Wallflower (8 page)

"What brings you around? Social call? It's been what? Fifteen years?"

Again Janek didn't bother to answer. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the letter, and placed it flat on the table.

Glickman glanced at it. "So?"

"You wrote it."

"So what?"

"Why?"

Glickman shrugged. "Why not?" He smirked.

Janek slowly moved his head in close, deliberately invading Glickman's space.

"I know you're slime. But what could you possibly have against Tim Foy's daughter?"

"I got nothing against her. I didn't even remember he had a daughter till I read about her in the papers."

"So
why?"

"You, the big shot detective from New York, got the balls to come up here and ask me that? I thought you were supposed to be smart, Janek." Glickman's voice was loaded with scorn. "I saw this shitty miniseries where this actor—what's his name, he's a lot better-looking than you—where he struts around making like he's so fucking brilliant. Lieutenant Frank Janek the character was called. What a pile of shit."

Janek stared at him.
"
Once a psychopath always a psychopath."
He stood. "I don't need your abuse." He moved toward the door to call the guard.

"‘Cause of you, I gotta spend the rest of my life in a rathole while you get to run around in New York playing Great Detective. You ask why I wrote you about the girl. I wrote so you'd come up here and I could look into your eyes and see your pain. That's all I wanted. Now I'm satisfied. I've seen it. It looks pretty good to me. I
like
seeing you in pain, Janek. Like I said, it's a real pleasure."

"Guard!" Janek shouted, then waited facing the door. No matter what Glickman said to him, he vowed not to react. But Glickman was on a roll. He had only a few more seconds and nothing to lose.

"
You call me slime. You're the slime, Janek. You and your buddy—what's his name?—Foy. And his little cunt of a daughter, too. That's what she was, wasn't she? A little cunt, a slut, running around, twitching her horny little ass in the park. Know something? I'm
glad
she's dead!"

The guard had arrived, was working his key in the lock, but Janek didn't care. Even as he yielded to his anger, he knew he was making a mistake.
But fuck it!
he thought. He turned, raised his foot against the ledge of the table, and shoved as hard as he could, propelling the table straight toward Glickman, knocking him off his chair and onto the floor.

"See that!" Glickman shouted to the guard. "See what he did! Struck a prisoner! You saw it!
He struck a fucking prisoner!
That's grounds for a lawsuit! A big lawsuit! You're really fucked now, asshole! Probably cost you your fucking pension!"

Glickman was laughing, a sneering, bullying laughter, the kind you'd expect from a slimeball who'd order a bomb planted in another man's car. But Janek was already out the door. As he walked down the corridor, he could hear Glickman's laughter resound against the walls. By the time he reached the security gate he knew that he himself was now walking on a knife's edge of sanity.

T
hat night, when he got back to New York, the craziness was really cooking in him. But being conscious of it and wanting to give it up were two different things.
I may be strung out,
he thought,
but I've still got control.

Though emotionally exhausted, thoroughly jet-lagged, fatigued from his journey to Greenkill, he was nonetheless ready to do what Boyce was not: corner Greg Gale and squeeze him till he bled.

He called the number Aaron had provided and got a taped answer off a machine. He didn't like the sound of Gale's voice, a snotty prep school whine.

Angry but composed, Janek taxied to a block on West Ninety-eighth between Broadway and West End. He found Gale's building easily enough, a subdivided gray stone town house. He rang the buzzer to be sure Gale wasn't in, then walked over to the garage across the street. Yes, indeed, the night manager said, he knew young Mr. Gale. He kept his car there, but it wasn't there now. He'd taken it out earlier that evening. Janek tipped him in return for permission to wait in the office until young Mr. Gale returned. Then he settled back into a beaten-up swivel chair and tried to get some sleep.

Two hours later he felt a light touch on his shoulder. The manager, hovering, gestured toward the garage drive. A well-polished red Porsche was angled in the entrance, and a lean young male, dressed in a trench coat, was making his way across the street.

"Thanks," Janek whispered, then hurried out. He reached the vestibule of the town house just as Gale was unlocking the inner hallway door.

"Greg?"

Gale turned. He had light, wavy hair verging on blond and the smooth, symmetrical features of a secondary lead in a soap opera. The only striking thing about him was his pallor; he looked like the kind of person who ventured out only at night.

Janek flashed his shield.

"This must be about Jess."

Janek nodded. "Got time to talk?"

Gale glanced around. He seemed reluctant. Janek tried to make himself vulnerable. "Been waiting quite a while, Greg. Pretty cold out there." He rubbed his hands together as he spoke.

Gale nodded."Well, okay. Shall we talk down here?"

"
Up to you." Janek rubbed his hands again to emphasize the chill.

The young man shrugged. "Let's go upstairs." He grinned. "I gotta take a leak."

He was poised and he was handsome and the thought of Jess in his arms filled Janek with disgust. But he played along and smiled and followed Gale up the stairs, enjoying the thought of how the little jerk was shortly going to be sorry he'd invited him into his place.

Inside the apartment Gale excused himself, leaving Janek alone to look around. It seemed pretty lush for a college student, but then so did a red Porsche. There was black leather upholstered furniture, a sleek stereo, a top-grade TV with matching VCR, big collections of CD discs and videotapes, a shelf of mystery novels, and, most striking, a large photograph hanging over the fireplace. Beautifully framed, it showed a muscular naked black male posed on one knee before a standing young woman. Dressed in white equestrian garb, she peered down at the black with a disdainful, lascivious smile.

When Gale reappeared, Janek gestured toward the picture. "Interesting," he said.

Gale showed his teeth. "Like that, do you?"

"I didn't say I liked it. I said it was interesting."

"I took it."

"You're a photographer?"

"
I fool around with it a little, yeah." Though the kid obviously wanted to sound self-deprecating, he came off as shallow and arrogant.

"Ever take any pictures of Jess?"

Gale ran his tongue across his lips. "A few. Want to see them?"

If they were anything like the kinky picture over the fireplace, Janek didn't think he did. He stared at Gale.

"I'll ask the questions, Greg. You'll answer them. Let's start off easy. What did you do to her in the park?"

"
What?"

"You heard me."

"Hey! Are you for real? I want you out of here.
Now!"

When Janek smiled, Gale looked confused. A slight vibrato in his upper lip showed that he was feeling fear.

"I know who you are. You're the detective she was always talking about."

Janek offered no response.

"Okay," Gale said, quickly adjusting his manner to eager-to-please, "you want answers. I don't know anything about the park. I didn't lay eyes on her the last seven weeks. We quarreled, and she kicked me out of her life. Naturally I feel real bad about what happened, but I don't know anything about it. That's all I'm going to say."

Real bad—shit!
"Not good enough, Greggy boy."

"I want you to go."

Janek shook his head. "Not till I'm satisfied."

"Don't try to bully me, detective!"

"Think this is bullying?" Janek laughed.

They stared at each other. Then Gale made a move toward his phone. "I'm calling the police."

He picked up the receiver, but his trembling betrayed his fear. Janek walked over to him and casually held out his hand. Gale paused, then surrendered the receiver. Janek set it down. He lightly pushed Gale into a black wooden chair bearing Columbia University's coat of arms. He pulled up a matching chair and sat down close, so close he could see a quiver in the young man's eyes.

"All right," he said, "here's how it's going down. We're going to have a polite conversation in which I ask the questions and you give me truthful answers. The alternative is you get mad and try to punch me out. That's an attack on a law officer, felonious assault, which yields your basic five-year sentence. Not to mention the fact that then I'd have to hit you back, which would probably cost you your teeth. If I had a pretty face like yours, I don't think I'd like that very much. Your choice. I can handle it either way. See, I'm
mad. My goddaughter was murdered. So basically I don't give a
shit."

Gale lowered his eyes. "I told you—I don't know anything."

"Let's get more specific. Jess rejected you?" Gale nodded. "You
resented her for that?"

"I don't know if I'd say 'resent.' I admit I was pretty upset.
But—"

"Yeah, yeah—you don't know anything. Now tell me about the
sex club?"

Gale screwed up his face to convey perplexity. "What are you
talking about?"

Greggy's not too good an actor,
Janek thought as he tutted and
shook his finger. "No questions, just answers."

"I don't know anything about any sex club."

"Your little clique. The ones who watch while the new kid fucks
blindfolded."

"You
know
about that?"

Janek reached forward and slapped Gale lightly across the face.

"I
ask.
You
answer. Last warning. Okay?"

"Okay, okay. But it's not a club. It's more like . . . a group of
friends."

"How many 'friends'?"

"Nine or ten, depending on who wants in or out."

"Percentage of women?"

"Half and half."

"Who started it?"

"My idea originally."

"You recruit new people?"

"Sort of. But it isn't exactly—"

"You brought in Jess?"

"Yeah. But—"

"You planned to bring her into the group from the moment you
started dating her. You weren't interested in her as a girlfriend.
You just wanted another body, right?" Gale shook his head. "I
want a straight answer."

"Well, maybe that is what I had in mind."

"Damn straight it was. From the start, right? But you never told
her, did you? You waited till you thought she was ready. Then you proposed it, in a slippery kind of way like I know this great group of kids, they're really far-out, but I think you'll find them interesting."

Greg lowered his eyes, resigned.
"
Maybe that's what I did." Then he looked up.
"
But she was a big girl. And she went for it. Believe me, she enjoyed it. The moment I broached it to her, her eyes lit up. Probably hard for you to hear this, but Jess liked sex. I mean she
liked
it. And there's nothing wrong with that. We played safe, took precautions, used condoms. That's why we formed the group in the first place, so we could have some variety and still play safe. The whole idea was to make it fun. Not nasty like you're trying to make it seem."

"Did I call it nasty?"

"It's your tone. Your whole approach. You want to make me feel like a worm."

That much was true, but Janek wanted to define his own attitude. "I don't think sex is nasty. But I think someone who uses the guise of romantic involvement to entice a girl into that kind of thing is fairly low-grade slime."

Gale twisted in his chair. He couldn't take contempt. "That's pretty close to what she told me, too," he whispered.

Janek was grateful to hear that.

"She dumped on you?"

"I already told you."

"You must have resented her."

"I'm human. Wouldn't you?"

"Resented her so much you stalked her, stabbed her, and after you killed her, you attacked the part of her that mocked you the most, that mocked your manhood."

Gale jumped up. "What're you talking about? What part of her? Jesus!"

"The part you couldn't satisfy. The part that made you feel inadequate."

"I don't understand." He paused. "You mean, my cock? Is that what you're talking about?"