Speak of the Devil (13 page)

“But that’s ridiculous. If you follow that line of logic, then you’re talking about a person with total immunity. He could walk around the city with a sandwich board announcing, ‘I’m the crazed killer! But nobody touch me or else!’ ”

“That’s funny,” I said.

“What’s so funny about it? It’s horrible.”

“No. That you said sandwich board. Phyllis mentioned a sandwich board earlier.”

“A riot.”

“Two mentions of sandwich boards in one afternoon? And they went out of common use before you or I were even born.”

“Cosmic.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, Mo. You go from pretty to gorgon.”

“That’s nice. You’re calling me a gorgon.”

“Figure of speech.”

“Not really.”

“In a way.”

“Then so is ‘sandwich board.’ ”

I picked up my Elephant. “Are we entering into an argument?”

“If we are, it would be one our silliest.”

“What say we skip it? You are so far from a gorgon that the very idea makes me choke up with laughter.”

Margo buried her fork deep within her spinach. “You look pretty calm to me.”

The drop-off was to take place the following day. Saturday. Two o’clock, when the museum would be gagged with people. The mayor was being forced to play the tie game again. This time he was supposed to wear a green one. The note that had been fetched from the horizontal cooler at the Gristedes said that if Mayor Leavitt was ready to agree to the conditions of the rendezvous at the museum, he was to make an appearance on the six o’clock local news wearing a green tie. He was further instructed to include the word “Wisconsin” in his appearance.

We got the check. Margo had managed to eat most of her spinach salad. She had formed what remained into a little pyramid in the center of her plate. “Why Wisconsin?” she asked as I was calculating the tip.

“Who knows? Maybe the guy is telling us where he was born. All we’ve got to do is question every person in the five boroughs who was born in Wisconsin. Or maybe it’s for no good reason at all. The tie should be enough. It could just be part of the guy’s game. Jerking Leavitt around.”

The waitress came over and I handed her the check and the cash.

Margo asked, “Did you leave a good tip?”

The waitress was still standing at the table. I looked up at her. “Maybe you could answer that for me.”

The waitress blushed.

Margo blushed, too. “Oops.”

“You need to have your timing adjusted, sweetie,” I said.

The waitress was flipping through the bills. “This looks fine. Thanks.”

She left. Margo reached across the table and finished the last small sip of my beer. “That just popped out. Sorry.”

“You can trust me. I’m a big tipper.”

“I know you are. Sorry. So anyway. Wisconsin. How’s Leavitt going to make a sound bite around the word ‘Wisconsin’?”

“I’m sure he’s got his best and brightest working on it. He told me that he’s going to award a commendation to Leonard Cox this afternoon at around four-thirty. He’ll get media coverage for sure.”

“Do you think this guy will actually do something if he doesn’t hear ‘Wisconsin’?”

“Probably not, that’s the thing. He’s just playing Leavitt’s nerves like a harp.”

Margo frowned. “Ugly imagery.”

She skidded her chair back from the table and stood up. Beneath the leafy green blouse, she was wearing a simple black skirt. Beneath the skirt were Margo’s pale legs, poked into a pair of calf-high brown leather boots. As I rose from the table she trained her eyes on me and she pressed her palms against her hips, running her hands down along them several times as I rose from the table.

Pretty imagery.

I BROUGHT MARGO WITH ME TO ST. LUKE’S TO MEET REBECCA GILPIN. The cop posted at the door to the actress’s hospital room was none other than the black officer who’d bagged me—literally—the day before.

“Remember me?” I said to him. “I was the kid with the lollipop in your backseat.”

He indicated my shoulder. “We didn’t do that.”

I ducked my head and gingerly removed the sling. I gave the shoulder a few cautious swivels. The muscles weren’t exactly baby fresh, but the level of ache was acceptable. I was sick of the sling already. You look like an invalid, you begin to feel like an invalid. I balled it up and handed it to a male nurse who was passing by. “I found this on the floor.”

Margo asked, “Isn’t that a little premature?”

“I didn’t want it to go stiff from non-use.”

Margo looked at me blankly. Then her cheeks went red. “I just had a naughty thought.”

“Save it.”

This time I got the policeman’s name. It was a lot easier without a bag on my head. The name was right there on the gold bar above his shirt pocket. Patrick Noon. An expression of cautious distrust appeared to be Officer Noon’s mien.

“I’m here to see the lady,” I told him.

“No one sees the lady.”

“I’m not no one. I’m her former bodyguard.”

“No one sees the lady.”

“If you’d just pop your head in and tell her I’m here, I’ll bet—”

He cut me off. “No one sees the lady.”

I turned to Margo. “Is this station beginning to bore you?”

She blinked slowly. “No one sees the lady.”

I was surrounded by pod people.

“Ask her,” I said again to Noon. “Tell her Fritz Malone is here.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got my orders.”

“From Tommy Carroll?”

“It doesn’t matter from who.”

I turned to Margo. “I guess you don’t get to meet the famous star of stage and screen.”

“Officer Noon is only doing his job,” Margo said.

I was just about to ask Noon if he would at least pass on a message from me to Miss Gilpin when the male nurse reappeared. He was carrying a plastic IV bag.

“Excuse me,” he said, and the officer moved to the side. I took a step in the other direction as the nurse opened the door. I could see Rebecca Gilpin in the far corner of the room, propped up in bed. She spotted me and raised a hand in greeting just before the nurse slid the door closed. A few seconds later, the door reopened and the nurse popped his head out. “She wants to see you.”

I turned to Noon. “Who’d have thunk?”

“Five minutes.”

The actress was medicated to the teeth. The smile she tried to give me as I approached the bed nearly poured off her face. She was as pale as her hospital gown. Her right leg was wrapped like a mummy’s and elevated slightly on several pillows. A bandage covered her left cheek.

“You are, thank you . . . it’s . . . my thank you.” Clouds drifted across her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Listen, I brought a friend to meet you.”

“This was wrong, Fritz,” Margo said. “I shouldn’t be here.” She addressed Rebecca. “Miss Gilpin, I’m sorry for what happened. Best of luck for a speedy recovery.” She turned to me. “I’ll wait in the hall.” She left the room.

The nurse was changing Rebecca’s IV bag. “How’s she doing?” I asked him.

“There’s a lot of pain. The leg’s a real mess.”

Rebecca said, “The bastard who did me I can kill him with . . .” The rest of her sentence came in an unknown tongue. A pool of tears appeared in each of her eyes. I took hold of the hand nearest me. She closed icy fingers around mine. “I’m beautiful,” she muttered.

“Yes, you are.”

Out in the corridor, Margo was entertaining Officer Noon with her story about getting smashed on martinis with the queen of Denmark while she was interviewing her in a suite at the Plaza several years ago. Margo loves that story. Any one of a hundred cue words will get her rolling with it. Even Noon appeared to be softened up by it.

“You could charm the pants off a statue, couldn’t you?” I said to Margo as we waited for the elevator.

“I wouldn’t want to.”

The elevator arrived. It was the size of some New York apartments.

“Wait,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I retraced my steps. Patrick Noon watched me with a wary eye as I approached. “I was just wondering,” I said as I reached him. “Are they going to spell you for the ceremony this afternoon?”

“What ceremony?”

“Cox. The mayor is planning to fawn all over him for allegedly taking out Diaz in Central Park. I was just wondering if you were going to be there?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Nice irony, isn’t it? A cop forgets to do something as basic as pat down a suspect he’s taking into custody, and the next day he’s a hero.”

Noon said nothing.

“I’m just curious. Were you and your partner even on the scene yesterday? I mean officially? Are you supposed to be going along as so-called witnesses to Cox’s so-called shooting Diaz out there by the fountain?”

Noon’s eyes left my face for a fraction of a second. His glance took in the empty corridor. “We weren’t there.”

“Officially.”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“What do you think about the story of Cox’s shooting Diaz up in the Municipal Building?”

“What am I supposed to think about it?”

“If you’re like me, you’re thinking that Cox was speedy on the draw in direct proportion to Diaz being pathetically slow.” Noon said nothing. “I put myself in Diaz’s position, and I think of at least two things I would have done. The second one is I’m sitting in that room with my pistol out and already aimed at the door five seconds after Carroll leaves me alone. I’m ready to shoot the moment it opens.”

Noon appeared to concede the point. He weighed it with a little ticktock of his head. “What’s the first?”

“The first is I never get into that room in the first place. I’ve just shot up the Thanksgiving Day parade. I’ve killed innocent people. I’ve killed a cop. I’m in custody in a police cruiser with the cop’s partner. I’m screwed six ways to Sunday. But I’ve got a Tomcat strapped to my ankle. I don’t give a damn if I’m cuffed behind my back, I get to the damn gun. I twist around in the seat any possible way I can and I shoot like hell through the gate. I take my chances.”

Noon considered the scenario. Or maybe he was considering what he was going to have for dinner later that night. The man was hard to read.

“Interesting,” he said at last.

“I think so, too. Either of my two stories sounds more likely than Commissioner Carroll’s account. For one thing, why uncuff him and then recuff him with a hand free?”

“You cuff him to a solid object,” Noon said. “That’s procedure. You don’t want him able to move around the room.”

“But you don’t want him to be able to reach for a gun and try to shoot you.”

“They didn’t know about the gun.”

“Right. Of course. Listen. Do you know this Cox guy?” I asked. “I mean, personally?”

“Cox and I are from different precincts.”

“What’s yours?” I asked.

“The Seventeenth.”

“What about Cox and McNally? I heard a reporter asking if they were from the Ninety-fifth.”

Noon hesitated before answering. “That’s right.”

“The Bad Apple precinct. What were they doing all the way in Manhattan?”

“Parade duty,” Noon said. “Overtime. You get cops from all boroughs.”

“So you’re not familiar with Cox? You don’t really know him?”

“Are you a lawyer or just a pest?”

“What did Carroll say to the three of you when you were hanging around the Municipal Building? Before he and Cox went inside.”

“I think we’re finished talking.”

“He didn’t by any chance say, ‘Stick around, Cox has some unfinished business with the guy who gunned down his partner,’ anything like that? ‘Hang tight, we’re bringing a dead guy out here in a few minutes’?”

“What’s all this about?”

“I’m just trying to see how many lies the commissioner is getting you and your partner to sign off on. I’m trying to figure out how deep a hero Leonard Cox is.”

“Figure it out somewhere else.”

“What’s your partner’s name?”

“Levine. Why?”

“No reason. I just collect names. Hobby of mine.”

He let his breath out in a large sigh. “I’m just doing my job, man. Why don’t you let it go?”

“Were you and Levine still there when Cox and Carroll brought Diaz out?” A thought occurred to me the moment I said this. “No. Carroll had to get over to City Hall and face the cameras. Cox must have gotten help. Was that you and Levine? Did you help load the body into Cox’s cruiser so they could take it to St. Luke’s and have it pronounced dead?”

“You’re done here,” Noon said.

“Did you?”

“I said go.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’m saying it now.”

He took a step toward me. I didn’t think he would be so stupid as to actually take a swing at me, but I braced. Though with my sore shoulder, I wouldn’t have been much for blocking the punch if he decided to take one. He looked strong.

He didn’t take the swing. He took the step, expecting I would back away. When I didn’t, we were left as close as two moony kids at a prom dance.

“Well,” I said. “Nice chatting with you.”

I stepped away from him and rejoined Margo at the elevator.

“What was that all about?” she asked. “I thought you two were about to kiss.”

“I’m not his type.”

“If you were his type, I guess you wouldn’t be mine.”

“That’s very narrow of you,” I said.

She shrugged. “I’m narrow.”

The elevator arrived. Again. We got on. Down the hall, Patrick Noon was watching us as the door slid closed.

“He’s scared,” I said.

“He didn’t look scared to me.”

I pushed the lobby button. The elevator jolted and started down.

“I got a lot closer than you did.”

PHILIP BYRON CALLED ON MY CELL PHONE JUST BEFORE SIX O’CLOCK. “We’re on.”

Margo was rubbing Mineral Ice on my shoulder. Turquoise gel. Goes on cold, settles in hot. Amazing stuff.

“We’re on,” I parroted back to Byron. “Good. So the mayor got the Wisconsin thing in?”

“I just checked with Channel Four. It’s in their footage. Is your TV on?”

It was, though it was actually Margo’s TV. We were at her place. The volume was turned down low. We were watching whales spawn.

“Channel Four,” I said. “I’ll watch it. So everything’s been taken care of at the museum?”