how she died. But one thing's clear-she was tortured first.':,Jesus!' 'Been dead at least a week. We know that from the condition of the body. And of course we know from the parking lot just when that car was driven in.'
'When?'
'You're asking us when?' I nodded. Ramos seemed amused.
'Tell him, Sal. Tell him when.'
'Week ago Sunday. In the afternoon. Which is an interesting point in time. Because, according to what we hear, the next day you were all over her building knocking on doors asking when she and her roommate were seen moving out.' they looked at me then, both of them together-two sets of eyes focused on me at once. And then at last I understood: they suspected me of involvement in the murder.
That did it. I woke up, stopped feeling punchy and sorry for myself. I started talking, as fast as I could, describing everything that had happened, how Kim had been my girlfriend, how she'd told me she and Shadow had a modeling session that Saturday evening, and then how she'd come to me in the middle of the night, saying she was scared, babbling about agents of some 'powerful man.' Then how, Sunday morning, she had denied her story of the night before, and then had stood me up at Windows on the World. I told them about my inquiries the following day, my discovery that they'd moved, and also what I'd learned from Jess, about the escort service and Mrs. Z. they didn't seem too interested in that. they were much more interested in a detailed accounting of my movements on Sunday afternoon, I felt pretty confident as I told them again about the restaurant. I described the waiter and how I'd finally eaten lunch alone. I found my credit card receipt and showed it to them. Then I told them how I'd walked back to my loft, stopping first to take some pictures at the Vietnam Memorial in Battery Park, Finally I mentioned the shot I'd taken of the wino on the corner.
I took them to the window, pointed the wino out. He was still there, ag he'd been all summer, ensconced near the Edgar Allan Poe plaque.
'Go down and ask him,' I said. 'Pretty sure he'll remember me.'
'Guy like that, whatever you ask him, he'll say he remembers it,' Scotto said.
Ramos asked to see my photographs.
I went to my files and fetched the proof sheets. I even dug out the shots I'd taken of Shadow. I pointed out that some of the tourists at the Memorial were carrying newspapers, which, if blown up, might show the date. And I pointed out a big public clock in the background that showed the time to be 4:25.
As I told them all this, scurrying about, bringing them the documentation, Ramos studied me while Scotto wrote in his notebook.
'… so,' I said, 'depending on what time that car was driven into the parking lot, it should be clear I didn't have anything to do with it.'
'We never said you parked the car, Geoffrey. One person could have killed Cheryl, and another ditched her body.
'So I'm not off the hook?'
'Never sai you were on it,' Ramos muttered.
'Course we'll be checking out your story with the restaurant and looking close at all the pictures you took. But I got to tell you now, there's one thing bothers me.'
'What's that, Dave?' Scotto asked.
'Fact that Barnett here's even got these alibi photographs.'
'I never called them that,' I said.
'I'm a photographer. I take pictures. 'that's what I do.'
'Maybe so,' Ramos said.
'Iling is, if we're sure a guy did something, all the alibis in the world don't mean squat.' He gave me a hard stare.
'See, most people, they don't have alibis. they aren't out conveniently photographing people carrying dated newspapers with a big clock in the background at A, the same time a car with a body in the trunk is being stashed in a parking lot at But What I want to know is why you think you needed these pictures.'
'Now, wait just a minute!' I said.
'No. You wait!' Ramos rose from his chair.
'You wait, and see what happens. 'Cause I got to tell you, there's something weird I feel coming off of you, and it don't smell all that sweet.'
'What are you saying?'
'I'm saying how I feel. First I see you striding down the hall holding a copy of Screw. Then you tell me your apartment's been broken in, even though there's a good ten grand's worth of cameras sitting around in here untouched. Then you say the only thing that's different is someone's scrawled 'cunt' on these strange cutups you made of your girlfriend. And all around the place what do I see? More photos of the broad. Everywhere I look, pictures, pictures, pictures, a fair percentage of them in the nude. Now, what does that tell me, Barnett?
Maybe that you're'-he snickered-'a sex pervert. Which isn't inconsistent with the pictures you show me of the homicide victim, strutting around here in her nifty black underwear. You think maybe I don't think that's a little strange? I'm not sure I believe a word of it. So let's leave it like this: Cheryl Devereux has been killed and her roommate is missing, and you've been involved with both of them in some kind of kinky way I haven't figured out yet. When I do figure it out I'll be back. Meantime my advice is get yourself a good attorney.'
He motioned to Scotto that it was time to leave. Then he strutted out.
Scotto smiled weakly at me from the door, but this time he didn't roll his eyes. After they left I set to work on the murals, trying to clean them up. I couldn't. The spray paint was indelible. Then I lay down on my couch and started thinking about Shadow, about her bones being broken. Then I thought about Ramos and what he'd said, and I decided that though he was undoubtedly a slob, and his speech was uncouth, and he was definitely wrong in his assumptions, he could not be called a fool.
I was in my darkroom, making up a new print of the PietA. The smell of the chemicals relaxed me. I knew the exposure and dodging and burning program for that negative by heart. I got several requests for prints of it every month. It was my bread-and-butter negative, my sinecure, my capital. I had just finished the exposure and had put the paper in the developer when the telephone rang. Using one hand to agitate the solution, I picked up the darkroom extension.
'Like the damage, Barnett?' The male voice on the other end sounded tough.
'Who is this?'
' 'Who is this?… He mimicked me in a nasty falsetto.
'Who the fuck you think it is?'
I dropped my print into the solution.
'You're the bastard who broke in.'
'Yeah, I'm the bastard, you're the pigshit, and youknow-who's the cunt.'
There was someth ' ing horribly aggressive in his tone that scared the hell out of me.
'What do you want?' I asked.
There was a pause and then he spoke.
'Next time I come I hope you're there. Then instead of tearing up your shitty picture, I'll tear you up.' The phone went dead.
I called Scotto, told him what had happened. He said I shouldn't worry about it, that it sounded like a freak acting big.
'One thing I'd suggest though-if you were really broken in.'
I was incredulous.
'You still don't think I was?'
'What Dave and I think are two different things. Meantime my suggestion is get a locksmith up there and have him put in something unbreakable.
Like a good bar lock, something like that. Then you won't have to worry anymore.'
'Fine. I'll do that,' I said.
'But you're not getting my point. '
'Which is?'
'This creep's focused on Kimberly. He gets off calling her names. I say he's the guy who killed Shadow, now he's after Kim, and he thinks he can get to her through me.
