Reversible Error (12 page)

Denton sighed and seemed to survey his office, with its awards and memorabilia, as if he were imagining what it would be like to be hauled out of it, to jail. When he resumed speaking, it was from behind a wan smile.

"You know, I liked what you said about trusting people. I guess I operate the same way. But this thing… it's something else. You and I have always gotten along pretty well. You're smart and honest, and you know how to treat cops, which is rare down your street. I understand the kind of problems you have over there. That's by way of saying we have a relationship that means something to me.

"But let me say this. Nobody is to know anything about what we've just discussed. I gave my word to Clay that it was between him and me, and I've broken that word. I think for good reason, but he may not. So you can't reveal your knowledge to him either, ever. And when I say nobody, I mean nobody. Not your best friend, not your girlfriend. Is that agreed?"

Karp cleared his throat and said, "Yes."

"I'll try to keep you up-to-date on what's happening. I expect the same from you. And, Butch…"

"Yes."

"I have to say this. If you tell anybody, I'll find out about it, and if I do, I'd say a career in Jersey doing divorces will look pretty attractive to you."

Karp dragged himself to Marlene's loft that evening like a whipped dog. He had difficulty drawing a full breath, and was nearly winded when he arrived at the fifth-floor landing outside her door. The door was steel, painted glossy black, and he could make out a faint and distorted reflection in it of his own face.

Faint and distorted was indeed how he felt, as if some internal glue had been dissolved and his inner parts were free to travel independently of the structure that had ordered them. Karp was, of course, no stranger to the petty stratagems and evasions that make up much of the life of any participant in an adversarial system of justice. But until the revelations in Denton's office, and his own acquiescence to what the chief intended, he had always maintained a core of integrity, had never gone completely outside the law.

Now he had. He was conspiring in the extralegal abduction and confinement of a multiple murderer in order to protect the police. He still couldn't quite believe it. A structure of rationalization flew to his aid: he might not have to do anything after all. They might never find the guy. The guy might die. Fulton might die. Denton might die. Karp might die. Now, that looked good.

Suddenly he missed Garrahy with a pain that was almost physical. If Garrahy were still alive, this never would have happened. He would have toughed it out. The criminal justice system would never have decayed to the point where an honest cop like Bill Denton would have had to consider something like this. Or maybe that was an illusion too; maybe everything had always been totally corrupt and he, Karp, was the last real sucker in the city.

As from a distance he heard the sound of singing coming through the door, with an accompaniment of rattling noises. Marlene was singing a sad ballad, a sign that she was in a good mood. He pressed his ear to the cold black metal. It was "The Wagoner's Lad": Oh, sad is the fortune of all womankind, She's always controlled, she's always confined…

She should only know, thought Karp, and pushed open the door. Marlene, dressed in her Japanese kimono and Nikes, was standing in the kitchen area stirring something in a pan. She saw Karp, flashed a smile, and sang, a little louder:

Controlled by her parents, until she's a wife,

A slave to her husband the rest of her life.

Karp flung his suit jacket and his folder on a chair and went over to her. The kiss tasted of garlic and sweat.

"You're supposed to shout, 'Hi, honey, I'm home,'" said Marlene.

"Stipulate it," said Karp. "What are you doing?"

"I'm cooking," said Marlene. "You're familiar with the process? See, you buy raw food in a store. Then you put it in a pan on a stove." She tapped the gas range with her wooden spoon. "This is a stove."

"I think I'm beginning to understand," said Karp. "It's like a restaurant, except you have to wash the dishes yourself. But also, if you fondle the breasts of the attractive waitress, you don't get into trouble."

At this, Karp slid his hand inside Marlene's kimono and did just that. Her nipple hardened against his thumb, and the miracle spread down his arm and soothed him. He was always amazed at how strongly Marlene's moods affected him. Her cheerful state seemed to pump sunlight into the darkest crevices of his soul. A minute ago, he was nearly suicidal; now he was cracking jokes and feeling both hungry and horny.

Marlene looked back over her shoulder and said, "If you keep that up, you'll never get to eat this terrific dinner. Go sit on the couch. This'll be done in about two minutes."

A final tweak and Karp went. "What is it, by the way?" he asked.

"It's an exotic dish of my people, called, if I may translate, 'lots of different stuff from the Italian deli, bought at the last minute and smooshed together with olive oil and garlic in a frying pan.' It's a traditional treat for special occasions."

"Is this a special occasion?"

"Yes, in a way. Let me just turn this down and I'll come over."

When she was settled next to Karp on the couch, she said, "Well, first of all, I had a really good day. The calendars went like clockwork all morning, and in the afternoon I put a really nasty strong-arm robber away for a year. I blew them out of the water, one-two-three.

"But the best thing that happened, is this woman I've been working with at NYU called and said she'd finished computerizing all my rape files, and yeah, it looks like we had a serial rapist doing all these panty-hose jobs."

"Come again?"

"I'll tell you the whole story later. But I felt great. Then, at five o'clock sharp, I was waiting at the Leonard Street side for my honey babe to show up, so we could go up to the diamond district to pick out a ring…"

Karp groaned and slapped his forehead. "Ah, shit, Marlene!"

"No, wait! OK, I'm standing there, fuming, starting to hate you, getting depressed, thinking, 'That son-of-a-bitch, how could he forget?' and all the rest, when all of a sudden I had, like, this illumination. It was almost a voice in my head, like in those cartoons-you know-there's a little angel on one shoulder and a little devil on the other? Well, this was the angel.

"And it was saying, look, if Karp missed this, he has to be in some serious shit, because you know he's been wanting to buy this ring for a while, and it's you who've been calling it off on one excuse or another because you're still freaked out about the fact that you don't have any ring finger to put it on, et cetera.

"It made perfect sense to me, and so then I started thinking about you, and what you must be going through, whatever it was, and I decided that I wasn't going to have a tantrum or collapse. Instead I was going to buy some wine and nice things, and make dinner for a change, and sit down and talk about it. What do you think of that?"

Karp swallowed hard, and hugged her. He felt something shift within him, like the tumblers of a rusty lock, something opening. Marlene looked him full in the face and said, "That's better. Let's eat."

They did, and Karp ate a portion nearly as large as his head. He had eaten nothing since his two-bagel breakfast. And he drank a glass of wine too, which was not something he usually did, but then, it was not every day that he sold out everything he believed in.

Finally, in a silence, Marlene said, "Well, you seem a little more human now. You looked like death on toast when you walked in here, so I knew I was right that you had a real bad day. What happened?"

"Urn," said Karp, "I need to tell you this but I can't. What I mean is, whatever I say, you have to not try to guess the details, all right? You can't know this."

Marlene nodded solemnly and Karp continued. "Basically, I've been asked to suppress the prosecution of a set of major crimes. I respect the people who asked me to, and there are reasons for them to do what they're doing, and they're endangering themselves. I mean, it's not a cheap scam. On the other hand… I don't know what the other hand is. I'm kind of, I don't know-morally paralyzed. It's like a musician waking up one day and he's tone deaf."

He laughed bitterly. "It's funny. Today in this fucking meeting Bloom had I gave this big lecture about constitutional protection, and now I'm a party to serious subversion.

"I don't know, maybe I've just been lucky. Maybe corruption comes to everybody in this business, like a rite of passage. Like losing your virginity. No, worse: somebody close to you dying. You think everything's over, your life's finished. But it's not. You go on. But I can't. The thought just popped into my mind while we were eating. If this thing has to go down, I'm out. I'll keep my mouth shut, but I'm finished at the D.A."

"Your good angel," said Marlene.

"You're my good angel," replied Karp.

Marlene drew back and shook her head. "Uh-uh, don't lay that on me! Let's try to avoid the merging of our personalities as long as possible. I meant that you'll do what you have to when the time comes. Meanwhile, do you want to see my printouts?"

"Can I get drunk first?"

Marlene ignored this and went to her briefcase and drew out a sheaf of computer tractor paper and several sealed envelopes.

Sitting next to Karp again, she spread the printout across both their laps. "This is terrific. We have a serial rapist. Nine rapes averaging around two weeks apart. Victim always the same physical type-thin and dark, short brown hair. Each time the victim was accosted in a singles bar. The rapist gets her phone number. In each case, he shows up at her house for a date, pulls a knife, makes her undress, insults her, wraps panty hose around her head, and rapes her."

"Panty hose?"

"Yeah, it's his trademark. The guy's a serious nut."

"Has he hurt anybody yet?"

"No, he just raped them. That doesn't hurt."

"Come on, Marlene, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, were they beaten or cut? No, as a matter of fact. Not yet. You want to give me odds that this bozo is going to stay such a sweetheart?"

Karp thumbed through the printouts. "Good point. Meanwhile, as I'm sure you know, it's hard to get the cops pumped up about date rape."

"This isn't date rape," snapped Marlene.

"No, but the bastard is smart-he knows as well as we do what brings the heat down." Karp pointed to a column on the printout. "What does this mean here? It looks like he had blond hair, then brown, then black. Mustache, beard, clean-shaven… you sure it's the same guy?"

"It's got to be. He disguises himself in the singles clubs, but he always does it the same way. Why, don't you believe it's one guy?"

Karp said nothing for a moment or two. He was thinking about Fulton's killer, the cop, and how the drug-lord killings had assumed a pattern that was no pattern, had been designed to attract the minimum attention from the police. Could Marlene's case be the same? Another cop? That was all he needed.

"Yeah, it could be," Karp said at last. "It could be. Look, Marlene, this is really good work. Let me talk to a couple of people over at the cops. Not to get your hopes up, but maybe we can figure out a way to nail this guy."

Marlene whooped and hugged him tightly. "Oh, I knew I would wrench some advantage out of fucking the boss one day!" she exclaimed. "And here it is. You really think it's a good idea? The pattern analysis?"

"Yeah, I really do. The problem is how to use it and how to build cases based on pattern as evidence. But it does get around the only-one-witness problem in taking rape cases to trial, which should help."

Karp leaned over and picked an envelope off the floor. "You dropped this in your ardor." He gestured to the dining and kitchen area. "I'm going to start cleaning this up and then I'm going to bed. I'm whipped."

"God, he cleans, he pulls strings, he fucks women… the last good one in New York, and I got him," said Marlene as she opened her letter.

Karp began to clear the table, stacking the dirty dishes neatly by the side of the steel sink. He had just started to run hot water into the basin when Marlene let out a cry of anguish.

"What is it?" asked Karp in alarm.

"The fuckers! They're firing me!"

"What!" Karp dried his hands and went to her side. She thrust the letter at him and flung herself down on the couch.

The letter was from the director of the Administrative Bureau, Conrad Wharton. It said:

It has come to my attention that you are planning to marry a member of the district attorney's staff who currently occupies a supervisory position on that staff. This is to inform you that New York State antinepotism regulations [NYSAC 32-5436(e)] prohibit spousal, or other close familial connections, between persons at different supervisory levels in the same department or office.

Therefore, be advised that your employment with the District Attorney's Office, County of New York, will terminate fourteen (14) days after the date of such marriage, unless, by that time, your spouse shall have left the District Attorney's Office or is no longer in a supervisory position.

"Ain't that some shit?" said Marlene when Karp had done reading.

"Yeah," answered Karp, "especially since we were just planning a little nepotism ourselves."

"You call catching a serial rapist nepotism!" cried Marlene.

"No, I'd like to think I'd go out of my way and use up chips with the cops for any ADA who came to me with a good theory and no solid evidence-but try to prove it in an administrative hearing. Look, I'll check the regs tomorrow, but I think they got us, kid. I recall a case when I first got to the office. An ADA-Frank Hobart his name was-married a secretary and she had to quit. I never thought about it until now."

"She had to quit, huh? They never make the man quit. You're not getting fired."