Blood Innocents (15 page)

“On Fifth Avenue?”

“That's right,” Mathesson said, visibly warming to the narrative. “But he sees he's on a city street that could have witnesses, and there he is holding a goddamn ax that's dripping with blood, so he pitches it in the sewer drain under the street. And that's it. He takes off for home.” Mathesson took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, clearly pleased with his account.

For a moment there was silence, while Reardon thought about the scenario just presented by Mathesson. “So Petrakis took off toward home?” he asked finally. “Remember, we don't know where he lives since he was evicted.”

“The chances are he stayed on the East Side. I'll bet when you find his new address, it'll be on the East Side.”

“It may be,” Reardon admitted.

“May be, bullshit!” Mathesson laughed, shrugging off the frustration that Reardon could see building in him. “Well,” he said, “we may have the clincher anyway.”

“What clincher?”

“It may not be sure,” Mathesson said with a teasing smile, “but it's a chance. That kid, Daniels.”

“The kid with the cocaine bust?”

“That's right. I finally got through to him.”

“So?”

“I got through that goddamn wall of legal eagles his rich papa hired to get the little prick off the hook,” Mathesson said proudly. “He's coming in to talk to us. He may have seen something.”

Daniels might have the answer, Reardon thought. Cases had been broken that way before, and Reardon hoped the killing of the fallow deer and of the women in the Village could be solved quickly. He was not sure why this case disturbed him so particularly. He only knew that it did, and he wanted to escape the pressures he could feel building in himself with every hour it remained unsolved. “When's he coming in?” he asked.

“He should be here in an hour or so. Piccolini offered to have the questioning done at the kid's place, but the kid's father said that he'd rather it all be done down here.” Mathesson grinned. “He probably thought we'd come roaring up with our sirens blasting, and that wouldn't look too good on Fifth Avenue.”

Reardon pulled out the arrest sheet for the morning the fallow deer were killed and looked at it. “Winthrop Lewis Daniels,” he said.

“His father must be scared shitless.” Mathesson popped a piece of hard candy into his mouth and started moving it from one side of his mouth to the other. “The old man probably figures we're gonna try to pin a heavy rap on his darling boy.”

“Heavier than possession of cocaine?”

Mathesson flicked his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Ah, they won't even pin that on him. This will be strictly a probation rap. You don't stick a possession charge on an Upper East Side kid. You know what I mean. This is strictly a bad bust, a lot of paperwork for nothing.” Mathesson winked at Reardon. “Like the Spics say in the Barrio, ‘Nada, nada and more nada.'”

Reardon nodded. It had always been this way, he thought. But it was becoming more difficult for him to accept it.

Mathesson started buttoning his overcoat. “Well,” he said, “have a jolly time of it. I got to be in court this morning. I got to testify against this nigger whore.” He smiled. “She wasted her pimp — stuck a blade in his guts and pulled up on it.” He thrust an imaginary blade in his abdomen and jerked upward. “Hari kari pickaninny style.” He shook his head in disgust. “Hell, I don't know why they bother to charge her. Son of a bitch got what he deserved. He was a white dude, too — honky, ofay, you know what I mean? Probably a lot of goddamn feeling went into that blade, you know what I mean? Getting even in spades you might say.” Mathesson shook with laughter and slapped his leg. “Goddamn, I'm in a good mood,” he said.

Reardon could not imagine why.

Mathesson told him. “I believe we busted this case. I believe we got that Petrakis cold.”

“Yeah,” Reardon said weakly.

Mathesson straightened his tie and stood erect. “Well,” he said, “do I look — what do the lawyers call it? — credible?”

Reardon nodded.

“Well, take it easy.” Mathesson started toward the door. “I'll see you this afternoon.”

“Right,” Reardon said. Or wrong, he thought, dead wrong.

15

When Reardon returned to his desk, he stared down at the night update for the day the fallow deer were killed. It was full of names that ended in “a” and “o” and “ski,” along with a number of names that were familiar enough; in most cases, Reardon knew, these were black names, old slave names like Johnson or Phillips. Beside these, the clean contours of the name Winthrop Lewis Daniels stood out like a silver spoon in a dung heap. Winthrop Lewis Daniels was the kind of name that had a stiff upper lip, knew its whereabouts at all times, and moved about with its own predetermined and resolute self-confidence. It was the kind of name that had an opinion on every issue and expected to be heard whenever it wished. It was not the kind of name that waited bleeding in the chaotic emergency receiving room of Bellevue Hospital or held close affection for a mongrel dog.

When Winthrop Lewis Daniels finally arrived at the precinct house, he was not alone. Reardon recognized him instantly even though he had never seen him before. Daniels was flanked on either side by two well dressed men, each holding tightly to a briefcase. Not many teenage offenders came through the precinct house doors like that. From his desk Reardon watched as the three men approached the desk sergeant, who responded to one of their questions by pointing to Reardon.

“Detective Reardon?” one of the men asked as they approached his desk.

“That's right.”

“My name is Colin Tower.” He was a very tall, very thin man with coal black hair slicked down flat across his head. He did not offer his hand.

The bald, stocky man on his left Mr. Tower introduced as Mr. Arington. “We are here to represent Mr. Daniels in this matter,” Mr. Tower said. He nodded toward the tall, thin young man to his right.

“Have a seat,” Reardon said. He did not expect this to be easy. He had dealt with lawyers of the Tower-Arington variety before. It would be part of their strategy to frustrate him as much as possible. Once they had taken seats across from his desk, however, they looked somewhat less formidable.

Before Reardon could ask his first question, Mr. Tower spoke again. “Let me begin by saying that Mr. Daniels is quite willing to cooperate with the police. He has come of his own free will and any statement which he wishes to make will be regarded as completely voluntary.”

Reardon nodded indifferently. He had heard it all before.

“If at any time Mr. Daniels wishes to conclude this interview,” Mr. Tower went on, “we will have to insist that it be immediately terminated. We also reserve the right to advise Mr. Daniels of those questions upon which we feel he would be better served to remain wholly silent.”

“I understand that you represent Mr. Daniels,” Reardon said brusquely. “As far as I'm concerned Mr. Daniels is here voluntarily. But this is a serious investigation, and I think he would be well advised to cooperate with us.”

“Pardon me,” Mr. Arington said, “but we will decide the extent of Mr. Daniels' cooperation.”

“That's fine,” Reardon replied dryly.

Reardon looked at Mr. Tower. “According to an arrest sheet for last Monday in this precinct, Mr. Daniels was arrested for possession of cocaine.”

Mr. Tower chuckled. “Absurd charge.”

“I'm not trying the case,” Reardon said.

“Of course not,” said Mr. Tower. “It's just that the charge is so ludicrous.”

“Absolutely no evidence,” Mr. Arington said.

“I don't care about that,” Reardon said. “But the fact is that he
was
arrested.”

“He was arrested,” Mr. Tower muttered reluctantly. He glanced knowingly at Mr. Arington, then back to Reardon.

Reardon pulled a map of Central Park from his desk drawer and unfolded it on top of his desk.

“What is this all about?” Mr. Tower asked. “We're perfectly aware of where Mr. Daniels was arrested. We don't require a map.”

“I'm not investigating a cocaine bust,” Reardon said. “That's not what I'm doing here.”

“Then what are you doing?” Mr. Tower said. “Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea of the kind of lawsuit you're going to be facing if you persist in your harassment of this young man?”

“I haven't harassed anybody,” Reardon declared. “I'm trying to investigate two murders.”

Mr. Tower popped to his feet. “Murders?”

Reardon looked at Mr. Tower wearily. “I told you that this is an investigation. Nobody is accusing Mr. Daniels of anything.”

“What kind of murders?” Daniels asked quietly.

Mr. Tower leveled a cold stare at Daniels. “Don't bother yourself about it. We'll handle this.” He looked at Reardon. “This is outrageous. We understood from Mr. Piccolini that some police matter would be discussed this morning. We assumed that it would pertain to the utterly false charge already made against Mr. Daniels. But we had no idea that any attempt would be made to associate him with homicides.”

“Are they homicides?” Daniels asked quietly.

“Winthrop, please,” Mr. Arington pleaded. “You must let us handle this.”

Reardon spoke directly, and quietly, to Daniels. “There's more than the homicides. We're not sure if they are connected with the rest.”

“That's quite enough,” Mr. Tower exclaimed.

Daniels looked thoughtfully at Reardon but said nothing.

“What do you think, Mr. Daniels?” Reardon asked, trying to strike through the wall of lawyers that separated them. Daniels did not appear at all like the spoiled child Langhof had described. He looked confused and a little worried. But more importantly, Reardon sensed that Daniels
did
know something and wanted to tell him about it.

Daniels stared quietly at Reardon.

“You saw something, didn't you?” Reardon asked.

“That's enough!” Mr. Tower exclaimed.

Daniels did not seem to hear Mr. Tower. He continued to stare at Reardon's face, and for a moment Reardon saw him not as a pampered delinquent, but as a pained young man, barely out of childhood, confronting something dreadful, confronting it fully, for perhaps the first time.

“What was it you saw?” Reardon asked firmly.

Mr. Tower grasped Daniels' arm. “I think we'd better go, Winthrop.”

Daniels jerked his arm from Mr. Tower's grasp. “Sit down,” he told him.

“Winthrop, stop it!” Tower said. He remained standing but did not resume his grasp of Daniels' arm.

Daniels looked at Reardon as if trying to determine something about his character, whether he could be trusted. “Was it in the park?”

“Yes,” Reardon replied. “Two deer were killed.”

“Deer?” Daniels asked with surprise. “Am I a suspect?”

Reardon nodded cautiously. “You might be.”

“You see?” Mr. Tower warned. “You're a possible suspect.”

Reardon continued. “The deer were killed in the Children's Zoo. You were near the deer cage only a few minutes after they were killed.”

Mr. Tower looked at Reardon, then at Daniels. “Winthrop, please don't get yourself any deeper in this. You don't know how the police operate.”

Daniels continued to look straight into Reardon's eyes. “I didn't have anything to do with killing those deer,” he said calmly. “But I may know who did.”

Mr. Tower slumped down in his chair. “That's it,” he said. “At this point, Winthrop, I would advise you to tell Mr. Reardon everything you know about this case.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tower,” Reardon said politely. He looked at Daniels. “What do you mean, you may know who did?”

“I saw a man with an ax.”

“When?”

“Around three in the morning. Something like that. Maybe a little later. Maybe a little earlier.”

“Go on,” Reardon said.

“I was standing under the Delacorte animal clock. You know, the one where the animal figures turn around when the clock chimes? You go under it to get to the Children's Zoo.”

Reardon nodded.

“Well, I was standing in that little brick portal, and I saw a man pass me. He was wearing a Parks Department uniform. It was green. It said ‘Parks Department' on the sleeve.”

Reardon thought of Gilbert Noble. “Was the man you saw black or white?”

“He was white.”

Reardon thought of Harry Bryant. “How big was he, the man in the uniform?”

“Average, I suppose. I'm almost six feet, and he was a lot shorter than me.”

“Did you get a close look at this man?”

“Not at that point,” Daniels said. “But later I got a good look.”

“You saw him again?”

“Yes.”

“How did you happen to see him again?”

“Well, he had only passed me a little while before when I started walking into the park in the same direction.”

“Careful here,” Mr. Tower whispered to Daniels.

“Yes, watch yourself,” Mr. Arington said.

Daniels understood. “I mean, I was just strolling around. I wasn't looking for anything in particular. Like a connection, I mean. I wasn't looking for anything, any person.” Daniels' fingers began to fidget nervously with the buttons of his shirt.

Reardon nodded. “I'm just interested in what you saw.”

“I mean, the cops say I was going to meet a connection,” blurted Daniels agitatedly. “For the cocaine they say I had.”

“Just go ahead with the story,” Mr. Tower said exasperatedly.

“As far as I'm concerned,” Reardon said, “you were just taking a stroll in the park.”

“Yeah, right,” Daniels said. “A stroll. I strolled up the cement walk that leads from the animal clock to the Children's Zoo. That's where I saw the man again. I had a good look at him too. He looked strange. Kind of groggy. He looked so strange that I got a little scared, to tell you the truth. He looked like he was about ready to freak out. He was just leaning there against the deer cage, holding the ax.”