Manhattan Nocturne (37 page)

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Authors: Colin Harrison

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“Weren't they in his estate?”

“You mean did he leave them to somebody? No way. Who would he leave them to?”

“I don't know. His wife?”

“Caroline? No way.”

“She was his wife, though.”

Billy shook his head. “Hey, you got to understand, I was around Si in a lot of places. He was fucking a lot of girls. He married Caroline because it was an interesting thing to do.
She
was an interesting thing to do, if you know what I mean. She was like a riddle that he played with. But he was never into the husband thing. Besides, they knew each other only, like, six months or something”

“You and Simon went out a lot?”

“A lot of times, yeah.”

“What were you doing with him the day he disappeared?”

“I wasn't with him.”

“Where were you?”

“I was on a flight to Hong Kong. Just like tonight. I do a lot of moving around.”

“Why didn't you tell the police that you saw Simon on the day he disappeared?”

“Because I didn't.”

“I would disagree”

“Hey, you know what?” he said amicably.

“What?”

“I did not see him on the day he disappeared.”

We drove on. The cabbie looked into his mirror from time to time. “I could tell you my problem,” I said, “but it's not going to make you feel better.”

“Tell me your problem.”

“My problem is that I've seen all the tapes, Billy. All of Simon's tapes.”

He looked at me. “I'm listening. I'm waiting for the hook.”

“The hook is in the proof that I've seen the tapes.”

“Yeah?”

“On the tape it's the West Side, maybe Tenth Avenue and Forty-sixth Street. You and Simon are cruising in a limousine. You stop and pick up a hooker and you bargain down her fee to five dollars. Then you get out of the car while Simon screws her. You get back in the car after they're done, and then you drive on.”

“Okay.”

“so?”

“So that's
one
of the tapes.”

“Well, fuck me!” He smiled hatefully. “Hey! You saw one of Simon's tapes! Where does this give you the idea that you can show up out of the blue at one of myâ”

“The other tape,” I interrupted, “the pertinent one, is set inside of a van. The van is parked in Tompkins Square Park prior to and during a riot by a mob of squatters and street people. The van is situated such that the important action of the riot is filmed through the back window. You were in the van with Simon. The camera catches both of you, and your voice is plainly recorded. You know the tape I'm talking about, Billy. Even if you never saw it, you know the one I'm talking about. I know you remember it, because anyone would remember what it was like to see a policeman struck in the head with a baseball bat. One blow, down he goes. You saw it, Billy, you saw it with your own two eyes and, in fact, you commented on it. But there it was. A black cop was murdered by a white guy with a baseball bat and you saw him do it. You watched. You read the papers the next day. Maybe you even read my column. You saw the news. You and Simon both.”

“He said he was going to use it in a film. He said it was so good he might just have to use it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean, okay?”

“I mean you can tell that to the cops.”

“Why?”

“Because they're very interested right now. They know about the tape, Billy. I've told them about the tape. I haven't yet handed it over to them. We're negotiating under what terms they're to get the tape from me. See, the tape confirms who the killer is. Now they can arrest him and put him on trial. The assistant district attorney will need to present, or will contemplate presenting, a chain of custody. Then they'll
want to haul me up there in court and identify me as the guy who gave them the tape. They'll ask me who I got the tape from and so on. Now, I don't want to go up as a witness. It's not in my interest as a journalist. Somewhere in there they'll ask me about you. Did I talk to you, did you know about the tape, that kind of thing. I mean, the cops know that it would be natural for me to ask you why you didn't tell them about the tape. And I would be forced to tell them that yes, I did talk to you about the tape, and that you told me exactly what you just told me, Billy, which was this: âHe said he was going to use it in a film. He said it was so good he might just have to use it.' You said that. You said that about a minute ago. I didn't write it down and I didn't tape it, Billy, but I remember it. I can remember quotes for years, as a matter of fact. So where were we? Okay. So if I tell the cops what you said, they'll say, âHoly shit, that's an admission of cognizance. This William Munson figure was holding back on evidence about the murder of a cop.' Do you know what they'll do to you, Billy? Have you ever looked Rudy Giuliani in the eyes? You're going to be up in Attica State Prison pitching your sunken treasure thing, maybe getting some other guy's treasure sunken in you, you know? Maybe. Maybe you'll beat the rap. But the papers would eat your face off, Billy. I'll write the headline: âInvestment Banker Held Out on Cop Murder.' That's page one, Billy. That's Tom Brokaw, CBS
Evening News
, CNN.
Vanity Fair
will do a piece on you, interview all your old girlfriends. Use your imagination, okay?”

“Wait, waitâ”

“No, you wait,” I said, poking my finger at him. “Keep listening. There's a way out. If I don't tell the cops what you said, then you can go to your lawyer, tonight perhaps, and start figuring out what you're going to say when they ask you. It'll be much better to have an answer. A severe drug problem would be useful. I suggest that you develop or enhance a record of drug addiction, Billy, or a drinking problem, anything so that you can tell the cops that you passed out later that night and couldn't remember a thing. A long record of
headaches, treatments, dizzy spells, passing out, CAT scans, stuff like that. There are lawyers who specialize in this kind of defenseâ”

“Who? Do you know one?”

“No. Get your secretary on it. Now, as we were saying, what happened on the day Simon disappeared?”

Munson gazed out of the cab window. He was defeated now. “We just drove around, man.”

“What did you drive in?”

“His dad's van.”

“His dad's?”

“The one that his father used to use for work. It was his.”

“The one the two of you had in the park?”

He fingered his shirt cuff. “Yes.”

“Was there video equipment in it?”

“His dad had all kinds of old tools in there, and Simon had cameras, drugs, booze, he had books, a mattress, a bicycle, a lot of hand tools, things like that. He had everything in there.”

“Where did you go?”

“We went to the nursing home, and Simon and his father talked about some shit. I didn't listen. I just hung out in the hallway. I didn't want to see Simon with his dad. I figured he might cry, and I didn't want to see that. I just shook the old man's hand.”

“How lucid was the old man then?”

“He was okay on some things butâit wasn't Alzheimer's but something else. He'd lost the ability to read and write. He could still talk a little, I guess. I couldn't understand him. Simon could.”

“You guys left and then what?”

“I don't know. We drove around. I can't remember the order. We got something to eat, we stopped at some kind of an office.”

“A lawyer's office?”

“I don't know. An office in a house, something like that.”

“People named Segal?”

“I don't remember.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Fuck, man, I don't remember,” Munson protested. “I stayed in the van. It was a very quick stop.”

“Was it in Queens?”

“Yes, near the nursing home.”

“Did Simon ever talk to you about Sebastian Hobbs?”

“The guy who owns your paper?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I'm asking if he ever mentioned him.”

“No.”

“Did he ever show you his collection of tapes?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Simon wasn't like that. The tapes were a private thing, like an internal dialogue, okay? He made them for his own purposes. People gave him tapes, too, when they thought they had a good one. I went with him sometimes, yes, we did stuff, but I was never allowed to see them. He never offered and I never asked. It was sort of a compliment to be taped with him, and I didn't want him to feel self-conscious about it with me. He made a lot of tapes without me, too. I never saw them. And you know, toward the end we both got busy in our lives and didn't see each other so much.”

“Where were you the day after you two drove around?”

“Hey, I got the ticket stub, the records from the airline. I was on my way to Hong Kong. I always stay at the Conrad. I have phone records from the plane. I even have phone records from the hotel car. They've got a red stretch Rolls-Royce that picks you up at the airport. I didn't know that he was dead till, like, a week later. I saw it on CNN.”

“You never told the police that you spent some of the day with Simon?”

“No.”

“You were his friend?”

Munson frowned. “Hey, fuck you. Si and I parted ways at, like, maybe three in the afternoon. He dropped me off at the airport. Where he went after that I have no idea. I spent a few hours with him. We drove out from Manhattan, saw his dad,
boom, stopped at the office, boom, and then to the airport. That's it. From what I understand, the police never even figured out exactly when Simon was killed, okay? Why should I get involved with that? I wasn't part of the story. Simon could have had a hundred interactions with people after that. And you know what? I thought long and hard about it. I thought about it and I thought what should I do? I got a wife and two kids. I'm making money for them, too, and this stuff would just have screwed things up for me. For no reason. Simon would have agreed with me, matter of fact. He would have said, âDon't do it.'”

The cab was racketing over some bad road. “But there was also the matter of the Tompkins Square Park tape. The less connection between you, the better.”

“I suppose.”

“Weren't you afraid the tape was going to appear somehow?”

“I knew that depended on Caroline.”

“What do you mean?”

He gave me a little smile, acknowledging his earlier lie about not knowing where the tapes were. “She called me one day and said she'd seen the tape and thought it would look bad for Simon's memory if we told the police.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. But she was lying.”

“I don't get it.”

“I mean, it wasn't for some high holy purpose. If the thing about the cop tape came out, it would damage Simon's marketability. You got all those videos being rented, all the royalties and so on. You could have the people pissed off that his estate was still making money.”

“Did she know you spent time with Simon that day?”

“I don't know. I didn't tell her.”

“He could have seen her between the time he left you and the time he disappeared,” I said, remembering Caroline had made no mention of Munson in the police report. “He could have told her he'd seen you.”

“That's possible, I guess.”

The cab was pulling into the airport.

“So you're going to Hong Kong anyway?” I asked.

“Sure. Out of the country. Hard to reach.” He pulled out his wallet, pushed four twenties through the glass. “Cabbie, I want you to take this fellow back to the city.”

I could throw in a couple of junk questions now. “Did Simon ever talk to you about Caroline?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“He said she could just about fuck his dick off.” He looked at me. “That's a quote. I can remember quotes for years.”

I was going to smile, but my beeper went off.

TOMMY SHOT. GO ST. VINCENT'S HOSP.

Little bright letters, big events.