Westlake, Donald E - Novel 41 (27 page)

 
          
 
Casetta cleared his throat, and glanced at the
woman again, and scuffed his feet on the floor. Finally, he said, "Well,
all right. But don't tell them you got it from me, huh?"

 
          
 
"Gold's landlady identified you,"
Levine told him. "She could have identified the other two."

 
          
 
"Yeah, sure, that's right.
So it's Jake Mosca —that's like
Moscow
, only with an 'a' —and
Barney Feldman.
Okay?"

 
          
 
Levine copied the names down. "You know
where they live?"

 
          
 
"Naw, not me."

 
          
 
"We'll leave that a blank, then. When was
the last game?"

           
 
"At Morry's?
That was on Saturday.
Right, baby?"

 
          
 
The woman nodded. "Saturday," she
said.

 
          
 
"Did Gold act nervous or depressed
Saturday?"

 
          
 
"You mean, did he know he was gonna get
it? Not a bit. Calm like always, you know?"

 
          
 
"Do you have any idea who might have
wanted to kill him?"

 
          
 
"Not me. I know from when we used to live
in the same neighborhood, that's all. His business is his business."

 
          
 
"You wouldn't know who his enemies
were."

 
          
 
"That's right. If Morry had enemies, he
never said
nothing
to me."

 
          
 
"What about other friends?"

 
          
 
"Friends?"
Casetta rubbed his nose again,
then
said, "We
didn't see each other that much since we moved away. Just for the games. Uh,
wait a second. There was another guy came in the game for a while, Arnie
something.
A fish, a real fish.
So after a while he
quit."

 
          
 
"You don't remember his last name?"

 
          
 
Casetta shook his head.
"Just
Arnie something.
Maybe Jake or Barney knows."

 
          
 
"All right.
Do
you know Gold's brother, Abner?"

 
          
 
"Naw, I never met him. Morry talked about
him sometimes. They didn't get along."

 
          
 
Levine got to his feet. "Thank you very
much," he said.

 
          
 
"Yeah, sure.
Morry was okay."

 
          
 
"Oh, one thing more.
What about women? Did he have any woman friends that you know about?"

 
          
 
"I never seen him with a woman,"
Casetta said.

 
          
 
"Saturday at the game, did he seem to
have an unusual amount of money on him? Or did he seem very broke? How did he
seem to be fixed?"

 
          
 
"Like always.
Nothing special, pretty well heeled but nothing spectacular, you know?"
Casetta looked around, at the woman, at the apartment. "Like me," he
said.

           
 
Elly Kapp's last known address was in
Gravesend
, off Avenue X, and since Kapp had once been
caught turning stolen goods over to Morry Gold it occurred to Levine that the
man might know whom Gold had been dealing with lately. He might even be still
selling to Gold himself.

 
          
 
There was no Kapp listed among the mailboxes
at the address. Levine pressed the bell-button beneath the metal plate reading
Superintendent, and several minutes later a slow-rolling fat woman with
receding gray hair appeared in the doorway, holding the door open a scant three
inches. She said nothing, only stared mistrustfully, so Levine dragged out his
wallet and showed his identification.

 
          
 
Tm looking for Elly Kapp," he said.

 
          
 
"Don't live here no more."

 
          
 
"Where does he live now?"

 
          
 
"I don't know." She started to close
the door, but Levine held it open with the palm of his hand. "When did he
move?" he demanded.

 
          
 
The woman shrugged. "Who remembers?"
Her eyes were dull, and watched his mouth rather than his eyes. "Who cares
where he went, or what he's done?"

 
          
 
Levine moved his hand away, and allowed the
woman to close the door. He watched thfough the glass as she turned and rolled
slowly back across the inner vestibule. Her ankles were swollen like sausages.
When she disappeared in the gloom just beyond Levine turned away and went back
down the stoop to the Chevy.

 
          
 
He drove slowly back to the precinct.
Indifference breathed in the air all around him, sullen and surly. No man is
important,
the streets seemed to be saying. Man is only
useful as long as he breathes. Once the breathing stops, he is forgotten. Time
stretches away beyond him, smooth and slick and with no handholds. The man is
dead,
and almost as swiftly as a dropped heartbeat, the
space which he occupied yawns emptily and there is nothing Left of him but a
name.

           
 
At times, another man is paid to remrmber the
name long enough to carve it on stone, and the stone is set in the earth, and
immediately it begins to sink. But the man is gone long since. What does it
matter if he stopped a second ago or a century ago or a millenium ago? He
stopped, he is no more,
he
is forgotten. Who cares?

 
          
 
Levine saw the red light just in time, and
jamrtned on the brakes. He sat hunched over the wheel, unnerved at having
almost run the light, and strove to calm
himself
. His
breathing was labored, as though he'd been running, and he knew that the
beating of his heart was erratic and heavy. He inhaled, very slowly, and let
his breath out even more slowly while he waited for the light to change.

 
          
 
The instant it became green he drove on across
the intersection. He was calmer now. The death of Morry Gold had affected him
too much, and he told himself he had to snap out of it. He knew, after all, the
reason he was so affected. It was because Morry Gold's death had been greeted
by such universal indifference.

 
          
 
Almost always, the victim of a homicide is
survived by relatives and friends who are passionately concerned with his end,
and make a nuisance of themselves by badgering the police for quick results.
With such rallying, the dead man doesn't seem quite so forlorn, quite so
totally alone and forgotten.

 
          
 
In the interrogation room down the hall from
the squad-room,
Stettin
and Andrews and
Campbell
were questioning Abner Gold. Levine stuck
his head in, nodded at
Stettin
,
avoided looking at Gold, and immediately shut the door again. He turned away
and walked slowly back down the hall toward the squadroom. He heard the door
behind him open and close, and then
Stettin
, in
long easy strides, had come up even with him.

 
          
 
Stettin
shook his head. "Nothing, Abe," he said.

 
          
 
"No explanation?"

 
          
 
"Not from him. He won't say a word any
more. Not until he calls a lawyer."

           
 
Levine shook his head tiredly. He knew the
type. Abner Gold's one lone virtue would be patience. He would sit in silence,
and wait, and wait until eventually the detectives found his stubborn silence
intolerable, and then he knew he would be allowed to go home.

 
          
 
"I have an explanation,"
Stettin
said. "He's afraid of an
investigation. He's afraid if we dig too deep we'll come up with proof he.
worked
with his brother."

 
          
 
"Maybe," said Levine. "Or maybe
he's afraid well come up with proof he killed his brother."

 
          
 
"What for?"

 
          
 
"I don't know.
For
cheating him on some kind of deal.
For blackmailing
him.
Your guess is as good as mine."

 
          
 
Stettin
shrugged. "We can keep asking," he said. "But he can keep right
on not answering until we can no longer stand the sight of him."

 
          
 
Levine glanced at his watch.
Quarter to one.
He'd stopped off for lunch on the way back.
He said, "I'll go talk to him for a while."

 
          
 
"That's up to you."

 
          
 
The way he said it, Levine was reminded that
Stettin
didn't want to break his hump over this
one. Levine walked over to his desk and sat down and said, "I got two more
names.
From Casetta.
Jake Mosca and
Barney Feldman.
No addresses. See what you can dig up on them, will you?
And go talk to them."

 
          
 
"Sure. How was Casetta?"

 
          
 
"I don't know. Maybe Gold cheated him at
poker. Maybe Gold was playing around with his wife. He didn't act nervous or
worried." Levine rubbed a hand wearily across his face. "I'll go talk
to Gold now," he said. "Did we get the M.E.'s report?"

 
          
 
"It's right there on your desk."

 
          
 
Levine didn't open it. He didn't want to read
about Morry Gold's corpse. He said, "What kind of gun?"

 
          
 
"A thirty-eight.
You look tired, Abe."

           
 
"I guess I am. I can sleep late
tomorrow." Sure.

 
          
 
"Oh, one more thing.
Elly Kapp isn't at that address any more. See what you can find there, will
you?"

 
          
 
"Will do."

 
          
 
Levine walked down the hall again and took
over the questioning of Gold. After Andrews and Campbell had left the room,
Levine looked at Gold and said, "What did Morry do to you?"

 
          
 
Gold shook his head.

 
          
 
"You're a cautious man.
Gold."
Levine's voice rose impatiently. "It had to
be something strong to make you kill him. Did he cheat you?"

 
          
 
Humor flickered at the corners of Gold's
mouth. "He cheated me always," he said.
"For
years.
I was used to it, Abraham."