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Authors: R.J. Ellory

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BOOK: Saints Of New York
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Radick
dropped Parrish on the corner of Clermont and wished him goodnight.

'Want
an early start,' Parrish said. 'Eight-thirty, okay?'

'Eight-thirty,'
Radick echoed, and pulled away.

Parrish
walked on down to the apartment, entered the lobby just as Grace Langham and
her mother came from the other side of the street. Parrish held the door and
waited for them.

The
little girl was in tears and being carried by her mother. Parrish recognized
the symptoms - tired, cold, more than likely hungry - and Mom wouldn't get a
break until the kid
was
fed
and slept. As a parent, there were some things you never forgot.

Parrish
smiled as Mrs Langham entered the elevator. Again
that
awkwardness of expression, the slight
embarrassment - not only from the proximity of someone she had no idea how to
relate
to,
but
that instinctive sense of needing to apologize that all parents experienced
when their children were potentially troublesome
to
others.

'What's
this then?' Parrish asked. He directed his question
at
Grace, but got no response. But, with
her head on her mother
's
shoulder,
and Parrish right in her eye line, there was no way
the
child could ignore him.

'Grade?'
he asked, and received a momentary flash of
ac
knowledgement.

'So
you are listening to me, eh? Well, I have a question for
you.'

Grace
just stared at him, tears in her eyes, her breath hitching
.

'You
ready?'

Her
eyes widened.

'How
old are you, Grade?'

'S-Six,'
she said. 'Six and a quarter.'

Mrs
Langham half-turned to look back at Parrish.
The expression
on her face was one of bemusement. She
understood
in that
moment
she may as well not have been there.

'Six
and a quarter? Well, let's see. That's what?
That's two
thousand, two thousand one hundred, two
thousand two hundred . . . and eighty-something. Two thousand, two hundred and
eighty days. Roughly. That's how old you are.'

Grace nodded. She'd stopped
crying.

'Well, here's a game . . . before
I get out of the elevator you have to think of your favorite day out of all of
them.'

'Favorite?'

'Sure. The best, best, best day
of them all.'

'Disneyland!' she said suddenly.

'Disneyland? No way! You've been
to Disneyland?'

'Yes! I went to Disneyland!'

'And how good was that?'

The elevator bell rang, it slowed
and came to a halt.

'The best! The best day ever!'
Grace said, and she started to laugh.

The elevator doors opened.

'Next time you can tell me all
about it,' Parrish said. 'Now you go get something to eat and get to bed,
okay?'

Grace was still laughing as she
exited the elevator with her mother.

Mrs Langham glanced back as she
reached her door.
Thank you,
she
mouthed, and the elevator doors closed.

I saw Mickey and
Minnie!
Parrish heard Grade shouting as the
elevator started up to the next floor.

 

Back in his apartment, Parrish
shrugged off his overcoat and jacket, went to the kitchen, and poured himself
two fingers of Bushmills.

Back in the sitting room, he
called Eve Challoner; the line was busy.

He thought of Caitlin. No matter
the line that bisects a circle, the two halves will perfectly match. If he
called her now she would ask him about the booze. She didn't understand it;
hell, no-one really understood it. Like Mitch Hedberg said,
Alcoholism
Is the
only disease you get yelled at
for.
He said that before he overdosed.

Caitlin - the brightest of all
his days, the darkest of all his nights. And a dead teenage girl no more than
three or four blocks from where she lived.

He
picked up the phone and dialed Eve again. Answer service. He hung up and went
back to the bottle in the kitchen.

THIRTY-THREE
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2008

 

'How are you this morning?'

'I'm okay actually. Feeling okay.'
'How's the case?' 'We had another yesterday.' 'Another girl?' 'Yeah.' 'And . .
. ?'

'We're
waiting for tox. If she was drugged then I think we're going in the direction
that it's the same killer. This girl is physically the same type as the
others, same paint-job on the fingernails. She
felt
like the same guy, you know? And if
it's someone different then it's one fuck of a coincidence.' 'How old was she?'
'Sixteen.'

'And you had to tell her parents?'

'Mother. Dad's dead, OD'd a while back.
He was a beater. Mom's an ex-junkie, if ever there was such a thing—'
'Meaning?'

'Meaning
that there is very rarely such a thing as an ex-junkie. If they're really
ex
then they're usually dead.'

'I
see . . . Right, well let's get back to you, Frank. Last time we spoke—'

'We
talked about how my father might have killed a couple of guys to keep them from
testifying.'

'Yes.
And how have you been feeling about it since you told me?'

'Just dandy. Couldn't be better.'
'Seriously.'

'How do you think I feel?'

'I can't tell you that, Frank.
You have to tell me.'

'Hell, truth is it doesn't matter
how I feel. The past is the past. It's gone. No use hanging on to it.'

'I'm not suggesting you hang on
to it. All I'm saying is that in order to let go of it you have to understand
it.'

'What's there to understand? He
was a crook, guilty as any man he ever arrested. The fact that he managed to
maintain such a good reputation was a combination of his own brilliance and the
corruptness of the system he was a part of. If the system had been clean then
he would never have been able to do it.'

'I know you really believe he
killed those men, Manri and McMahon, that he was really capable of such a
thing. But what do you believe his motive was? Money?'

'Yeah, money, but also to protect
himself, to protect his superiors, to make sure he didn't get caught in the
line of fire some
where ...
it really doesn't matter what reasons, he still killed them, and if he killed
them then he was a murderer who got away with it.'

'But he didn't. He was murdered
himself.'

'The best part of a decade and a
half later. He got away with it for that long. And I can't imagine they waited
that long to kill him because of Manri and McMahon. I'm sure there were other
things going on. Fifteen years is a long time.'

'Do you think he deserved to
die?'

'Probably, yes.'

'Do you believe in the death
penalty?'

'As a deterrent no, as a
punishment, yes.'

'So some people deserve to die?'

'Yes. Don't you believe that?'

'This isn't about me, Frank, this
is only about you.'

'Sounds like a great foundation
for a relationship.'

'Don't go off the subject. I want
to talk about that. I want
to
know
who you think deserves to die.'

'Well, for a start, we have this
guy here - if it
is
one guy -
the
one
that's drugging, fucking and strangling teenage girls. He'll
do
to begin with.'

if you knew who it was would you
kill him?' if I knew who it was I would arrest him, read him his rights, lock
him up and let the DA prosecute him.'

'Do
you have faith in the system?'

'Sometimes.'

'How
do you feel about the people who walk on technicalities?'

'I
have learned to be philosophical.'

in
what way?'

'Guy
I knew, did a couple of armed robberies. One time he killed a girl. She was
twenty-three and pregnant. Had an eyewitness who saw him go into the bank
before he put his ski-mask on. Saw him walk right on in there with a sawn-off.
Once inside they had nothing but video footage of him with the mask, so the
whole thing depended on the eyewitness statement. Well, the witness had a
stroke about three weeks before trial and the DA had to drop the case. The perp
went to the court to meet with his lawyer and the judge, and he got the news.
So he leaves the court, he walks three blocks and he hails a cab. Then he steps
off the sidewalk and he gets hit by a truck. The guy was mystery meat for a
block and half.'

'Karma.'

'Whatever
you want to call it, he got his dues.'

'You
think that happens to everyone?'

'One
way or another, eventually, yes.'

'So
you're a closet Buddhist?'

'If
you like.'

'And
what do you think is going to happen to you?'

'Me?
I have no idea.'

'You
think it's going to work out fine, or do you think—'

'I
try
not
to think about that.'

'So
where now with the case you're on?'

'We
get the blood and tox tests, we find phone records for all of the girls. We
start to dig a little deeper on this connection to Child Services and
Adoption.'

'And
if they
are
connected?'

'Then
there's going to be a shit storm.'

'And
how are you sleeping?'

'On
my back usually.'

'Frank!'

'I'm
okay, Doc, seriously. I'm sleeping fine.' 'And your diet? Your drinking?'

'The
diet ain't so good. Hasn't been for a long time. Sometimes I want to eat, most
times not. And I want a drink most of the time.'

'There
are pills you can take for that.'

'The
ones that make you sick if you drink? No thanks. I hate pills. You start down
that road and you never come back.'

'Well,
I can't force you to take anything, but do you feel any better at all than when
we first started talking?'

'I
feel ...
I don't know how to describe it. I
feel
...
uh ...
I feel sort of agitated.'

'Agitated?
In what way agitated?'

'Like
talking about this stuff has made me aware of the fact that I have plenty to be
pissed off about.'

'Better
to have it out there than all bottled up inside.'

'So
I'm told.'

BOOK: Saints Of New York
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