Authors: Giorgio Faletti
She gave her time to absorb what she had said. And to prepare her for what she was about to say.
‘But I promise you one thing. I won’t rest until I’ve made sure that man won’t do anyone any harm ever again.’
Sundance simply nodded. For the moment, that was all that was needed between them. Vivien started the engine and set off towards Joy, which would be her niece’s home for a little while longer. She was anxious to tell Father McKean about the progress they’d made, but as she joined the traffic, she couldn’t help thinking about the new mission. Whoever this elusive Ziggy Stardust was, his life was about to become a living hell.
Vivien opened the glass-fronted door and walked into the precinct house.
She left outside a bright sunny morning that showed not the slightest inclination to follow her in. This was usually a familiar place to her. A frontier outpost bang in the middle of civilization, which still gave her a sense of home she didn’t find anywhere else.
Today was different. Today there was something abnormal in the air and inside her, a sense of anxiety and electric tension she couldn’t define. She had read somewhere that, in times of peace, the warrior fights himself. She wondered what kind of war she would have to fight in the days to come. And how much space each of them would still have for his or her own inner conflict.
In a precinct house, peace wasn’t a state of waiting. It was a dream.
She waved to the officers on duty behind the desk and went through the door leading to the upper floor. She started climbing the stairs, leaving behind her the roll-call room where, the night before, leaning on the desk, Captain Alan Bellew had updated all the off-duty officers on the situation.
He’d begun, ‘As I guess you’ve all realized by now, this is a really nasty business. It’s now been established that the
building on 10th Street was blown up deliberately. The experts have found traces of explosive. The worst you could think of. TNT combined with napalm. That’s one detail the media don’t yet have, though you can bet they soon will. Whoever did this was aiming to cause the maximum damage, combining the incendiary effect of napalm and the explosive power of TNT. The building was mined with surgical precision. How the perpetrators managed to set the charges so carefully without attracting attention is still a mystery. You don’t need me to tell you that everyone’s working on this: FBI, NSA, CIA, you name it. And us, of course.’
Bellew had paused.
‘This morning there was a meeting at the commissioner’s office with the mayor and a couple of bigwigs from Washington. The Defcon level is on maximum readiness. That means all military bases and airfields are on a war footing. I’m telling you this so you can see how seriously everyone’s taking this.’
Vincent Narrow, a tall, well-built detective sitting in the front row, had raised a hand. The captain gestured to him to speak.
‘Has anyone claimed responsibility?’
They were all wondering the same thing. In spite of all the time that had passed, the ghosts of 9/11 were far from being exorcized.
Bellew had shaken his head. ‘Nobody at all. For the moment we don’t know any more about that than the TV channels. Al-Qaeda has put out a communiqué on the Internet disclaiming responsibility. The computer experts are checking if it’s genuine. There’s always a possibility some other group of fanatics is behind this, but these guys are usually very eager to take the credit.’
Another question came from the back of the room. ‘Do we have any leads?’
‘Not even the ghost of a lead. Apart from the unusual combination of explosives.’
Finally Vivien asked the question they were all afraid to hear the answer to. ‘How many dead?’
The captain sighed. ‘For the moment, more than ninety. The reason the number wasn’t higher is that this was Saturday night, and a lot of people were out or away for the weekend. But it’s bound to rise. Some were horribly burned. There won’t be many wounded.’
The captain had left them all a moment to absorb the figure. And to join it in their minds to the images that TV channels were broadcasting all over the world.
‘This isn’t a massacre on the scale of 9/11, but when you take the expertise of the bombers into account, it may only be the beginning of something bigger. So what I ask all of you is this: keep your eyes and ears wide open. Pursue the investigations you’ve already been assigned, but in the meantime don’t rule out anything, even the smallest detail. Spread the word among your informers. We have authorization to promise anything we like, from money to cutting deals on charges, to anyone who provides useful information.’
He took some photographs from his desk and showed them to his men.
‘These were taken around the scene of the attack. They’ll be displayed on the noticeboard upstairs. Maniacs often get a kick from going back to the scene of their crimes. They may not be any use, but who knows? Anyhow, take a look at them. You never know where a lead might come from. That’s all for now.’
The meeting broke up and everyone left the room,
commenting
on the events. Some went back home, others hit the city to enjoy what was left of their Sunday. They all looked a lot more worried than when they’d come in.
Vivien, who had come directly from the Bronx to the precinct house, recovered her car from the parking lot and reluctantly joined the slow-moving traffic home. The next day, the city would wake up and resume its usual frenzied race towards some unknown goal. But for the moment there was calm and time to think. And that was what Vivien needed. As soon as she got home, she took a shower and went straight to bed, where she tried in vain to read a book. For what remained of the night she slept little and badly. The captain’s words, combined with what she and Sundance had witnessed, preyed on her mind. In addition, she had been disoriented by Father McKean’s behaviour when they had met at Joy. She had spoken with him of the progress she had made in her relationship with her niece, and how open Sundance had been. His response hadn’t been what she had expected. He had greeted this news with a lukewarm smile and words that seemed more polite than enthusiastic. He hadn’t seemed the person she’d come to know, the person she’d admired ever since she first met him. Several times, he’d turned the conversation around to the bombing, asking about the means used, the number of victims, how the investigation was going. Vivien had come away with a sense that something was eating Father McKean and she didn’t know what it was.
Now, Vivien walked into the detectives’ squadroom. Only a couple of her colleagues were at their desks. The Plaza was empty.
She gave a wave that took in everybody and nobody. The camaraderie which usually pervaded the room had
disappeared. Everyone was silent, absorbed in their own thoughts.
She sat down at her desk, switched on the computer, and linked to the police database. She entered her user ID and password and, as soon as she had access, typed in the name Ziggy Stardust. After a few moments a photograph appeared, along with his record. She was surprised to find herself looking at a nondescript, bland face. He looked like the kind of person you meet and immediately forget. A complete nonentity.
‘Here you are, you son of a bitch.’
She quickly read through all the things Zbigniew Malone alias Ziggy Stardust had been involved with. He was a type that Vivien knew well. A small-time crook, the kind who spends all his life on the edges of crime without ever really getting his feet wet. Someone who didn’t enjoy a scrap of respect even among his own kind. He had been arrested several times for various offences. Bag snatching, drug dealing, pimping, crap like that. He had also done a little time, but less than Vivien would have expected, given his résumé.
She looked for his address, and saw that it was in Brooklyn. She knew a detective who worked out of the 67th Precinct, a bright, easy-going guy she’d once worked a case with. She picked up the phone and asked to speak with Detective Star. After a few moments, she heard his voice, slightly guttural, just as she remembered it.
‘Star speaking.’
‘Hi, Robert. It’s Vivien Light, from the 13th.’
‘Vivien, light of the human race. To what do I owe the honour?’
‘I’m flattered by your description, though I’m not sure the human race agrees.’
She heard Star’s laughter. ‘I see you haven’t changed. What do you need?’
‘Information.’
‘Shoot.’
‘What do you know about a guy who goes by the name Ziggy Stardust?’
‘I know a whole lot of things about him, but the first one that comes to mind is that he’s dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘That’s right. Murdered. Stabbed to death, to be precise. They found him yesterday in his apartment, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. According to the post mortem, the death occurred on Saturday. He was small fry, but someone decided he didn’t deserve to live. We sometimes used him as an informer.’
Vivien added informer to the list of Ziggy Stardust’s activities she already had in her possession. That would explain why he’d got off so lightly in his dealings with the law. Usually, in return for some reliable tip-offs, they turned a blind eye to illegal enterprises of lesser importance.
‘Do you have the killer?’
She’d have liked to add that, if they did, she’d have gladly gone to the jail and given that person a medal, but she held back.
‘No, and with all the crap that scumbag was into, I don’t think it’ll be easy. And let’s be honest about this, no one’s weeping tears over him. We’re handling the case, but with all that’s going down right now, finding whoever whacked this guy isn’t exactly top priority.’
‘I can believe that. Keep me informed. I may even tell you why, if I have to.’
‘OK.’
Vivien hung up and sat there for a moment mulling over the information she had just received. Then she decided to
print the file she had on the screen. She intended to show the photograph to Sundance, to confirm that he really was the man she had told him about. She couldn’t summon up any shame over the small, mean sense of euphoria she felt inside her. Ziggy Stardust’s ugly end showed that revenge and justice sometimes went hand in hand. What she had promised her niece had come to pass earlier than she had foreseen. Vivien’s one regret was that she couldn’t take any credit for it.
At that moment Brett Tyler, one of her colleagues, came out of the bathroom next to the Plaza. He was a dark,
well-built
guy, more stubborn than brilliant. And he could be rough with those who didn’t deserve any other treatment. Vivien had seen him in action and she had to admit that, when he wanted, he could be extremely effective.
Tyler approached her desk. ‘Hi, Vivien. Everything okay?’
‘So-so. You?’
He spread his arms in a resigned gesture. ‘Russell Wade is coming in to give me the lowdown on that gambling joint. I can hardly wait. It’s going to be a truly thrilling morning.’
Vivien saw again the rumpled figure of Wade leaving the precinct house accompanied by his lawyer, and remembered Captain Bellew’s comment on his chaotic, self-destructive lifestyle.
‘Was it you who smashed his lip?’
‘Yes. And strictly between the two of us, I quite enjoyed it. I just don’t like the guy.’
Vivien didn’t have time to reply, because just then the guy in question appeared at the door, accompanied by a uniformed officer. Vivien saw that he had got back on his feet compared with the first time she had seen him, even though his lip still bore the mark of Brett Tyler’s tender loving care.
‘Speak of the devil,’ Tyler said softly.
The uniformed officer went back the way he had come, and Wade came towards them. Tyler made no attempt at cordiality, apart from a nod that was so formal as to appear vaguely sarcastic.
‘Good morning, Mr Wade.’
‘Any reason why it should be?’
‘As a matter of fact, no. For either of us.’
The man turned his head for a moment to look at Vivien. He said nothing to her, and turned away again. As he did so, his glance fell briefly on the photograph lying on her desk. He immediately turned his attention back to Tyler.
‘So, shall we get this whole thing over and done with?’ The tone of the question was vaguely provocative.
Tyler accepted the challenge. ‘Haven’t you brought your lawyer?’
‘Why, are you planning to hit me again?’
Vivien could have sworn she saw an amused gleam in Russell Wade’s eyes. Maybe Tyler had seen it, too, because he darkened suddenly. Moving aside, he indicated a point to his right.
‘This way, please.’
As they walked towards Tyler’s desk, Vivien continued smiling for a few moments at the verbal skirmish between the two men. Then she opened the folder lying on her desk, which contained the file on the corpse found in the wall on 23rd. The medical examiner’s report was there, along with a copy of the photographs she had found in the document holder on the ground next to the body. In spite of the captain’s desire to handle all crimes committed in his patch, it was reasonably certain that the case would be transferred to the Cold Case Squad, which was why she went through the report
quickly and without a great deal of interest. It confirmed, with a bit more technical jargon, the cause of death the ME had suggested at the scene. The date of death went back some fifteen years, although there was a small margin of error due to the conditions of the place in which the body had been preserved. Results of tests on the clothes hadn’t come through yet, while tests on the teeth were still in progress. The body presented no unusual marks, except for a consolidated fracture of the humerus and the right tibia and a tattoo on one shoulder, still visible after all this time. Attached to the file was a photograph of this tattoo. It was a Jolly Roger, at the pirate flag. There was nothing exceptional about the design, but beneath it were the words
written in characters appropriate to the image. Ironic, really, Vivien thought. Carrying the only flag hadn’t saved the man from a nasty end. But the tattoo could be a useful lead in the identification of the body, if it turned out to be the symbol of some particular group or association.
That was all the documentation.
So far, this case was shaping up to be a fairly boring one. They’d have to contact the Department of Buildings for information on the two demolished buildings.
Take statements from the former owners and tenants.
Check missing persons reports from around that date.
She put down the file and picked up the two photographs. For a long time she stared at the young man in uniform in front of a tank, a protagonist in a war that had brought more shame than glory. Then she went on to the image of the same young man holding up that strange three-legged cat. She
wondered about that. Was it a freak of nature or had someone mutilated the animal? She’d probably never know. She put everything back inside the folder, and sat back in her chair. She would have to write a report, but she didn’t feel like it right now.