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Authors: Peter Blauner

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Hard-Boiled

Slipping Into Darkness (26 page)

BOOK: Slipping Into Darkness
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“You know, there’s something else we need to focus on,” she said, beginning a new tack.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Who else could’ve done this murder. Your first lawyer tried to throw up some smoke screens, but he never developed a real alternative to sell the jury.”

 

“Because he was a lying old drunk who never gave a damn about me.”

 

“That may well be, but if this case goes to trial again, you better have another answer.” She fixed him with an unsettling stare. “Come on. You’ve had twenty years to think about it.”

 

“That’s not my yob.” He flashed a grin, trying to charm her with his old
Chico and the Man
bit.

 

Her face drooped like an unironed dress.

 

“Look, why am I supposed to do the police’s job for them?” he said. “I’ve been in a cell since ’84. How should I know who she was seeing or talking to?”

 

“Well, who else had keys to her apartment?”

 

“In the building? I already told you a hundred times. Just the super and the doorman.”

 

“And so they questioned your dad about where he was that night?”

 

The question almost knocked him sideways.

 

“Why you wanna talk about that?” he said woundedly.

 

“I saw the detective had in his notes that your father said he was out on a date that night with a woman named Susan Armenio,” she prodded. “Did you ever meet her?”

 

“No.” He folded and unfolded his arms. “I don’t think he went with her again. He was never with anybody except my mother.”

 

“Well, what time did he get home that night? He told the police it wasn’t until about four-thirty in the morning. Was that true?”

 

“If he said it, it was true. That man never lied about anything.”

 

He saw her features sharpen, making her look less like a china doll and a bit more like a hawk. “But did you see him or hear him when he came in?”

 

“What are you trying to say?” He found his fingers curling into a fist.

 

“I’m just asking the question. He must have been in and out of tenants’ apartments all the time with his key.”

 

“No.” He shook his head, like a child resisting the approach of a medicine spoon. “Don’t be talking like that.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“He didn’t have nothing to do with what happened to that girl.”

 

“How do you know?” She cocked her head to one side suspiciously. “Did he ever discuss what he did that night in detail with you?”

 

“He didn’t have to discuss it with me, all right?” He tightened the fist, digging his nails into his palm. “That man was a fucking saint. Always made sure I had money in my commissary account. Took the Columbus Circle bus every other weekend to come up and see me upstate, with those damn bitches smoking their cigarettes. So don’t you be saying anything bad about him.”

 

“Okay, take it easy.” She patted the air, trying to soothe him. “I was just trying to look at the angles you might not have considered.”

 

“So now I considered them. And there’s nothing there. The subject’s closed. Unless you want me to find another lawyer.”

 

“Well, then, you’re not leaving us much to work with.” Her shoulders slumped. “We can’t find the porter. The DNA evidence hasn’t come back yet. And you still don’t have any other alibi witnesses. I have to tell you, I’m getting a little nervous here. We’ve put ourselves pretty far out on a limb, refusing to make a deal when we had the chance. It’s not going to be easy to turn back now.”

 

Hearing her revert to her old habit of talking too fast made him hunker down a little. “So, what’re you hearing from the DA anyway?”

 

“Not much the last few days. But they may be preoccupied with this other murder that’s been in the papers.”

 

“I don’t know about that.”

 

She looked at him strangely. “The girl from Mount Sinai.” She paused, waiting for a glimmer of recognition. “I don’t know how you could’ve missed it. It was all over the news the last few days.”

 

“What can I tell you?” He yawned into his fist. “I’ve been busy, trying to work on my case and bring in a little money.”

 

“Right.”
Her eyes rested on his fist, registering that he still had the bandage on it. “You thought any more about suing the supermarket?”

 

“Ha?”

 

“You said you cut your hand working in the stockroom. We were thinking about filing a claim against them.”

 

“Nah, it’s all right.” He dropped his hand to his side. “I thought about it. The manager gave me a job and I wasn’t straight with him. I got what was coming to me.”

 

Her eyes lingered on the dressing, like lipstick on a collar. He realized this whole conversation had been like a second date; she was still feeling him out, testing him and trying to decide whether he was trustworthy. She knew there were things he hadn’t told her yet and there would come a time when she couldn’t ignore them anymore.

 

“You know, I’m thinking about what you said before.” She took off her glasses. “I’m thinking maybe it
is
too soon for you to be getting involved with anybody.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You’ve just got a lot going on. We still have plenty of work to do on the case, and things are really unsettled in your life. It’s not the best timing.”

 

“So how long
do
you think I should wait?”

 

“I don’t know.” She raised her chin thoughtfully. “Probably until the indictment gets dismissed.”

 

“Which could be months or maybe even never. Right?” He dropped his voice. “Ms. Aaron, can I tell you something? I’ve never been in a real relationship with a woman. Did you know that?”

 

“Well, uh . . .”

 

“Thirty-seven years old. Does that seem right to you?”

 

“No. Of course not.”

 

“Then tell me what I should do.” He reached for her sleeve with his bandaged hand.

 

Reflexively, she drew her arm back. And then smiled in apology, embarrassed by her own reaction.

 

“Go easy, Julian,” she said. “You might want to break it to her slowly. A girl could have a few problems of her own.”

 

 

28

 

 

 

THE DUCHESS!THE Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She’ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets!”

 

The six-year-old ran away from Eileen, screaming with delight, a little redheaded dynamo crouching behind the big bronze rabbit with the waistcoat and pocket watch.

 

“‘Off with her head!’ said the Queen.” Eileen crept up on her. “Off with her head!”

 

The baby sister, who was three, yet another redhead with alabaster skin, toddled after Eileen, yanking on the back of her shirt.

 

“A-ha!” She whirled around. “Behead that Dormouse! Turn that Dormouse out of court!
Suppress him!
Pinch him! Off with his whiskers!”

 

Could this be the same woman who’d staggered into court less than a month ago in a near-catatonic daze with her son propping her up? Francis stood behind the trimmed hedges, watching Eileen skip through the shrieking munchkins swarming the Alice in Wonderland sculpture in Central Park.

 

“Mercy!” Giggling, the six-year-old scooted under the hood of a bronze mushroom turning the color of a scuffed penny loafer in the midafternoon sun.

 

“‘No, no!’ said the Queen.” Eileen gnashed her teeth and clawed after her. “No mercy! Sentence first! Verdict afterwards!”

 

The child squirted out past the Mad Hatter, her grandmother capering after her in tennis shoes, with the three-year-old hanging on to her shirttails, coming to an abrupt halt only when she spotted Francis stepping out from behind the benches.

 

“Looking pretty spry there, Eileen.”

 

She slowly straightened up and shooed the children back to their babysitter, a hefty lass in a “Legalize It” T-shirt networking with the other nannies on the benches.

 

“I have my good days and my bad days,” she said guardedly. “This
had
been a good day.”

 

“Not anymore?”

 

“I’m always happy to see you, Francis, but you don’t always have good news for me.”

 

She still had that dry husky Grand Dame voice that made it easy to picture her bellying up to the bar at Farrell’s with a bunch of firemen or dragging a mink across a marble floor after a Broadway opening.

 

“Did you follow me here, Francis?”

 

“I did,” he admitted. “But only because you didn’t return my phone messages.”

 

“Well, shame on me then. Manic depressives have the worst manners, don’t they?”

 

He looked at her sideways, surprised to hear her get off a line at her own expense. From hearing Tom describe how tenuous her grip on reality was, he’d figured on treading lightly today.

 

“Coffee?” He reached into the bag for the extra cup he’d brought along. “I remember you take it black, like me.”

 

“No thanks.” She looked after the girls. “I don’t need anything else keeping me up at night.”

 

“Still don’t sleep well?”

 

“They say that’s a side effect of some of these antidepressants. Dry mouth, constipation, loss of sexual desire, micrographia, hallucinations . . . As if any of that wouldn’t make you depressed all over again. But, no, I don’t think I’ve had a good night’s sleep in maybe twenty years.”

 

They watched her granddaughters clamber up on top of the mushroom and nestle their way into Alice’s lap. The statue had a serene expression and half-closed eyes, as if the model had just decided to rest a moment on the cusp before adulthood.

 

“You know, I used to bring Allison here all the time.” She watched light glitter off the nearby sailboat pond. “It all goes by so fast.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Francis started to sip his coffee. “I’ve got one in the army and another in her sophomore year at Smith who was always trying to get me to read
Alice in Wonderland
at bedtime.”

 

“Kayleigh, wasn’t it?”

 

He drank his coffee too fast and burned the roof of his mouth. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

 

Patti was barely pregnant when this case started. He’d felt self-conscious even mentioning that they were expecting again to a mother who’d just lost her child.

 

“Ah.” She tapped the side of her head. “There’s a few gumballs left in the machine. They didn’t all roll out at the bar.”

 

He touched the tip of his tongue to his scorched palate, watching a duck sail across the pond. He found himself counting the number of seconds until he could no longer track it. How could she possibly recall a name she hadn’t heard in twenty years, yet still be going around telling people her daughter was alive and well?

 

“Those were special days, when it was just Allison and me,” she said. “Feeding ducks in the park. Going to see the mummies at the museum. You never want them to grow up.”

 

“Where was Tom?”

 

“Oh, that was when he was either off at boarding school or spending summers with his father. Terrible what happens to boys when a family falls apart.”

 

“That it is.” He nodded, remembering his own father’s complaints about the burden he’d been after his mother died.

 

“We used to play hide-and-seek around this statue.” Eileen watched her granddaughters slide down and crouch under the mushroom, waiting for her to start the chase again. “That was her favorite. Even when we were living in a tiny walk-up on Broadway and 98th, it could take me twenty minutes to find her. And then she’d turn up in the clothes hamper. Or behind a curtain or under the bed. Some place I was sure I’d already looked. Like she could just make herself disappear and then reappear, like the Cheshire cat without her smile.”

 

He felt the hair on his wrists start to rise. “Eileen?”

 

“She was everything to me, Francis.
Everything.
We were so close that we talked three times a day on the phone. We even wore the same clothes. But she was better than me. I mean, really better. I was almost envious sometimes. To be a writer is such a paltry thing compared to a doctor. After she was gone you know how many people wrote to me?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“Almost a hundred. And she’d only been at Bellevue a year and a half. They came out in droves, with these unbelievable letters about how she’d saved someone’s life or their job. But you know what the terrible thing is?”

 

“What?”

 

“That I
hated
all these people, in a way. I mean, I was jealous of them. Because every minute they had with her was a minute I didn’t get.” She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t stay up. “I know how crazy that sounds.”

 

“That’s all right,” he said, humoring her. “You didn’t happen to keep any of those letters around, did you?”

 

“No. Why?”

 

“Ah, no big deal. We’re just looking to tie up a couple of loose ends.”

 

“Could you be a little more specific?”

 

“Allison never mentioned having trouble with any of the women she worked with, did she?”

 

“There’s a problem with the case,
isn’t there?
”

 

Her eyes suddenly flared so intensely blue that it was as if Francis were seeing clear through the back of her head to the sky behind her.

 

“Nah, not a problem really. We’re just looking at a couple of inconsistencies. . . .”

 

“Because she’s not dead,” she said. “It’s what I’ve been saying all along. . . .”

 

“Oh boy.” He hitched up his belt, knowing he was in for it. “Eileen, I know how badly you want that to be true.”

 

“No one would listen to me.” She jabbed a finger at him. “But she’s still out there. I knew it. . . .”

 

The Mad Hatter stood behind her, his teeth bared in a rictus grin. Tom was right. She really had slid into full-blown delusion. There’d probably be no easy way to get her to come in for a more formal interview or give them a DNA sample.

 

“I mean, when I first heard she was gone, I couldn’t handle it.” The words spilled out in a frantic rush. “I went over to her apartment and I slept in her bed. I wore her pajamas, just so I could still smell her. I went through all five stages—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—and then I’d start them all over again. It wears you down, grief. It really does. Having to wear this mask of ‘normality’ all the time. It’s exhausting. You have to stop and think how to answer every time someone asks you how many children you have. The only part of the day I looked forward to was being alone in the shower. So I could scream with the water running.”
BOOK: Slipping Into Darkness
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