'That's why they do it. Keeps the guys quiet. I figure they maybe do a hundred, two hundred jobs for every one gets reported.
Stiegel, Janek felt, had propounded a perfectly reasonable theory. It explained the skin writing, though not the use of mirror-reverse.
'Any other cases where the girl used mirror writing?'
'Just Carlson. Except for the blonde who took him, and the Oriental girl, the rest of them write their insults straight.'
'And you never got close to anything?'
Stiegel shook his head.
'A dozen cases-there must have been something,' Sue said.
Stiegel finished off his drink, signaled the waiter for another, then stared into Sue's eyes.
'There was this girl, a year ago… maybe two.' His voice turned vague.
'What about her?'
'It was at Roosevelt Hospital. She stumbled into the ER, her face cut up real bad. What brought me into it was what she told the triage nurse.
She said she'd been sliced up by some guy in a hotel room when she tried to dope his drink.'
'You interviewed her?'
'Tried to. But she wouldn't talk. Maybe I could have pushed it, but the way her face was messed up, I just let it go. I got my own way of doing this job that you people probably wouldn't approve. If someone doesn't want to talk to me, I forget about '.'
Sue gaped, as if she couldn't believe what Stiegel had just said. Janek brought out Capiello's sketch of the redhead. Stiegel squinted at it.
'No, that's not her.' He looked up. 'Looks a little like the one took down Carlson, doesn't she? But, I don't know, different somehow.'
'This girl at Roosevelt-did you take notes?'
Stiegel shook his head. 'I'm not too big on notes.'
'Try and remember. What time of year was it?'
'Let's see.' He scratched his head. 'I remember it was cold.'
'Last winter?'
'Maybe the winter before. February, March, something like that.'
Janek nodded at Sue and she nodded back, their shared acknowledgment that they'd gotten about all Stiegel had to offer. As they stood to leave, Sue turned back. Stiegel was staring at the wall.
'Keep up the good work, Detective,' she said. Her sarcasm was unmistakable, but Stiegel didn't notice.
Outside the bar, Sue vented her anger: 'Couple more bozos like him and we can turn the city over to the felons.'
'I've seen worse,' Janek said. 'His theory about the writing wasn't bad.' They began to walk back toward the One-seven.
Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.' she paused.
'When I meet a guy like that, I'm ashamed to be in the same outfit.'
'Worn-out detectives come and go. Don't hate him, pity him. Remember:
'There but for the grace of God… ' '
Sue looked at Janek curiously. 'If I thought I was going to end up like Stiegel I think I'd eat my gun.'
Janek winced.
They walked a block in silence. Then Janek turned to her: 'What I want you to do is find that girl, the one who got sliced in the hotel.'
'There ought to be something in the hospital records.'
Janek nodded. 'Find her, handle her right and she may put you on to the rest of them.'
'And once we're on to the bad girls, maybe we can find the girl did Dietz.'
'That's the idea.'
When they reached the precinct, Janek started to look for a cab. 'I'm due at the Savoy for a stand-up with Channel Six.' 'I'll drop you,' Sue said, 'then head over to Roosevelt. I want to get started on this right away.'
Janek could have kissed her. 'You like the work, don't you?' he asked as he slipped into her car.
'Want the truth?' Janek nodded. 'I love it-every friggin' minute. I love it so much my lover's jealous. She says I'm more committed to it than her. And you know what, Frank? She's friggin' right!'
The interview went fairly well, he thought. There was the usual obligatory camaraderie with the reporter, or 'wax job' as Aaron called it-which ended the moment the cameras began to roll. Then Meg Chang transformed herself into the shrewd, street-smart TV journalist she was, all canny questions and meaningful squints:
'We understand Mr. Dietz was shot in the head.'
'That's correct.'
'We also hear his room was ransacked. Was there a robbery, Lieutenant?'
'There are things missing. But we're not sure robbery was the only motive.'
She examined him skeptically. 'Does this mean that visitors aren't safe from crime even in a luxury hotel?'
'It doesn't mean that at all. We're still investigating. My preliminary opinion is that Mr. Dietz was targeted.'
'There're rumors around the hotel that shortly before he was killed he was seen with a redheaded woman in the downstairs lounge. '
'Sorry, Meg-you know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation.'
She nodded curtly, then turned directly to the camera:
'There you have it. Lieutenant Janek will not confirm the presence of a mystery redhead seen with Philip Dietz just before he was killed.
Meantime, the question hangs in the air, are visitors to Manhattan safe, even inside two-hundred fifty-dollar- a-night hotel rooms? This is Meg Chang, Channel Six News, in front of the Savoy.'
Although he was exhausted, he couldn't get to sleep. The encounters of the day kept ricocheting inside his brain. Dakin, Capiello, Kane, Carlson, Timmy, Stiegel-as soon as he finished reviewing his meeting with one, memories of his meeting with another would intrude.
The confrontations had been too intense, the aroused emotions too inflamed, for him simply to push the skirmishes out of mind. These men haunted him-their sad, canny or glaring eyes; their ravished, hard or angry faces. There was a common element, he realized: Each, in his way, was a victim of the city and each had found his own way of coping with its violence. Even Kane, from out of town, seemed, with his threats and games, like a New Yorker.
Close the album, let their faces fade. Plenty of time to think about them tomorrow.
He shut his eyes tightly, then slowly relaxed until his eyelids gently met. The image of the redhead came into his mind, the two artists' sketches superimposed. Yeah, he thought, something about her, something about her eyes… He took a half dozen deep breaths, rolled over onto his side, exhaled, then felt himself finally falling-falling into sleep.
A quarter hour later his telephone rang. Although it took him only a couple of seconds to come awake, the process seemed interminable, as if he were rising slowly from a deep, dark well. Grasping for the receiver, he knocked the phone to the floor.
'Frank? Are you there?' When he picked up the handset he heard Sarah's voice.
'Yeah, I'm here,' he said. 'I was asleep.'
'Sorry. I didn't know. It's just eleven.'
'I had a tough day. Maybe you could call back-'
'I want to talk about the roof. I left a couple of messages.'
'I got them. Why don't we-?'
She interrupted. 'That last estimate's pretty good. I told the contractor you wouldn't pay five figures.' He thought a moment, then made up his mind. 'Yeah. well, I'm not going to pay anything.'
Silence. Her voice went terse. 'What do you mean, Frank?' 'Just what I said. Don't count on me. I'm out.'
