“No one,” I said. “He was only after me.”
“Why does he want to kill you?” she asked.
“It’s a long story,” I said, looking at the little girl and asking, “What’s your name?”
“Alaska,” she said. “Alaska Dreamer.”
The girl took another bite of sandwich.
“Pretty name,” I said.
“My mom’s name. Dreamer. My grandmom’s too. Not my dad’s. He’s in Carserated.”
Francie put an arm around her daughter, who smiled up at her, cheeks full of corned beef and chopped liver.
A police siren outside, coming fast. I looked at my laundry and decided to just forget it. My maternal grandmother would have said it was cursed. It had been with me both times I’d been shot at today. It was covered in shards of glass and the promise of a bad memory.
Some people had fled the Laundromat. One solitary man had gone back to smoking his cigar and waiting for his load to dry.
Then there were two uniformed policemen with rifles in their hands at front of the Laundromat and another two at the back.
“Hands, showing, up,” called one of the cops at the front door.
We showed our hands.
“Doesn’t look like a hostage situation,” the cop who had shouted said to his partner. “Anyone hurt?”
There was a mixed chorus of no’s.
The cops came in slowly, carefully looking for places a raging maniac might hide.
Alaska was almost finished with the sandwich now, but she didn’t stop eating. Her eyes moved between the two pairs of armed cops.
“Don’t be afraid,” Francie said softly to the girl.
“It’s like television,” Alaska said.
“Yes,” her mother said. “It’s like television.”
About ten minutes later I was seated in the office of Detective Etienne Viviase.
“We know one of two things about this guy,” Viviase said. “Either he can’t shoot worth a shit or he’s trying to scare you out of Sarasota County.”
“Looks that way,” I said.
“Hoffmann?”
“He tried to bribe me twice to get me to stop trying to get Trasker out of his house.”
“He’s trying to kill you because of Trasker?”
“Maybe.”
“And he killed Roberta Trasker to keep her from helping you get her husband out of his house?”
“Him or his man Stanley.”
“Just to get the Pass open?”
“Big money involved, remember?” I said.
“Big enough to murder? Doesn’t sound like Hoffmann. You might want to get out of town for a while.”
“If it’s Hoffmann, I’ll be safe when the vote is over tonight,” I said.
“Any suggestions?” he asked, sitting back.
“Doc Obermeyer. But you’ll have to get to him fast. Tomorrow will be too late. The vote will be over.”
“There’s one other way we can go,” Viviase said. “Roberta Trasker’s dead, but if we can find William Trasker’s next of kin and get him or her to-”
“Power of attorney,” I said.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Viviase said with a sigh.
“Can I go now?”
“With God,” he said. “You do that statement about your talk with Obermeyer?”
I went into my pocket and came up with a folded trio of lined yellow sheets of paper. I handed the packet to Viviase, who took it with a look of resignation. He opened the folded sheets and looked at them.
“At least I can read your writing,” he said. “I’ll have it typed up for you to sign. Wait outside.”
I got up and went into the hallway. Viviase moved past me with my report. There was a low wooden bench. I sat as far from the other person on the bench as I could.
It was somewhere over ninety degrees outside and about eighty inside the hall. The man at the end of the bench was wearing a heavy winter coat. He was smiling, a kind of goofy, pleased smile. He looked a little like my Uncle Benny when he was fifty: dark, too much hair, not enough chin, but plenty of nose.
I looked at the wall. There was a photograph of a policeman in dress uniform. The photograph was old. I fixed my eyes on it.
“It’s my birthday,” the guy at the other end of the bench said.
“Congratulations,” I answered, still looking at the cop in the picture.
“Had a big birthday lunch at the Cuban place farther down on Main.”
I nodded.
“I’ve had a birthday lunch at a different foreign restaurant every year for the last five years,” he said with an air of accomplishment. “Greek, Italian, Jewish, Chinese. This year was Cuban.”
“Yeah?” I said, feeling I had to say something.
“Yeah. I go alone. My family’s back in Holland, Michigan,” he said. “I used to fix clocks there. Holland, Michigan. They have a big tulip festival in Holland every year.”
“I’ve heard,” I said.
“I’m a witness,” he said. “Murder. Man got shot in the Cuban restaurant two booths away from me. I was eating my refried beans. There was just me and these two guys and one shot the other one and got up and walked out.”
I looked at him, trying to decide if he had seen a murder or had simply wandered into police headquarters, plopped on the bench, and started telling a story to the first person who would listen to him. I didn’t say anything.
“Didn’t get a good look,” he said. “Guy just goes bloughy with the gun. Bloughy, you know. Twice. Gets up and goes. But I heard the other guy, the guy he shot, say his name. That’s why I’m sitting here. I’m trying to remember the name. I’m good with faces, not with names.”
He had slid toward me on the bench. I was already sitting on the end.
“Carnahan,” he said.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, without giving my name.
“No, I think the name of the guy was Carnahan. That’s it. Carnahan. Or maybe it was Wisnant.”
“I can see how you’d get the two confused,” I said.
“No, it was something more like Pergamont,” he said. “That’s why I’m sitting here, trying to remember. They should have asked me what the guy looked like, the killer. I’m good with faces. Just saw him for a second, but that’s enough. I used to fix watches.”
“You said.”
“Moncreiff,” said the man.
“The name of the shooter?”
“No, my name. Simon Moncreiff.”
He held out his hand. I took it.
“You told the police that you only saw the shooter for a second.”
“Less than a second,” he said, hands deep in his pockets, thinking. “You think it would help if I went through the alphabet?”
“Can’t hurt,” I said. “Give you something to do.”
“It won’t work,” he said. “Terrible with names. Good with faces, people.”
“What did the guy look like?” I asked, looking down the hall for Viviase.
“The dead guy?”
“The killer.”
