know what this is about, Frank. That's why I'm asking.'
'It's
about my job. It's about what I'm in the PD for. Because there's actually very
little that's more important than stopping the people who do this kind of
thing.'
'You
believe that?'
'Sure,
don't you?'
'We're
not asking about me.'
'Sure
I believe it. If I didn't, then I wouldn't do the job. I would have quit by
now, especially after all this recent bullshit.'
'What,
particularly?'
'All
of it. My
partner ...
all of this crap during the past six months.'
'Do
you feel angry about it?'
'I
don't feel angry, no. Disbelief perhaps . . . disbelief, and the same thing
that everyone goes through when . . .'
'When
what?'
'When
something happens, something like this. Going back over it time and again. What
could I have done? How could it have turned out differently? Over and over and
over in your mind.' 'Have you been made to feel that you were responsible for
what happened to your partner?'
'Sure.
Well, no . . . not like that. Not directly. I
was
responsible, we both were, but this is
what we do. This is what the job
is.'
'But
the people that evaluate liability in these situations are police themselves.
These are people who've also been in the firing line.'
'Sure
they have, I know that, but until you're there, until you're right inside the
situation you can't make a judgement. Every situation is different, and no-one
is equipped for the kind of decisions you have to make in such scenarios.'
'So
you do what you think is right at the time.'
'Yeah.
And then you review and regret and repent at your leisure, after the fact.'
'Do
you regret the decision to leave him back there by himself?'
'How
can I? I didn't have a choice, did I? Whichever way I look at it, I don't see
there could have been a different outcome. That doesn't change the fact that
I'll be thinking about it forever. But I know two things for sure. First,
because of what we did, two people are dead and thirty-four are alive; and the
second thing, the most important thing as far as I'm concerned, is that if the
positions had been reversed then he would have done the same.'
'You're
sure of that?'
'Absolutely.'
'Do
you want to tell me what happened that day?'
'No.'
'Because?'
'Because
we still have to talk about Lufthansa. We're talking about my father, and until
we're done talking about him I don
't
really want to
talk about anything else.'
'Okay.
So start talking.'
'I
can't. I'm real sorry, but I have to meet Jimmy Radick, and
we
have
a squad briefing at ten.'
'Tomorrow
then.'
'Tomorrow
it is.'
'One
question before you go.'
'Shoot.'
'How
much did you drink over the weekend?'
'Oh,
I don't know . . . probably just about enough to get
me
through
'til today.'
Parrish
picked up the phone, chased the Lange tox test again.
He
wanted to ensure that it got done before she was sewn up and shipped out to the
big hereafter.
Jimmy
Radick seemed agitated, and as soon as Frank came off the phone he told him
that Valderas had been snooping around.
'Saying
what?'
Radick
shrugged. 'The usual shit, you know. How is the caseload? How is Frank? What
are you working on? When do we see daylight on some of these files? The stuff
all squad sergeants say.'
'And
you told him what?'
'The
non-denial denial. We're following up leads, had something promising and it
turned out not to be so good . . . got things to move on today. We should have
something solid before too long. I didn't say anything about Karen Pulaski.'
Parrish
leaned forward. 'By itself, I don't see where this thing is going to go. I have
one other guy I want to speak to, an old-time friend of Danny Lange's. He lives
over the other side of the expressway. I thought of him when I was coming in
this morning. He goes way back to when Danny was just a corner boy. We go see
him, and if that comes to nothing then we're going to have to go wider.'
'Let's
get out of here then,' Radick said. 'Anything's better than sitting around
waiting for Valderas to come back and bust my balls.'
Wayne
Thorson, called Swede for as long as anyone could recall, lived in the kind of
place that most people rarely saw. A mess of semi-derelict tenements amidst
Harper Street, Dean and Van Sneed. A place where the smell of the piers and
Upper New York Bay, that rank and fetid funk, came away on your clothes, in
your hair, in your mouth. The kind of place if people were born there they got
out fast, and if they didn't make it they spent the whole of their lives
wishing they had. Parrish had not been down there for a year or more, Radick for
longer. He sat in the car, quiet, a thoughtful expression on his face, once
again trying to understand how people could live like this. This was just
another image he would try so hard to forget but knew he would always remember.
'What
shoes you got on?' Parrish asked. 'Needles all over the stairs. You don't want
to go down there with sneakers.'
'I'm
okay,' Radick replied. 'Proper shoes today.'
'Let's
go then.'
Swede
wore green Marine Corps pants and a tee-shirt that had forgotten how it was to
be clean. Opening the apartment door just an inch or two sent the stench of
overflowing ashtrays, stale beer, weed, puke, sweat and apathy out to the
hallway.
'Aah
fuck, now what? Frank motherfucking Parrish. Can you not let it alone?'
Parrish
smiled. He raised his hand and pushed on the door and Swede stepped back to let
him in.
'A
year,' Parrish said. 'Has to be. Jesus, you look good, Swede. Man, you look
well. Best I ever seen you look. And you remembered my name? I'm honored,
Swede, real honored.'
'Fuck
off, Frank.'
Radick
went in after Parrish, down the narrow, lightless hallway into a room that was
nothing more than stripped walls, dirty windows, mattresses on the floor. A
cheap stereo box sat in
the
corner,
surrounding it a small army of empty bottles, burger cartons and newspapers.
There was nowhere to sit aside from
the
stained
and damp mattresses.
'So
I'm looking out for Danny,' Parrish said.
'Heard
he got done.'
'You
heard right.'
'And
you think I know who did it?'
Radick
watched Thorson. His eyes were narrow and furtive,
hit
complexion junkie-yellow, the skin
raddled with sores and
pock-
marks.
His right ear lobe had been pierced, and then
stretched
with a black hoop through which Radick
could see the
filthy
window
behind him. He carried the kind of look that said everything thus far had been
a disappointment.
'I don't think anything, Swede.
You know me better than that by now. This isn't a shake-down, my friend, this
is merely a social call.'
Swede sneered contemptuously. He
looked at Radick. 'Who's your new punk bitch?'
'This here's Jimmy. Jimmy's one
of the good guys, Swede. Jimmy ain't a knucklehead, okay? You don't need to be
disrespectful.'
'Whatever, man. I don't know
nothin' about what happened to Danny, okay? I ain't seen Danny for two, maybe
three weeks—'
'You meet his sister?'
Swede smiled. It was a nasty
expression. 'I seen her, yes. What about it?'
'When did you see her?'
'Coupla times. Three weeks ago
maybe. Saw her when I last saw Danny.'
'They came here?'
'No, man, they didn't come here.
Saw them in the diner near where Danny lives. Near the park, you know? Saw them
there.' Swede smiled again.
'What?'
'Cute piece of ass that one,' he
said, leering.
'Cute piece of dead ass,' Parrish
replied.
'Wha—'
'She got herself whacked too,
Swede. She got herself strangled last week in Danny's place. And this isn't
something I'm gonna forget about, you understand? I'm gonna keep pushing on
this until something gives.'
'Man . . . what the fuck . . .
What the fuck
is
this? Jesus Christ, man, she get herself killed as well?'
'Sure did. Deader than Elvis.
Sweet girl. I don't see that anyone had a reason to kill her, and I'm thinking
it could only have happened because of something Danny was into. That's why I
wanted to come see you. See if you might have an idea or two. He owe anyone any
big money? He rip someone off? He get himself Involved with someone he
shouldn't have?'
It
was the hesitation that gave Swede away, gave him away but good.
He
looked at Parrish, at Radick, and then back to Parrish. He opened his mouth as
if to speak, and then closed it again.
'What?'
Parrish prompted.
Swede
shook his head.
'Speak
to me, Swede, or I'm gonna be down here on a daily basis 'til I get you for
possession, and then you're going away for good. You got two strikes, my
friend, and you cannot afford a third.'
'Aah,
fuck, no,' Swede said. He backed up and sat down on a mattress. He pulled his
knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He looked like a
twelve-year-old, yet had the eyes of an old and dying man.
'Swede,
for God's sake tell me what you know,' Parrish said, his voice resigned to the
inevitability of this game they would now play.
'You
cannot do this, man. You cannot hold this shit over me. I don't know anything,
okay? I hear this, I hear that. I don't know Danny Lange any better than any of
the other junkies that come down here. They're all full of wild ideas. You know
that. They
're
all on this plan and that plan. They all
got something going
on
that's
gonna get them out of the life. They've all got some shit going down that's the
big fucking rescue from this. You
know
how
it is, man, you seen it for as long as I have.'
'So
what did Danny say? What did he have going on?'
'It's
all bullshit. It's all fucking pipe dreams—'
'What
was it you thought about when you heard he'd
been
killed? Hey? What was the first thing
you thought about?'
'It
was nothing, man. The same old bullshit these mother fuckers always come out
with—'
'Tell
me what it was, Swede.'
Swede
looked up. His eyes were shadowed. He looked like three weeks from dead. There
was something in his face, something like a quiet and perpetual wonder -
whether each new day would be anything more than its own particular brand of
bullshit. Once you went with this life it owned you. You got out and walked, or
you braced yourself for the inevitable collision.
'Swede—'
'Hey,
man, enough already.' Swede looked up. Hurt and
anger
and
hatred flashed in his eyes. 'You can't keep pushin' on me. Push on someone
enough and they snap.'
'I
haven't been here for a year, maybe more,' Parrish said. 'Give me a break, for
God's sake. I'm trying to find out who did your buddy.'
'He
wasn't my buddy. I knew him from around and about. We didn't have any special
fucking relationship, you know?'
Parrish
sighed resignedly. 'Swede, tell me what the fuck you know or I'm taking you
in.'
'What?'
Swede started to get up. Radick stepped forward aggressively and Swede sat
down again.
'What
the fuck you gonna take me in for?'
'Abusive
behavior. Suspicion of possession. We came in here with probable cause. We
smelled weed from the hallway. We tried to speak with you, you got violent,
right, Jimmy?'
Radick
nodded but didn't speak. He continued looking directly at Swede.
'You're
a cocksucker, Frank Parrish, a no-good fucked-up—'
'Tell
me what you know, Swede, or we're taking you in.'
'The
porno/ he said suddenly.
'The
what?'
'Danny's
sister. I heard she was gonna do a porno.'
'Danny
told you this?'
'Sure
he did. He told me she wanted to do a porno. She wasn't no sweetheart like
everyone thought. She wasn't no clean-cut ail- American schoolgirl. She was a
nasty bitch, Frank. She wanted to do a porno, and Danny already had this thing
going with this
'What
thing?'
'Danny
had a sideline, you know? Least he said he did. Had a thing with some guy who
was always on the lookout for the younger ones, just the wrong side of legal.
Fifteen, sixteen, whatever.'
'And
Danny Lange was going to let his kid sister do a porno w
ith
this guy?'
'He
wanted the money, man. She wanted the money too, but she
was
into it big-time. She was into doing this thing more than
he
was.
She didn't have a fucking clue what she
was getting into. She
had
some wide-eyed fucking Hollywood thing going on. She
was
gonna blow some guy and everyone would take her for Carmen fucking Electra. Sad
fucking state of affairs, but she was really fucking determined to do this
thing.'
'Danny
told you this?'
'Danny
and the sister. Last time I saw them.'
'And
it didn't occur to you that this might have some bearing on Danny's death?'
'Hey,
man, you know the way this goes. You do what you do, I do what I do. You think
I'm gonna go running to the callbox and call you up because I think that maybe
I have a tiny fucking idea about some junkie scumbag from Brooklyn? We're on
different sides here, Detective Parrish, or hadn't you realized that?'
'Who
was the guy?'
'I
haven't a single fucking idea,' Swede said emphatically.
Parrish
nodded, looked at Radick. 'Cuff him,' he said. 'We're taking him in.'
Swede
got up fast. 'What the fuck are you doing? I told you what I know, I answered
your questions.'
Radick
stood with his cuffs.
'Tell
us the guy, Swede,' Parrish said.
'I
don't know the guy, okay? Seriously, man, I don't know who the fuck it was. He
just said
some guy.
That was all. Just some guy.'
Parrish
looked directly at Swede. Swede didn't flinch, didn't look away, stood there
resolutely.
'Okay,'
Parrish said eventually. 'You know anyone who might know which guy?'
'No,
I don't,' Swede said too quickly.
Jimmy
Radick stepped forward, reached out to take Swede
's
hand.
Swede
snatched his hand away, stepped back.
'You
don't wanna test me,' Parrish said. 'Seriously, you don
'
t
want
to fucking test me today.'
'Go
see Larry Temple.'
'And
who the fuck is that?' Parrish asked.
'Two
blocks east. Big high-rise place. Something
tower.
Third floor, apartment six. Tell him if
he helps you out then he and I are quits. And just ask him the fucking
question, okay? Don't go busting him, eh?'
Parrish nodded. 'Third floor,
apartment six, Larry Temple.' 'Right, right. Larry. Go ask him, see if he knows
who the guy was.'
'And what makes you think he
might know?'
"Cause he watches that shit,
man. Young girls, all that stuff. He's into all that sick shit, man.'
Parrish started towards the door.
'I find you held out on me, Swede, I'm gonna come back here and kick your ass
all the way to Staten Island.'
Swede didn't say a word. He just
stood there watching them, willing them to leave.