Footsteps of the Hawk

'So… no murder, no red ribbon. But after Jersey nailed him, then New York got brave and charged him with the murder on University Place. He waived extradition. I mean, he knew he didn't do it, so…'

'But he was— '

'Yes. Convicted, like I told you.'

'What'd he get?'

'He got it all,' she said, chin tilted up again, this time like she was ready for a fight. 'The Book. Twenty–five to Life.'

'So when he's done in Jersey…?'

'That's right. They slapped a detainer on him. When he wraps up in New Jersey, they're going to bring him over here. Forever.'

'So you go over there to visit him? What'd you tell him?'

'I told him the truth— that I was investigating the cases. He was glad to see me. He'd be glad to see anybody now.'

'He knows you're a cop, right? Didn't he think you were working him for more evidence?'

'We got that straight in front. I told him, if he wanted me to really look into it, he'd have to do something for me first— take a lie–detector test.'

'You got that done? Inside?'

'Sure. His lawyer got a court order. And you know what? He passed. With flying colors, the examiner said. He's the wrong man. And the right man, he's still out there.'

'Go to the papers,' I suggested. 'Hell, go to one of those trash–TV shows. They'd be glad to jump on it. Nothing they like better than a man falsely accused of rape…unless it's an innocent child–molester.'

'I tried. They don't care…One of them told me psychopaths pass polygraphs all the time. Without the red– ribbon evidence, it's nothing.'

'Look, I…'

'I want you to do it,' she said, her eyes aiming somewhere above mine, stitching a line of rivets across my forehead. 'Find the killer. That's the only way George's going to get out. I talked to a couple of private eyes. They both said they weren't going to take on NYPD— they were on the job once themselves. And they know what would happen. Those guys live on leaks— they go ahead on something like this, the faucets all get turned off, you understand? You know how hard it is to work without a friend on the force? You need somebody to run a plate for you, check a file, all that stuff. You work PI too, right? Off the books, I know. No license, all that. But I can fix it. Fortunato says anyone can work as a PI if they're working for a lawyer. He says it would be okay for you to be working for him. He'd cover for you and everything.'

'It's not my kind of thing,' I told her.

'There's money. Real money. George has a trust fund. He's got nothing to spend it on now.'

'I'm not interested,' I told her in a door–closing voice.

She sat back in her chair. Straightened her spine, took a breath. 'Are you interested in what Morales is trying to set you up for?' she asked.

'I don't know any Morales,' I shot back, lying with the natural smoothness of a man who learned it— had to learn it— when I was just a little kid.

'Yes you do,' she said. 'I know you do–and I know he's got plans…plans for you.'

'Still doesn't ring a bell,' I told her. 'And what's in it for you, anyway?'

'An innocent man— '

'I look that pure fucking stupid to you?' I interrupted. 'You want me to buy this 'justice' bullshit, you can tell your story walking.'

She took a deep breath. My eyes never left her face. 'It's…personal, okay?'

'I don't give discounts for personal, ' I told her. 'You don't want to tell me the truth, you take the risk, understand?'

'Just take a look,' she said, leaning forward. 'One look, okay? Let me show you what I've got. You'll get paid. Just for that, you'll get paid. And if you do it, win or lose, you'll have a friend on the force, how's that?'

A friend on the force— where had I heard that before?

'I'll ask around,' I told her. 'No promises. One week. A whole week. And I don't leave the city, understand? Just cover the old tracks down here. Costs you five grand. Say Yes or say No.'

'Yes!' she breathed at me, so happy she almost popped right out of the kimono.

After Belinda left, I sat and smoked a sociable cigarette with Immaculata, waiting to hear where the lady cop went once she left the building. I wasn't worried about her marking the loft— I'd never be there again in life.

'What did you make of her?' I asked Mac. It wasn't a pass–the–time question— Immaculata had been a superb therapist for years…and a survival expert since the day she was born.

'There's something… coarse about her,' Mac said. 'I can't put my finger on it. Not yet, anyway— I'd have to see her a few more times.'

'Coarse…?'

'Yes. That's the only word I can think of. When I…examined her, she acted…I don't know…flirtatious? When my finger was inside her, she…responded in some way.

'Maybe she's gay?'

'I don't think so. Even if she was, the circumstances were so clinical, you wouldn't think…It was more as though she was trying to test me in some way.'

'She's a cop. You know how they always look for a weak spot— it's their nature.'

'That wasn't it. I can't tell you more than what I said. It's too…muddled. But she has that one–note–off thing— you know what I mean?'

'Yeah.'

'Something else. It may mean nothing, but…'

'What?'

'In the pocket of her jeans, she had a little flat metal box. Like aspirin used to come in, remember?'

'Sure. And…?'

'And inside the box, there was maybe three inches of clear Scotch tape. With a paper tab on the end. You know what that could be?'

'A fingerprint kit,' I told Mac. 'You never took the gloves off around her?'

'Never. And I never took my eyes off her either.'

'Good.'

'Are you going to— ?'

'I don't know yet,' I lied, segueing into 'How's Flower?' to get her off the subject.

'She is quite wonderful,' Mac said formally. 'She loves school, especially art— she draws all the time. She can imitate Max's chop perfectly.'

'I know. I saw her do it once, when Max brought her over to the restaurant.'

'Yes. Mama is already concerned about a proper match for her when she is old enough.'

'That's jumping the gun a bit, isn't it?'

'Oh yes.' She smiled. 'But you know how Mama is— she thinks Flower will need a dowry,can you imagine?'

'Sure. Mama thinks you can't get anywhere unless you pay your way. I guess she's not so wrong, when you think about it.'

The phone in my pocket buzzed. I pulled the flap open, said 'Go.'

'The cop didn't make no stops.' The Prof's voice. Belinda had gone straight back to where she'd started from, alone.

'Can I drive you back over to your place?' I asked Mac. 'I'll stay awhile,' she said. 'There's another way out of here— through the basement. And I want to change first. If she has people around, they won't see anything.'

'Thank you,' I said, bowing slightly.

'You are my brother,' she replied.