Slow Burn (10 page)

I couldn’t afford to waste time sparring with him. I could see he was itching for an argument, and I couldn’t blame him. He’d been through a couple of days of hell and had probably taken shit from the Van Dorns for two days running. Now it was someone else’s turn. But I couldn’t back down to him, either. He was my best chance at getting a lead on Jack Van Dorn and who might’ve taken him. Charm hadn’t worked, so I tried a more direct approach.

“You know, once my partner calls this in, there’s going to be a hell of a lot of people through here. Lots of cops, federal types. Probably a couple of politicians thrown in for good measure.”

Soames sipped some more at his tea. “We’ll manage.”

“And not one of them will give a damn about Jack or Jessica. They’ll be too busy trying to impress the Chief and the mayor. And the Chief and the mayor will be too busy impressing Mr. and Mrs. Van Dorn. Or, should I say, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dorn’s money. Finding the people who killed Jessica… and who took Jack?” I shook my head. “Details like that will be afterthoughts at best. A means to an end, and that’s all.”

Soames sneered up at me. “And I suppose you’re different. You’re here out of — what? Duty? Redemption?” He laughed a sharp, hard laugh. “Or perhaps you’re like that whore with the heart of gold they write about in all those dime store detective magazines?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, “but one thing’s for sure. My partner and I are the best shot this family has at getting Jack back alive. Because once the brass gets involved, it’ll get political. You’ve been around long enough to know what that means.”

The look on Soames’ face told me he did. “We’ve got an hour at most before my partner and I have to fill in our bosses on what’s happened here. Every minute I stand here kissing your ass is one minute longer Jack stays missing and Jessica’s killers run free. So like it or not, I’m the best shot you’ve got at bringing your Jackie Boy home alive.”

Soames’ back stiffened, then slumped just as quickly. He didn’t like it, but he knew I was right. Pushing his cup away, some tea sloshed over the edges into the saucer. “What would you like to know?”

I opened my notebook again. “Mr. Van Dorn told me Jack’s been in trouble before. What kind of trouble?”

“The usual kind that a boy with too much money and not enough sense tends to find himself in,” Soames said. “Drinking. Gambling. Women.”

“Anything serious?”

“Nothing so egregious that Mr. Van Dorn’s name or money couldn’t get him out of,” Soames said. “He isn’t Al Capone, Detective. He’s just more careless than he should be, but young men often are.”

“Does he have a particular group he runs around with?”

“A young man with his kind of money never lacks friends,” Soames said. “Some from reputable families. Others aren’t so reputable.”

“Any names?”

Soames shook his head. “I’m afraid he didn’t talk about them much, and he never brought any of them here. Only the nice, supposedly respectable boys who had the same shortcomings as he. I doubt they’d be mixed up in anything like this, They’re simply not that industrious. But I’ll be happy to give you their names if you’d like.”

I’d need their names eventually, but I’d come back to that later. “What about girlfriends?”

“A still more varied group,” Soames sighed, “though he did seem to have been fascinated with one girl named Rachel as of late. I believe she lives somewhere downtown and, no, I don’t know her last name. But Jack’s fascinations never run too deep and they never last very long.”

Rachel. I wrote that down. It wasn’t much, but it was one more lead than I had before I’d walked in. “Any idea on where I might find her?”

“Jack stopped confiding such things in me long ago, back when he became old enough to begin lying to me about them. He was always rather guarded about his romances.” Then something in Soames’ eyes changed. Something had come to him.

“What is it, Soames? Tell me. Whatever it is could help.”

He held onto it a little longer before giving it up. “It’s something that his parents don’t know about.” He looked up at me, “Nor do they need to know about it now, if at all possible. I must ask for your discretion before I tell you.”

I wouldn’t lie to him. I’d worked too hard to win his trust to do that, and I had a feeling I’d need him again before all of this was over. “I’ll do what I can, but it might come out in the wash before this is done.”

Soames seemed to accept that. “I happen to know that Jack keeps a small flat here in the city. For what purposes, I can only imagine.”

So Junior had a joy pad. “Where?”

“A studio apartment in Greenwich Village,” Soames said. “I gather it appeals to some of the Bohemian tendencies for which he’s expressed such fondness as of late.”

I swallowed hard. “Where is it?” Soames didn’t seem to hear me. “I found the lease for the flat amongst his things when I was bringing them down to be laundered some months ago. I left it on his bureau after I found it.”

I kept my voice steady and even. A solid gold-plated goddamned lead. “Could you go up and get it for me?”

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. He must’ve taken it with him because I haven’t seen it in his room since.”

“If you could let me take a look, I—”

“—would have no more success finding it than if I did,” Soames said. “Believe me, I’ve known all of Master Van Dorn’s hiding places since he was a boy. There’s nothing up there of any interest to you at present.”

But I knew by the way he was looking at me that there was more to it than that. “Spill it, Soames. What is it?”

“Nothing,” he allowed, “except that I happen to remember the address.”

I
LEFT
Loomis to babysit the Van Dorns while he called in the lead to the station. We were almost an hour overdue at the station house, and I knew there’d be questions. A lot hinged on Loomis being able to stall them. Part of me doubted his nerve. He was used to doing what he was told and wasn’t used to lying, especially where the brass was concerned. I didn’t expect him to have the same bitterness toward them that I had. I just hoped that whatever he told them bought me enough time to find something that would give us a foothold to keep us on this case.

And not just for my sake anymore.

Sure, I’d gone into this scheming for a payday. But the look on Mr. Van Dorn’s face as he mourned his family had hit me deeper than I’d like to admit. That look stuck with me, and stuck good.

I knew that look well. I should. I saw it in the mirror as I shaved every morning. I drove down to Jack Van Dorn’s apartment: 70 Perry Street, apartment 3A. The heart of Greenwich Village — Oddball Capital of New York City, which put it in the running for Odd-ball Capital of the World.

The Village was a strange world of stately brownstones, tenements and railroad flats, crooked streets and parks and narrow alleys. For some reason, it had always been a hotbed for the fringes of society: Commies, Marxists, musicians, writers, poets, actors, big thinkers and general flakes of every stripe. I guess they were drawn to the little playhouses, theaters and coffee houses, and dusty little bookshops with too many books about stuff you couldn’t pay me to read, much less get me to buy.

Despite Prohibition, there was still plenty of drugs and drinking, too, but it was mostly self-contained. There was cocaine and opium, of course, but marijuana was their drug of choice. It was cheaper than the other drugs on the market and it kept them all mellow for the most part, so the department let it go.

The Village always seemed more like a state of mind than just a neighborhood on a map. It was a place where the Lost Generation types had found a home. The people who lived there didn’t seem to be able to fit in anywhere else, but then again, they didn’t seem to try very hard. If anyone could appreciate that, I sure as hell could. I parked across from 70 Perry on the north side of the street. It was one of the nicer buildings in the area: a three-story townhouse, stone stairs out front. A nice, clean place. The kind of digs I’d expect a brat like Jack Van Dorn to live.

Close enough to the grit and grime without getting his hands dirty. This place was about as bohemian as I was Chinese.

An old woman I took for the landlady was sweeping the stoop. She wore a moth-eaten housedress that looked nearly as old as she was. Her fleshy arms swayed as she swiped at the dirt in short, spiteful strokes, as if she hated the broom as much as the mess. The heat bounced off the pavement as I stepped out of the car. I should’ve put on my suit jacket to hide my gun, but I left it behind. Jack’s picture in my back pocket was all I needed.

The landlady saw me coming and stopped in midsweep. She eyeballed my shoulder holster as I crossed the street. I already had my badge out of my pocket. I even tried a smile.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. Police business.” Neither the badge nor the smile worked. If anything, she looked even more miserable now that she’d seen the badge.

“I didn’t see nothin’ and I didn’t hear nothin’, mister, so best be on your way.”

“Jesus, lady. I didn’t even ask you anything yet.”

“But you will,” she said. “Never saw a copper come around who didn’t have a lot of damned fool questions. Sniffing around, arresting their own kind.” She hawked and spat on a small clean spot on the stoop. “I hate goddamned cops.”

“That makes two of us.” I put my badge back in my pocket. “Now that we’ve got so much in common, how about telling me about the man who lives in 3A.” I fished out his picture from my back pocket and showed it to her. “This man.”

She leaned on her broom handle and scowled up at me. She didn’t even look at Jack’s picture. “Why the hell should I?”

“Because I’m not coming at you hard like most cops would. And if you tell me what I want to know, there might be some money in it for you. Real money, in the near term.”

She hawked and spat again. “Oh, that’s a good one, mister. Where have I heard that one before?”

“But you haven’t heard it from me. Money doesn’t mean much to some people, so they don’t mind being generous with it. And the kid who lives in 3A comes from such people.” I raised the picture again so she could see it. “But I’ll bet you already knew that.”

She looked at the picture, then at me. She crossed her arms in front of her, making her fleshy arms look even bigger.

“Didn’t say I did, and I didn’t say I didn’t.” I put the picture away. Once again, charm wasn’t working.

“The longer you stall, the less money you get. Tell me about the man in 3A.”

She looked up and down the street before she said anything. I half expected the old bitch to spit again, but she didn’t. “Name’s Jack. Don’t know his last name ‘cause I didn’t rent the place to him. The landlord did. Called here one day and told me to show the place to him. I did and he rented it. That was about three months back.”

That fit with what Soames had told me. “Who’s the landlord?”

“How the hell should I know? Some company bought the place from my brother-in-law a year ago. Company keeps changing names so much, I can’t keep track of it anymore.” That made sense. Landlords were always changing names of their companies to confuse the tax collectors. I decided to stick to why I was here in the first place. “Tell me about Jack from 3A.”

“Not much to tell. Pays his rent on time. Comes in the late afternoon and goes back out late evenings or early mornings. Always quiet. Respectful, near as I can tell.”