St. Patrick's Day Murder (2 page)

Jean was in stitches after her rescue. “My first conquest as an older woman,” she crowed. “I want to drink to that.”

“I’ll deck him if he tries it again,” her husband said, less than thrilled.

“C’mon Scotty,” Jack said. “I thought you like having a woman other guys admire. She came back to you, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know why,” Petra said, with a sly smile. “He was pretty cute, don’t you think so, Chris?” But she turned away from me to look at Ray, whose eyes were fixed on her with a look that could mean nothing but desire.

As I sensed the heat between them, I wondered whether other people were aware of a similar current that flashed between Jack and me on those occasions in public when I neglected to mask it.

Ray moved closer to Petra and put an arm over her shoulder. She was tall, and when she turned her head toward him, the kiss that resulted came very easily. I turned away, feeling Jack’s hand take mine, and I saw Jean, her eyes fixed on the other couple, a look of contentment on her face, as though she were watching the results of her own matchmaking—which I knew was not the case.

“Let’s say hello to some of the guys,” Jack said, drawing me away from the group and into the sea of blue and green.

“Where’s your green?” I asked as we made our way across the huge pier.

“I’ll put it on when I change.”

We ducked in and out of happy groups, some of them bursting unexpectedly into song, or, more expectedly, into laughter. Here we ran into an old friend from the Academy,
there a guy who had worked in Jack’s last precinct. Most had wives with them, some were alone or with girlfriends. Everyone seemed to have reached a state of euphoria before we ran into them.

We stayed a couple of hours and then found Ray, Scotty, and the women. They were ready to leave, as we were, and the six of us went outside to where the men had parked their cars. We were all going home to change and then meeting at Petra’s apartment, where we had been invited for dinner. Walking through the huge, makeshift parking lot, we found Jack’s car first.

“All right, everyone,” Petra called. “Five o’clock. Don’t be late.”

We called our good-byes and got into the car. As Jack pulled out, I saw the other four walking ahead of us, inspecting the rows of cars as though they had forgotten where they had left theirs. Once we found our way out, it was a pretty quick trip to Jack’s apartment.

The building Petra lived in was deeper into Brooklyn than Jack’s. She had told me once that when she first came to New York, she couldn’t afford an apartment in Manhattan and she didn’t want to share. Brooklyn had been cheaper, and by the time she could afford something better or closer to where she worked, she had grown fond of the borough and the neighborhood and didn’t want to move.

We left Brooklyn Heights about four-thirty and arrived at Petra’s door practically on the stroke of five. Jack was now wearing a flannel shirt in a beautiful shade of forest green and Scotty was wearing one in the black watch plaid. Ray was in tan, without a hint of green. But the apartment was decorated with green carnations and party streamers.

“And everything you eat tonight is green,” Petra announced. “After this meal, nobody eats green for another year.” She set down a tray of grasshoppers and tinted potato chips, and we began the feast.

The men traded stories of past St. Patrick’s Days until Jean insisted they stop. “Talk politics,” she said. “Talk football. Anything but the job.”

“Shit, if we can’t talk the job, we’ll all sit in silence,” Ray said.

“No, you won’t. There’s a whole world out there that isn’t NYPD.”

“Where?” her husband asked, looking around for it.

“You’re too much, Scotty,” she said, laughing.

“Jean’s right,” Petra said. “I have an interesting job, Chris has an interesting job, and neither one of us has a gun. In fact, it’s an accident we both know men who do.”

“A lucky accident,” Ray said lightly.

“Lucky for you,” Petra tossed back just as lightly.

I got up and went to the bathroom. Although the apartment was in an old building, Petra’s decorating had transformed it. The living room walls were done in fabric, the floors had been completely refinished to show off an intricate parquet, the windows were done in a way I couldn’t even describe to myself, and all together the effect was both exotic and comfortable. What I liked best was her collection of baskets, carvings, and one-of-a-kind painted dishes that were remembrances of places she had visited around the world and that were placed strategically around the room so that each was visible and the total result was elegant, without a hint of clutter.

The bathroom was at the end of a short hall between the doors to the two bedrooms. The one on the left was slightly ajar, and through the crack I could see an unmade bed. On the right was Petra’s study, the door propped open with a heavy-looking elephant carved out of stone. Even the bathroom had benefited from her magic touch. The building was old enough so that there was a small window of frosted glass on one wall, and several plants, standing and hanging, were positioned to take advantage of the light. The floor, which was made up of tiny hexagonal white tiles, and the fixtures testified to the age of the building, but a coat of flat white paint and a couple of white wicker pieces, each adorned with a single painted pink rose, made it look young, almost breathless. I decided to ask Petra’s advice if I ever invited the two of them out to my house in Oakwood, where I had changed very little of Aunt Margaret’s accidental decor of accumulated possessions since moving in last spring.

When I got back to the dinette, Ray was helping Petra clear the table and carry in the next course. I felt a wave of anger sweep through me. On the evening we had visited him and his wife, he had sat like a doorstop through the entire meal while his wife took care of everything. I had insisted that we not leave early because I wanted to help her with the dishes. Now, with a new woman in his life, Ray was the most helpful person in the room.

Even the dessert was green, a mint parfait with tinted cream whipped up in the kitchen seconds before Petra brought it out.

“You’re amazing,” Jean said, her eyes alight. “How could you do all this and still go to the parade?”

“Meet the superwoman,” Ray said. “She’s good at everything.”

Why didn’t I like him? Jack considered Ray his best friend. They bantered together with ease, making each other laugh. When I talked to Ray, he remained stony and laconic. His smiles were infrequent and often struck me as derisive. It couldn’t be that he sensed my discomfort with his marital situation because he had acted just the same when he was living with his wife. Scotty and I got along fine. Was I trying too hard or not hard enough? Could it be that my background in the convent made him uneasy? I didn’t know, and I had never talked to Jack about it. What I was sure of was that Ray Hansen made me uncomfortable and tonight was no exception.

“Want to go?” Jack said in my ear.

We had retired to the living room after dessert and coffee, and Jack was sitting next to me on the sofa.

“Yes.”

He squeezed my hand and stood. “OK, guys. Party’s breaking up. I just happen to work tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” Scotty said, getting out of his chair. “Let’s go, sweets.”

“Not so fast,” Petra said. She darted into the kitchen and came out with green party bags, which she gave to each of us.

There were cookies inside and a four-leaf clover preserved in plastic.

“Petra, you’re wonderful.” Jean grinned at her. “I’m hiring you to do my next kid’s birthday party.”

“She’s not for sale,” Ray said. He was standing next to her, and he pushed her hair gently off her shoulder as he spoke. It was a gesture that was both proprietary and sexy. It struck me that every gesture he made toward her was sexy, and I wondered if there was a foundation of affection in the relationship or if it was all physical. Not that it was my business.

We said good night to both of them, and I thanked Petra for the wonderful meal and complimented her again on the apartment. Out in the hall, Jack rang for the elevator as the McVeighs said their good-byes. They arrived just as the elevator did.

“So where to?” Scotty said as we went down.

“Home,” Jack said.

“Hey, it’s early. I know a great place that you don’t know and it’s not fair to keep secrets from buddies. What do you say, buddy?”

“How far is this place?”

“Hop, skip, and a jump. It’s on my beat, Gillen’s Crossroads. Has a little lot you can park in off the street and you get the treat of your life driving there.”

The elevator stopped, and we got off, walking through the empty lobby toward the front door.

“What kind of treat?”

“Heads up, buddy.”

Jack turned to him and lifted his hand in a reflex action as something sailed through the air at him. “What’s this for?”

“Keys to my dream car.”

“C’mon, Scotty.”

“It’s a BMW, slightly used, better than new. Parked somewhere right near here. Gimme your keys and I’ll lead the way.”

“How much did you go into hock for this dream car?”

“It was a bargain.”

Jack tossed his car keys over as Jean and I smiled at each other.

“Can’t live a weekend without the beat,” she said.

“This place makes Irish coffee like nothing you’ve ever tasted,” Scotty told us.

“I think I’ll have mine without the Irish,” Jean said. “I hope the kids are OK.”

“The kids are with Mama, right? When weren’t they OK with Mama?”

“Let’s go,” Jack said.

I laughed as we went down the street.

“You’re potted,” Jack said, putting his arm around me.

“Just having a good time.”

“That’s Scotty.” He stopped at a car, unlocked the door, and I slid inside. When he was behind the wheel, he looked at the dash for a moment before turning the key. “Scotty and cars,” he said as he pulled out into the street. Down the block, Jack’s car was already waiting, and as we approached, Scotty waved and took off.

It was a longer drive than we had expected, which, Jack assured me, was to be expected.

“Does it drive like a dream?” I asked.

“It’s nice.”

“You sound a little restrained.”

“The guy’s nuts. Nice nuts, but nuts.”

“Give me the bottom line. Do you want one for your birthday or not?”

“About twenty birthdays from now. How’s that?”

“I’ll start saving. What’s he doing?”

“Probably looking for the brake. C’mon, Scotty. Leave me with a car.”

We followed Scotty blindly, sometimes waiting behind him at intersections while the two of them seemed to be deciding which way to turn.

“You don’t like Ray much, do you?” Jack said suddenly.

The question, the fact that he knew, caught me completely off-guard. I had forgotten that reading people was part of his job, part of him. “I don’t dislike him,” I said.

“He’s a little hard to get to know, but when you do, he’s a friend for life.”

“I know that.”

“Will you try?”

“I do. I will.”

“I know you will.”

The promised parking lot was a few doors down from Gillen’s Crossroads, on a block of low brick buildings housing small stores. We walked back, the men talking cars. Inside, we were greeted like visiting royalty, Scotty having obviously become an honorary member of the Gillen family. We were shown to a small table near the bar, thankfully away from a group of rowdy singers wearing jackets of various shades of green.

Everyone ordered the Irish coffee. I felt more relaxed than I had all day. With the McVeighs I felt included. With Ray, I felt judged.

“Jesus, I couldn’t wait to get outa there,” Scotty said. “I thought he was going to do her while we watched.”

“Scotty!” Jean said. Then she added, “They’re just newly in love.”

“Fuck love. He can’t keep his hands off her.”

“It’s more than that,” I said, almost anxious to defend Ray for Jack’s sake. “They have a relationship. They do things for each other.”

“You ever see him lift a finger to help Betsy?” Scotty addressed everyone.

“Leave him alone, Scotty,” Jack said. “He’s having a hard time.”

“So’s Betsy.” Jean looked serious. “A very hard time.”

The coffees came, and the subject changed. We agreed the coffee was better than good and we all worked our way through the whipped cream to the good black stuff underneath.

As we sipped, Scotty began talking about his beat. “I really got lucky,” he said. “Nicest people in the world here. Old Gillen’s the salt of the earth. Lady who runs the Laundromat down the street’s got six kids she’s raising by herself and won’t take a nickel she doesn’t earn. Korean family has a grocery at the other end of the beat. I don’t think they ever sleep. They set up in a building used to be a crack house. You wouldn’t believe what it took to get it all together.”

“You wouldn’t believe how much of the work Scotty did,” Jean said. “He took them by the hand and showed them how to get permits. He got inspectors to come. This beat is his real life. We’re just a meal and a warm bed.” But she said it with pride and she looked proud.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Scotty said. “These are great people.”

“Community cop of the year. Hey, we gotta go,” I heard Jack say. “Chris has had it.”

That brought me back from the edge of sleep. I pushed my arms into my coat sleeves and wrapped my coat around me.

“OK?” Jack said.

“Mm-hmm.”

We got several warm goodnights as we walked past the green-jacketed group, whose vigor had abated with mine, and on to the door.

“It’s freezing out there,” Scotty said. “You girls stay here. We’ll drive around.”

I didn’t argue. They went outside and turned toward the parking lot. I rubbed my temples, hoping to wake myself up.

“You look done in,” Jean said.

“I guess I’m still a morning person.”

“Scotty doesn’t work till the four to twelve tomorrow.”

“It’s a great car, Jean.”

“My husband,” she said, with a smile. “Boys and their toys.”

As she said “toys,” there was an explosion somewhere, then another one. We looked at each other. At the same moment that she said, “Shots,” I said, “Gunfire.”