The Sandman (16 page)

Harry turned to Beauregard, who was staring at him as though he were a bug.

“I told you from the beginning I was willing to cooperate,” he said. “So what’s the problem? I didn’t do it. It’s that simple.”

“Oh?” Lombardi said. He took out a monogrammed handkerchief and blew his nose. His eyes watered a little.

Beau couldn’t keep quiet. “Look, Gardner, Lauren Shaw’s brain burst from an overdose of norepinephrine. Norepinephrine, Harry. A drug that causes the blood pressure to rise—in an aneurysm case. Jesus!” He couldn’t go on. He was numb from it all, numb from the sight of Lauren’s beautiful mind spilled over the OR walls, numb from the fact that one of his anesthesiologists had pumped a drug into her veins that killed her—right before his eyes.

“Somebody switched bottles on me,” Harry said. “It had to be that.”

“Nah,” Lombardi said. He took out some Visine and squeezed a couple of drops into his eyes.

“Sinuses,” he said. “Tough. I was just getting ready to go over to Italy for my annual shopping tour. Get myself some new Bugatti outfits … maybe a couple Georgio Armani sportswear things … and this comes up. Ah, killers have such a bad sense of timing.”

Harry clenched his teeth, and Beauregard let out a long breath and ran his hand through his graying hair.

“I’m telling the truth. There was a switch.”

“A switch, huh?” Lombardi said. “You’re talking pure moviesville.”

He turned and looked at Beauregard.

“An interesting phenomenon. I was thinking about maybe doing a book on the subject. All these guys, criminal types, use plots they copped from TV. Then they come in and use TV alibis, and half the time it works. Only not in this precinct. We all spend a great deal of time keeping up with crime. Watch old Kojaks every week. So maybe you better run through this all again, huh, pal?”

Harry opened his hands and dropped his head.

“I’m telling you,” he said.

There was a knock at the door, and Beefy Sloan, a big cop with a face that would put out the sun, came in. Behind him were two of the hospital’s administrators, Gamble and Blake. They were both red-faced men in their fifties, and they wore identical pinstripes.

“Nice suits,” Lombardi said to them. “Brown’s of London?”

“Saville Row,” Gamble said.

“The older generation,” Lombardi said.

Gamble raised one eyebrow and Blake rolled his eyes. Then they both stared hard at Harry Gardner.

“You just made it in time,” Lombardi said. “He’s about to crack.”

Beauregard started to protest. He didn’t much like Lombardi and he was having trouble keeping the image of Lauren’s last moments out of his mind. He wanted very much to at least understand what had happened, to be able to deal with it, but Lombardi’s methods of interrogation made the whole affair seem like a shot on the “Tonight Show.”

“Now about this call?” Lombardi said. “You say you got a call right before you went into the room?”

“That’s right,” Harry said. “I got a call. He could have switched the drugs then.”

“Yeah,” Lombardi said. “He could have. Or you could have had a friend at a bar call you … maybe Dios.”

“Dios?” said Harry. “Dios? Ask him if you think that. Look, I came down here without a lawyer because I’m innocent. I’m telling you I had a call and it wasn’t from Dios.”

“No,” Lombardi said, opening his tie and using the Visine again. “It’s so sunny in Italy right now … so warm … But you are quite right. It wasn’t Dios. We already talked with him, you see … and all he told us was about how you and he had talked about Vietnam.”

“What?” Harry said.

He looked at Lombardi in complete amazement. Gamble and Blake shifted uneasily in their seats. Lombardi looked at the big detective.

“Go get me some Rolaids,” he said. “This is making me sick.”

“Vietnam,” Harry said.

“Yeah, he said you used to talk about ‘greasing’ people in Vietnam. He said he was outraged by the idea, but you said you didn’t mind it at all.”

“But it wasn’t like that,” Harry said. “I mean, I never said anything like that. I was saying in combat conditions … Besides … you ask him … you ask Dios about Peter Cross. Dios was always suspicious of Cross. Dios will tell you.”

“Tell us what? I’ve got a signed statement from him, Dr. Gardner. It says that you and he talked about greasing people. It doesn’t mention anything about any Peter Cross.”

“That bastard,” Harry said. “He thought Cross killed the old lady … and then the second one … that Mrs. Goldstein … he talked to me again about it.”

“Yeah,” Lombardi said, rubbing a Kleenex across his boots. He stopped and looked at Beauregard. “You like these? Joceyln of Paris. You think all cops are going to look like Columbo? I teach at NYU, I got book deals.”

Beauregard looked over at the two administrators. Gamble was smiling widely. Blake’s eyes looked as blank as Raisinets.

“Let’s see,” Lombardi said. “You were saying something about being seen in the building? Well, I’ve had about twenty very tired men hanging out at the hospital all day, and we came up with a couple of very interesting documents.”

Lombardi stopped, blew his nose, and cleared his throat. He reached into his desk and pulled out a folder, opened it, and came around to the front of the desk. Gardner looked at him, a neat, compact body like a dancer’s. He was an entertainer, but he was tough, there was no mistaking that. Cut through you like a nail file.

“Now, according to these extremely interesting documents,” Dr. Gardner, “you were seen with one June Boswell on the night of Esther Goldstein’s death.”

“No.”

“No?” Lombardi looked at the three men with open-mouthed surprise. “Are you saying no?”

“I wasn’t there,” Harry said.

“You weren’t there?”

“I mean …”

“Yes?”

Harry glanced over at Beauregard, who sat tensely in his chair. The dust flew through the room, and the sunlight faded.

“Maybe you’re going to tell us to ask June,” Lombardi said. “Well, don’t bother. We already asked her, and she got all upset. She used about four of my monogrammed handkerchiefs—made expressly for me by an old peasant lady in Barcelona—I might bill her …”

He smiled like a happy, sensual sadist.

“On the other hand, her performance was so good, I might not. She had a lot to say. Why, it was so interesting we not only wrote it down, we taped it. Maybe we’ll play it on the radio … True Confessions.”

He motioned to the big cop with the broken nose and the dumb lips.

“Go get the Academy Award,” he said.

There was utter silence. Harry Gardner felt something happening to his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe at all, and yet he was afraid to gasp for air. It might make him look guilty. He shut his eyes and saw Peter Cross’s face staring at him. The little smile on his face the day they had had their scene in the hall. Cross. Dios had been right, but now Dios was copping out, selling him down the river. He should never have trusted him. Christ … and now June …

The big cop brought in the tape and handed it to Lombardi.

“Thanks, Beefy,” he said. “Now … let’s see if we can all tune in on this.”

He switched the Play button and in a moment there was a loud wailing which shot through the room. Everyone jumped and Harry felt as if he were falling through the floor.

“Sorry,” Lombardi said, adjusting the volume button. “Now, let’s see here.”

“I don’t want to talk about Harry,” June said. “He’s always been a friend of mine.”

“Yes,” said Lombardi’s voice, “a dear true friend. We understand that. Only there is a problem here. He might have killed people. So why don’t you tell us about the night you got sick.”

“I already told everybody,” June said. Her voice cloudy, thick … drunk or on pills.

“Just once more, dear,” Lombardi said. “We have to hear it just once more. How you went to the ladies’ room, only it wasn’t the ladies’ room, because you were coming down the wrong hallway. Now, how did that happen?”

Harry Gardner bit his lower lip as June began to sob.

“What do you want me to say?” she said, sounding like a little girl.

“Just the truth,” Lombardi said, sounding like the elementary school principal.

“God … he’s always been so sick … so sick … I don’t know … I just don’t know … I don’t want to lose my job … I’ve always been a good nurse … and it’s …”

The four men sat rigid, embarrassed by her sobs.

“It’s because I want to do right that I’m going to tell you … even though it’s my job … I had it for Harry … I knew he wasn’t any good, but I couldn’t help it … He was fun, exciting … all right, I’ll tell you … he turned me on … He wasn’t a wimp … I don’t know … Maybe I’m sick … But he turned me on … I hadn’t been able to get turned on for a long time … Men in New York … I don’t know … He would come up every once in a while … right after the patients were asleep … you know, right after I’d just checked them … and we’d go … oh, shit, I don’t believe I’m telling you this … I can’t believe I’m saying this … I used to be such a nice girl … I used to wear a blue and white dress to Catholic high school.”

Beauregard felt such a loathing for Harry that he wanted to reach across the room and throttle him. He made his hand into a tight fist.

“All right … I might as well tell you … He’d come up and we’d go into the room … the old room where they have the equipment … you know the old stuff … some of the gases … the cyclopropane … Harry used to make a joke about that stuff … said if we really made it good … whammm … the whole place … anyway, he came with me the night she died … We went back there, and Harry musta been tired or drunk or something. He couldn’t get off … He tried, then he got nasty … I mean we used to just play at bondage and stuff … Oh, Jesus, I know how it sounds now … but it was just playing around … you know … pretending … It was like a turn-on … I never thought for a second he was really into it … Or maybe I did … But only a little … for an extra kick … Jesus, I know how this must sound …”

Lombardi clicked the machine off. Beauregard stared at Harry with immense hatred. Harry sighed and squirmed in his chair.

Now Lombardi reached into his desk and pulled out the piece of red wire Beauregard had given to him. He showed it to Harry. Harry blinked uncomprehendingly.

“Surprised?” Lombardi said. “You’re surprised to see this?”

“What?” Harry said. He reached for it and looked it over. “What the hell is this?”

“That? You don’t know? Oh, this is good. Real Richard Diamond stuff. That is the beeper signal from the oscilloscope you cut … so that there was no warning. You killed that old lady. Then, before June could read the EKGs, you hustled her off for some sex. Like to get it on after, hey?”

“No,” Harry said. “I’ve never seen this before. Never.”

“Heard you were pretty good as a greaser in ‘Nam.”

Harry suddenly got a glimpse of the person behind the wise-ass jokes and outlandish clothes. Either this guy was pushing him to the limit as a ploy or he was convinced that Harry was guilty—and if he was guilty it meant he had to have something, something more than a tape and a wire.

“But the first one,” Harry said, “Peter Cross killed her. He was in the OR.”

“Sure,” Lombardi said. “You switched drugs on him. Then later, when the doctors went over it, they quoted you as saying how weird Cross is. You want to make a statement now?”

“You think I switched drugs on Cross? That’s crazy … crazy. I’m telling you if there’s anybody that could do it, it’s Cross. He has it in for me.”

“Why’s that?” Beauregard suddenly snapped.

Harry looked up at the eyes boring into him. He suddenly felt very scared. Clearly, they were railroading him, only too glad to cover the whole thing up before it got any further. He wanted to tell them that he had made fun of Cross’s girl, but he suddenly became cold in the arms. If he said that, Beauregard would get pissed—fucking Beauregard always protected Cross. No, there had to be another way. If it was Cross, then he had to bring them proof.

“I don’t want to talk any more about it,” Harry said. “Not without a lawyer. And if you want me here, then you’d better book me.”

Lombardi slapped his hands together in glee and moved swiftly around the desk.

“You’d better book me. Beautiful. Right out of Kojak. See what a service TV does. Gives the criminal class a little penny-ante training in law.”

He turned to Gardner.

“We can’t book you just yet, Gardner. We’ve got to hear from the Medical Examiner. But I don’t think that will be long. You can leave for now, but I wouldn’t try to run anywhere.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, staring at the floor.

Gamble and Blake got up and began to smooth out their suits with their chubby hands.

“See you, Harry,” Lombardi said.

He walked out into the outer office, Gamble, Blake, and Beauregard trailing him.

“That’s all for now,” Lombardi said to the two administrators. “But I think we just might have him.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Gamble said, licking his lower lip. “It’s always good to meet a professional.”

“And a man of fashion,” said Blake.

When he smiled, his mouth looked like ripped fabric.

The two men walked out, and Beauregard looked back in at Harry, who sat motionless, still staring at his feet.

“I hope we got him,” Beauregard said. “I hope we nail him.”

Lombardi smiled at him, patted him on the arm, and nodded his head.

“He isn’t so tough,” Lombardi said.

Beauregard smiled and turned to leave. But he could feel, even fifteen feet away, the penetrating green eyes of the lieutenant trained on a circle on his back.

Harry Gardner sat on an oak stool in the window of the Café Lafitte. He nursed a warm beer and stared out intently at the second-floor light which burned in the window on the opposite corner. Peter Cross’s window. The light had been burning for two days nonstop, and Cross had not come out. Harry had called the hospital and found out from June (who became hysterical when she heard his voice) that Cross had called in sick. That was all he needed to hear. They nail him, and one day later, Peter Cross has a quick relapse of the flu. It smelled bad, and he was grateful for it, for anything that might get him somewhere.