Saints Of New York (37 page)

'Do
you believe that? Really?'

'Yes
I do.'

'So
why do you keep doing this?'

'Because
I'm no good for anything else. That's the truth. I'm just no fucking good for
anything else.'

'And
your current investigation?'

'Is
the same bullshit as ever. I have to chase up phone records from a two-year-old
account. I have to find some guy who used to work for Welfare and now seems to
have disappeared. I have to go back to Family Welfare on Adams and interview
another twenty employees. I have to try and convince everyone that half a dozen
dead girls were all part of the same serial, even when there isn't a great deal
of clues to suggest that they were, and even less evidence to prove it.'

'But
you're convinced of it?'

'I
have convinced myself that I am convinced of it.'

'And
your daughter?'

'What
about her?'

'Have
you spoken to her since you kicked Chinese food down her stairwell.'

'I
don't want to be reminded of that, and no, I haven't spoken to her.'

'Have
you tried to contact her?'

'No.'

'And
your partner?'

'We
are still working together.'

'Has
he mentioned his transfer request again?'

'No.'

'Do
you feel that you can continue working with him?'

'Sure,
he's a good guy. He does the job. He doesn't complain.'

'You
think you can teach him something?'

'If
he wants to learn, yes.'

'Good.
That's good.'

'So
what now?'

'I
want to talk about your father some more. I think we need to keep on talking
about him until you have reconciled yourself to who he was.'

'Really?'

'Yes,
I think it's important.'

'I
don't. Not anymore.'

'Bear
with me. I think there's more to be unearthed about how he affected you.'

'Sounds
exciting.'

'Okay,
so just think about it for me. We'll meet again tomorrow, and in the meantime
just try and remember how he was with you, who he was to you when you were
younger, and how your viewpoint of him changed as you grew up. That's the kind
of thing I want to discuss with you.'

'Okay
... if that's what you want.'

'And
how are you sleeping?'

'Okay
I guess. Not bad, not great. I'm having more dreams than I ever remember
having.'

'That's
a good sign.'

'Why?'

'Well,
in and of themselves, dreams don't mean a great deal. There's no great
significance to read into them. I know there's dream analysis and stuff like
that, but frankly it's more about the interests and obsessions of the
interpreter than anything else. What they do mean is that you are more mentally
active than you used to be. If they start being nightmares then you need to
start eating better and drinking less.'

'I
didn't drink at all yesterday.'

'Well
done.'

'Do
I get a gold star on my progress chart?'

'Yes,
Frank, you get a gold star.'

'See,
you do have a sense of humor.'

'It's
a rumor, Frank, just a rumor. Now go back to work. I'll see you in the
morning.'

Melissa's
phone was still theoretically functional, but the memory card within was beyond
salvation. The micro-fine layer of protective material that covered the circuit
board had corroded with time, and beneath that the tissue thin layer of metal
had peeled away from the board and cracked. Melissa's purse had not been as
airtight and waterproof as Parrish had hoped.

With
the phone a dead end, Parrish and Radick had no other lines to pursue aside
from returning to South Two to interview Supervisor Raymond Foley and the
remaining twenty employees. Lester Young also needed to be found, but
continuing along that line would have to wait until the interviews were
completed.

On
the way over Parrish explained his thoughts regarding the SUV.

'Makes
sense,' Radick replied. 'No way that box would have gone in the back of a car,
and even if it had it would have been one hell of a job to get it out in the
confines of the alleyway and then carry it around back. Would have had to have
been a larger vehicle - a station wagon with a tailgate would have done it
perhaps, or - like you say - an SUV or a pickup.'

It
was the first question they asked of Foley. Which of the employees owned an SUV,
a pickup, or a large station wagon?

'No
idea,' Foley replied. He waved Lavelle through from the outer office and asked
him the same question.

'I
think there's a few with pickups,' Lavelle said. 'Of course no- one comes to
work in their car. They all use the subway. I couldn't be completely certain,
but I would be surprised if some of them didn't have SUVs or whatever.'

Parrish
and Radick went through the same interview with Supervisor Foley once Lavelle
had left the room. How old was he, how long had he worked there, where had he
come from, had he had any direct or indirect involvement in any of the girls'
cases - official, unofficial, supervisory, review or otherwise. Parrish asked
about marital status, number of kids, home address, Social Security number,
and lastly what car he drove. He now planned to add this last question in for
everyone. Just in case.

Foley came up
clean. Nothing he could tell them bore any relevance to the investigation.

They resumed the
employee interviews with Kevin Granger, went on through Barry Littman, Paul
Kristalovich, Dean Larkin, Danny Ross, and after a while they all began to look
the same, and sound the same, and feel like the same interview played through a
loop with a different face saying the words.

By lunchtime
they had covered twelve of the twenty. Parrish needed a break. Radick said he
couldn't have agreed more. They took a walk down Adams and found a
narrow-fronted diner on Tillary. Parrish sat in a booth in back. Radick ordered
tuna cheese melts, coffee, a bowl of fries. When it came he ate slowly but
methodically. Parrish picked at the sandwich, managed little more than half of
it, but he drank two cups of coffee and asked for a third.

They spoke
little until Radick broke the silence with, 'I'm reminded of that scene in
All The President's Men.
You seen that
movie?'

'Yeah, good
movie. Really like that movie.'

'You know when
Woodward and Bernstein are going to all the houses, one after the other, asking
questions of people who worked under Haldeman and Dean and whoever?'

'Yeah, I
remember that.'

'Well, they
couldn't get anyone to talk. And Bernstein, Dustin Hoffman right? He says
"It's like there's a pattern. Like there's a pattern to the way they're
not
talking". It's like that back
there.' Radick nodded in the direction of South Two. 'There's a pattern to the
way that we're not finding out anything that we don't already know.'

Parrish shook
his head. 'I don't even know what that fucking means, Jimmy. I think maybe
you're losing it.'

'Lost it
already,' he replied.

'We
have to think about interviewing the women as well. Not as the perp, but as a
feeder-line to someone on the outside.'

Radick
pushed the bowl of fries aside and leaned back. 'I can't think with that,' he
said matter-of-factly. 'I just can't get my head around the idea that a woman
would be involved in something like this. Killing a man, yes, maybe, but out of
jealousy, anger, a heat of the moment thing, but not this . . .'

'Just
because such a thing doesn't happen very often doesn't mean that such a thing
never happens.'

'I
agree, Frank, but six girls? Abducted, drugged, sex acts of one kind or
another, and then strangled.'

'The
issue here is time, Jimmy. The likelihood is it's going to be a man. We deal
with the men first. If that comes to nothing then we start in on the women.'

'Agreed,'
Radick replied, and then he paused for a moment, thoughtful, deliberate. 'You
know what I've been thinking?'

'Tell
me.'

'Snuff
movies.'

'I've
thought the same thing.'

'Teenage
girls fucked and strangled at the same time. Someone's filming it, selling the
films. Maybe not even here. Maybe in Europe, England, South America. Keep it
Out of the local market, you know? I want to talk to Vice. See if any of these
girls have turned up in their territory.'

'Yes,
we'll do that later. Let's finish up these interviews and then go speak with
them.'

Radick
paid for lunch. He insisted. Parrish let him.

They
walked back to South Two, waited until all the remaining un-interviewed staff
had returned from lunch, and began again. The last eight took them through
until just after four, Parrish aware of the frustration such interviews
engendered, cautious not to rush them for the sake of getting through it.
The next one,
he kept thinking.
The next question, the next person . . . they will give us something else,
something new, something that will take us somewhere . .
. But they did not, and it did not come as a surprise to him.

Finally,
ragged at the edges and desirous of anything but four close walls and a series
of repetitive questions, Parrish and Radick met with Foley and Lavelle.

'Is
there anything else we can do to help?' Lavelle asked.

'I
don't believe there is/ Parrish said. 'If we need you or your employees again
we'll be in touch. You have been very helpful, and it is greatly appreciated.'

'And
can you tell us anything?' Foley asked, rising from his desk. What he was
asking was simple.
Are any of the
people in my office responsible for kidnapping and killing six teenage girls?
Protocol prevented him from being as direct as he would have liked. That, and
the belief that if he was subtle he might glean a greater quantity of
information from Parrish.

'We
can't tell you anything about the investigation,' Parrish said bluntly. 'That's
standard procedure in all such cases. All we can do is thank you for your time
and co-operation and let you get back to your work.'

Foley
didn't push it. Lavelle merely shook hands and showed them down to the lobby.

'You
know where I am if you need me,' Lavelle said, perhaps believing that he had
now been an integral part of the investigation, that without him they would
have been stymied. To a degree he was right.

Parrish
and Radick walked back to the car. They didn't speak on the way. Radick knew
where Vice was, but Parrish knew
what
it was. Vice was a dark place, perhaps the darkest of all, and he had hoped -
somewhere within the vestiges of humanity he had managed to preserve - that he
would never have to walk those corridors again. The things he had heard back
then. The things he had seen. It was a different world. A world that ran
parallel to his own, parallel to everyone else's, and all but a few had the
faintest idea of its existence.

'What do you want me to tell you?
I got everything down here,

 
Frank. Anal, DP, gonzo, necro. I got gay,
lesbian, underage, SM, water-sports, girls fucking animals, the whole
goddamn catalog of human depravity. You think of something human beings can do,
and I can pretty much show you it in all its many and varied forms.'

'Teenage
snuff,' Parrish stated. 'Girl-next-door, teenagers, straight sex as far as we
can tell, but more than likely being strangled during or immediately after.
Girl will be passive we believe, as we have traced benzos in a couple of them.
Will go back at least two years, perhaps longer . . . and it'll have been made
locally.'