“It’s yours now.”
“Naturally,” said Celestina Hutchison. “Carver Lennox is the only real man in the building, the way he’s helped us and put up with so much from so many silly old people.”
“You can sell it to him now.”
“Yes. But I won’t have my Ed.” She placed a photograph of the dog in her suitcase. “I’m going to say good- bye to him now. Will you come with me?”
In the mint green bathtub was a large wet bundle. It was the dog-or the pieces of the dog-wrapped, the sheets and blankets like a kind of shroud, blood on it. There was blood in the bathtub. The smell was bad.
Celestina went to the tub, looked down, kissed her fingers and placed them lightly on the bundle, nodded at me, and turned, and I followed her out.
In her room, I picked up the suitcase, and we went to the living room, where Alvin took it from me and escorted her to the door. He was a tall guy, and with her hand in his, she looked even smaller, small as a child.
At the door, Mrs. Hutchison turned to me.
“When will you arrest that woman for killing my Ed?”
“What woman?”
“That African,” she said. “Marie Louise. She hated my Ed. She said he was a devil, not to my face, but I knew it was what she believed. Who could think my Ed was a devil?”
“When did you last see the dog?”
“I told you, for heaven’s sake, or I told somebody, I came home from my sister’s to change for the party last night. I left Ed with Lionel. I assume that woman came by to help out with the cleaning at Carver’s. Perhaps she heard poor Ed crying, barking and crying, and she couldn’t stand it. She’s a crazy woman, but what can you expect? She’s from Africa.”
“How would she get in to your apartment?”
“Maybe Lionel let her in.”
“I see.”
“Maybe she killed Lionel, too,” said Celestina Hutchison. She walked out of her apartment, Officer Alvin following her with her suitcase, and didn’t look back.
CHAPTER 45
It’s Marie Louise, isn’t it?” Virgil was waiting at the back of the Armstrong when I went to get my car. “Fuck,” he added. “I like her. Where is she?”
“Gone. I went to see if she was anywhere in the building, but she’d gone.”
I was sure Lily had warned her. For all I knew, Lily had given Marie Louise money, told her to get her kids and leave the country. I knew Lily was capable of it. There was that side of her, the bleeding-heart liberal, that sometimes made me crazy. And she liked fixing things. I wasn’t in the mood to make nice, but I didn’t want to lose what little ground I’d gained with her. I hadn’t stopped at her place, I just left the building.
“I figured it was her. Who else would do that to a dog? We should have paid attention when she told us she fucking believed in spirits and evil dogs. That damn dog was a sweet old pooch. I had a Lab all the time I was a kid,” Virgil said. “I’ll have Amahl Washington’s medical records for you tomorrow. Wagner told me to get hold of them and give them to you.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I’m a detective, Artie.”
I looked around. The lot in back of the building was empty except for Virgil’s car and mine. The garbage cans were still on their sides. The yellow police tape that had marked out the scene, the place where I’d found Lionel, drooped on the ground. Just beyond the wire fencing, near the gas station, was a cop in uniform.
I told Virgil-I’d forgotten earlier-that Diaz had possibly packed away Simonova’s oxygen tank in the basement, the way he had with Washington’s. “He’s also due to drive Ed to the pet funeral home in Brooklyn,” I said. “Celestina apparently made a reservation with All Pets Go to Heaven.”
“The what?” Virgil tried not to laugh.
“You heard me.”
“All Pets Go to Heaven?” He bit his lip, but he couldn’t hold it and he started laughing. I looked at him and I cracked up.
For a few seconds, in the desolate parking lot, the two of us stood, laughing like fucking crazy guys, repeating the name of the pet funeral home, laughing because of it, to release the lousy tension, to remind ourselves we were still alive.
“I’ll get one of the uniforms on the oxygen tanks. I sometimes think Diaz feels about black people the way Marie Louise feels about black dogs. Cubans can be pretty fucking racist like everybody else,” Virgil said. “I’ll find some petty cash for him if I have to.” I got out my car keys.
“I was on my way back to see Marie Louise,” I said. “Now I’m thinking it would be better if you went. I’m probably already in deep shit with her. I doubt she’ll talk to me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I went to see her kids.”
“Without their mother?”
“Bad fucking idea. I know.”
“You get anything?”
“They told me she didn’t come home last night. They said she had a babysitting job. Who leaves two young kids alone all night for a crappy babysitting job?”
“It’s what poor people do,” said Virgil, and I wanted to say, How would you know, but I bit my tongue.
“Yeah, well, maybe, so you want to do this, Virgil? I mean, I got Jimmy Wagner on my case. He keeps calling to say what do we have.”
“Me, too, since you mentioned it, Artie.” Virgil looked at his watch. “I’m under the gun. He’s got some bug up his ass about getting this done tomorrow. I mean, he’s fucking nuts.”
I told him about the will.
“Jesus,” he said. “Then it really could be Marie Louise. I mean, there’s those three truths, right? Follow the money, follow the woman.” He tossed his cigarette on the dirty snow and ground it out with his foot.
“What’s the third one?”
“I read it somewhere but I can’t remember. Anyway, I’m thinking if we can get one more person to tell us Marie Louise didn’t go home last night, and we can get somebody to say she showed up at the Armstrong, it’s enough to take her in. At least we’ll have something.”
“Tolya Sverdloff’s driver supposedly took her home, he’s trying to get hold of the guy. What about a security camera, anything in the building that might have caught her? There’s one over the front door, right? I saw it earlier.”
“Maybe I’ll get that kid Diaz calls the Goof. He seems willing,” said Virgil. “Just find out what time your pal Sverdloff’s driver dropped her home?”
“I’m on it, I just fucking told you.” I was upset about Lily. “Wait a minute.” I dialed Tolya. Come on, I said half out loud. Come on.
There was no answer.
“So, Artie, listen, with Marie Louise, are you happy for me to find a little pressure point?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I have friends here and there, Artie, since you’re asking, let’s say hypothetically, like at the Justice Department. It’s a Harvard thing, if you want to know,” he said, heavy on the irony. “I got a few at Homeland Security, too. But not,” he added “from Harvard.”
“Your call,” I said. “You’re assuming Marie Louise is illegal. Why not Immigration?”
“They’re overworked. Also, if she’s from Mali, she’s probably Muslim. Could be she’s on somebody’s watch list.” His face was creased with ambivalence, but he had taken charge. He was working the case the best he knew
