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"What about the other boy? Bobby, the younger one. "
"Jesus," he said. "What have you got? Youve got a sketch based on a look you got at him sitting next to Stettner at a boxing match. You got some kid somebody hunted up who says he recognizes the kid and his names Bobby, but he doesnt know his last name or where hes from or what happened to him. You got somebody else who says Bobby used to be with a pimp who used to threaten kids that hed send them out and they wouldnt come back. "
"His names Juke," I said. "He shouldnt be too hard to trace. "
"He was a cinch, as a matter of fact. People complain a lot about the computer system but it makes some things easy. Juke is a guy named Walter Nicholson. A/k/a Juke, a/k/a Juke Box. First bit he did was for breaking into coin-operated vending machines, which is where the nickname came from. Arrested for statutory rape, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and immoral solicitation. In other words a lot of pimping arrests, a whole profile of pimping kids. A class act. "
"Cant you pick him up? He could tie Bobby to Stettner. "
"You got to get him to talk, which would be hard without having something to hold over his head, which I dont see here. And then youd have to get somebody to believe anything a scumbag like Juke might say. But you cant do any of that because the prick happens to be dead. "
"Stettner got him. "
"No, Stettner didnt get him. He-"
"The same as he got Thurman, to get rid of a witness before anybody could get to him. Dammit, if Id come in right away, if I hadnt waited over the weekend-"
"Matt, Juke got killed a week ago. And Stettner didnt have anything to do with it and probably doesnt even know it happened. Juke and another of Natures noblemen shot each other in a social club on Lenox Avenue. They were fighting over a ten-year-old girl. Must be some hot broad, got two grown men shooting each other over her, dont you think?"
I didnt say anything.
"Look," he said, "I fucking hate this. I got the word last night and I went in this morning and carried on, and theyre right. Theyre wrong but theyre right. And I waited until tonight to call you because I wasnt looking forward to this conversation, believe it or not. Much as I like your company under other circumstances. " He poured more whiskey into his glass. I got a whiff of it, but it didnt make me want it. Nor was it the worst smell in Petes All-American.
I said, "I think I understand, Joe. I knew it was thin with Thurman dead. "
"With Thurman alive I think we probably would have had them. But once hes dead theres no case. "
"But if you mount a full-scale investigation-"
"Jesus," he said, "dont you get it? Theres no grounds for an investigation. Theres no complaint to act on, theres no probable cause for a warrant, theres a whole lot of nothing is what there is. The mans not a criminal, for openers. Never been arrested. You say mob connections, but his names not in any files, never came up in any RICO investigations. Mans clean as a whistle. Lives on Central Park South, makes a good living trading in foreign currencies-"
"Thats money laundering. "
"So you say, but can you prove it? He pays his taxes, he gives to charities, hes made substantial political contributions-"
"Oh?"
"Dont give me that. Its not any clout that makes it impossible to take him down. Nobody ordered us off it because the pricks untouchable, hes got a hook with somebody important. No such thing. But hes not some street kid you can push around and never hear about it. You gotta have somethingll stand up in court, and you want to know what stands up in court? Let me just say two words. You wanna hear two words? Warren Madison. "
"Oh. "
"Yeah, Oh. Warren Madison, terror of the Bronx. Deals dope, kills four other dealers we know for sure and is listed as probable for five others, and when they finally corner this wanted fugitive in his mothers apartment he shoots six cops before they get the cuffs on him. He shoots six cops!"
"I remember. "
"And that cocksucker Gruliow defends him, and what does he do, what he always does, he puts the cops on trial. Spins out all this shit about how the Bronx cops were using Madison as a snitch, and they were giving him confiscated cocaine to sell, and then they tried to murder him to keep him from talking. Do you fucking believe it? Six police officers with bullets in em, not a single bullet in Warren fucking Madison, and that means it was all a police department plot to kill the fuck. "
"The jury bought it. "
"Fucking Bronx jury, they would have cut Hitler loose, sent him home in a cab. And thats with a piece of shit of a dope dealer that everybody knew was guilty. You imagine what youd get bringing a shaky case against a solid citizen like Stettner? Look, Matt, do you see what I mean? Do you want me to go over it again?"
I saw, but we went over it anyway. Somewhere in the course of it the Ten High began to get the upper hand. His eyes lost their sharp focus and he started slurring his words. Pretty soon he began repeating himself, losing track of his own arguments.
"Lets get out of this dive," I said. "Are you hungry? Lets get something to eat, maybe some coffee. "
"Whats that supposed to mean?"
"Just that I wouldnt mind some food. "
"Horseshit. Dont patronize me, you son of a bitch. "
"I wasnt doing that. "
"Fuck you werent. That what they teach you at those meetings? How to be a pain in the ass when another man wants to have a quiet couple of drinks?"
"No. "
"Just because youre some kind of candyass who cant handle it anymore doesnt mean God appointed you to sober up the rest of the fucking world. "
"Youre right. "
"Sit down. Where you going? For Christs sake sit down. "
"I think Ill get on home now," I said.
"Matt? Im sorry. I was out of line there, okay? I didnt mean anything by it. "
"No problem. "
He apologized again and I told him it was fine, and then the booze took him back in the other direction and he decided he didnt like the tone of what Id said. "Hang on one second," I told him. "Stay right where you are, Ill be back in a minute. " And I walked out of there and headed home.
He was drunk, with the better part of a bottle still sitting there in front of him. He had his service revolver on his hip and I thought I recognized his car parked at the curb alongside a fire hydrant. It was a dangerous combination, but God hadnt appointed me to sober up the rest of the fucking world, or to make sure everybody got home safe, either.
Chapter 20
When I went to sleep that night the videocassette was on the table next to the clock, and it was the first thing my eyes happened to hit the next morning. I left it there and went out to meet the day. That was Thursday, and while I didnt chase out to Maspeth to watch the fights that night, I did get home in time to catch the main event on television. Somehow it wasnt the same.
Another day passed before it occurred to me that the cassette belonged in my safety-deposit box, and by then it was Saturday and the bank was closed. I saw Elaine Saturday; we spent the late afternoon browsing through art galleries in SoHo, ate at an Italian place in the Village, and listened to a piano trio at Sweet Basil. It was a day of long silences of the sort possible only for people who have grown very comfortable together. In the cab home we held hands and didnt say a word.
I had told her earlier about my conversation with Joe, and neither of us returned to the topic that afternoon or evening. The following night Jim Faber and I had our standing Sunday dinner date, and I didnt discuss the case with him at all. It crossed my mind once or twice in the course of our conversation but it wasnt something I felt the need to talk about.
It seems odd now, but I didnt even spend that much time thinking about it for those several days. Its not as though I had a great deal of other things on my mind. I didnt, nor did sports provide much in the way of diversion, not in that stretch of frozen desert that extends from the Super Bowl to the start of spring training.
The mind, f
rom what I know of it, has various levels or chambers, and deals with matters in many other ways than conscious thought. When I was a police detective, and since then in my private work, there have not been that many occasions when I sat down and consciously figured something out. Most of the time the accretion of detail ultimately made a solution obvious, but, when some insight on my part was required, it more often than not simply came to me. Some unconscious portion of the mind evidently processed the available data and allowed me to see the puzzle in a new light.
So I can only suppose that I made an unconscious decision to shelve the whole subject of the Stettners for the time being, to put it out of my mind (or, perhaps, into my mind, into some deeper recess of self) until I knew what to do about it.
It didnt take all that long. As to how well it worked, well, thats harder to say.
TUESDAY morning I dialed 411 and asked for the number for Bergen Stettner on Central Park South. The operator told me she could not give out that number, but volunteered that she had a business listing for the same party on Lexington Avenue. I thanked her and broke the connection. I called back and got a different operator, a man, and identified myself as a police officer, supplying a name and shield number. I said I needed an unlisted number and gave him the name and address. He gave me the number and I thanked him and dialed it.
A woman answered and I asked for Mr. Stettner. She said he was out and I asked if she was Mrs. Stettner. She took an extra second or two to decide, then allowed that she was.
I said, "Mrs. Stettner, I have something that belongs to you and your husband, and Im hoping that youre offering a substantial reward for its return. "
"Who is this?"
"My name is Scudder," I said. "Matthew Scudder. "
"I dont believe I know you. "
"We met," I said, "but I wouldnt expect you to remember me. Im a friend of Richard Thurmans. "
There was a pronounced pause this time, while I suppose she tried to work out whether her friendship with Thurman was a matter of record. Evidently she decided that it was.
"Such a tragic affair," she said. "It was a great shock. "
"It must have been. "
"And you say you were a friend of his?"
"Thats right. I was also a close friend of Arnold Leveques. "
Another pause. "Im afraid I dont know him. "
"Another tragic affair. "
"I beg your pardon?"
"Hes dead. "
"Im very sorry, but I never knew the man. If you could tell me what it is you want-"
"Over the phone? Are you sure thats what you want?"
"My husbands not here at the moment," she said. "If you would leave your number perhaps hell call you back. "
"I have a tape Leveque made," I said. "Do you really want me to tell you about it over the phone?"
"No. "
"I want to meet with you privately. Just you, not your husband. "
"I see. "
"Someplace public, but private enough that we wont be overheard. "