Fiddlers

much danger here of us closing in.’

‘I don’t see the danger yet,’ Eileen said. ‘We haven’t found any connection, so maybe Ollie’s right.’

‘In which case, which one was he really after?’ Willis insisted. ‘Who was the real victim?’

‘Far as I’m concerned,’ Byrnes said, ‘they’re all real victims, and he was after each and every one of them. Stay on all of them,’ he advised. Or warned. ‘And bring me something!’

* * * *

Parker caught up with Ollie on his way out of the squadroom, and asked how things were going with his little Latina dish.

‘Or do you plan on marrying her?’ he said. ‘Is that it, Ollie?’

‘Well, no. I mean, the subject hasn’t come up. We’ve only seen each other a few times, whattya mean marry her?’

‘Is exactly what I’m saying. But if there are no wedding bells on the horizon, then when do you plan to make your move?’

‘I don’t know what move you mean.’

‘Ho-ho, he don’t know what move I mean,’ Parker said to the air. ‘I mean getting in her pants, sir, is what I mean. When do you plan to attempt this?’

‘I didn’t make any plans for that,’ Ollie said.

‘Then start now,’ Parker said. ‘When are you seeing her again?’

‘Saturday night.’

‘Tomorrow night?’

‘No, next Saturday night.’

‘No,’ Parker said.

‘Whattya mean no? That’s when I’m seeing her. July third, next Saturday night.’

‘Wrong,’ Parker said. ‘Saturday night is wrong, July third, July whenever. She’ll know what you’re planning, she’ll…’

‘I ain’t planning nothing.’

‘She’ll think you’re planning something. Saturday night? Of course you’re planning something! She’ll be on High Alert, she’ll put up a Panty Block.’

‘A what?’

‘These Latinas, they call themselves, they know all kinds of ways to cut off a man’s dick and sell it to a cuchi frito joint. It’s called a Panty Block. If she suspects for a single minute what you’re planning…”

‘But I’m not…”

‘… she’ll throw up a Panty Block like you never saw in your life. Here’s what you gotta do,’ Parker said. ‘If you wanna get in this girl’s pants, you first gotta create an ambulance.’

‘A what?’ Ollie said.

‘An ambulance. In French, that means like a setting.’

‘I always thought an ambulance

‘Yeah, I know, but the French are peculiar. To them, ambulance means lighting, music, mood, the whole setting. Ambulance, is what they call it. They know about such things, the French. Saturday night is out. Any Saturday night. What’d you plan to do that Saturday night?’

‘I told her to come over around seven. I told her I’d cook dinner for her.’

‘Oh boy! High Alert at once! Panty Block, Panty Block!’ Parker said, and threw up his hands in alarm. ‘You want my advice?’

‘Well…’

‘Call her, tell her you want to change it to brunch. Tell her to come over for a nice Sunday brunch. Eleven o’clock Sunday.’

‘That’s the Fourth of July.’

‘Good, that’s a good American holiday, these Latina girls like to think they’re American. Tell her you’ll make pancakes. Pancakes are very American, very innocent. Tell her to dress casual. Blue jeans, if she likes. Most of these Latina girls don’t wear pants under their jeans, you’re already halfway home.’

‘Well, I’m not sure I want to trick her that way…”

‘What trick? You’re creating a safe ambulance is all. Nice Sunday morning brunch, the Fourth of July, who could suspect Wee Willie is lurking in the bushes?’

‘It ain’t so wee.’

‘That’s just an expression. No one’s disparaging your package.’

‘Just so you know.’

‘Call her. Change it to brunch.’

‘You think?’

‘Am I talking to the wall here?’ Parker said. ‘Call her!’

* * * *

Dr. Angelo Babbio was the head of the Visual Impairment Services Team at the Veterans Administration Medical Center. He told them that before the Iraq War began, a survey here at VAMC estimated that the number of legally blind veterans in America would increase by 37 percent, from 108,122 in 1995 to 147,864 in 2010.

‘That was before we started getting the figures from Iraq,’ he said.

‘Do your records go back to the Vietnam War?’ Carella asked.

‘They go back to World War I,’ Babbio said. ‘What’s your interest in the visually impaired?’

‘We’re investigating the murder of a blinded vet.’

‘And you think he may have been treated here?’

‘According to his brother, yes.’

‘When do you think this might have been?’

‘Late sixties, early seventies.’

‘Long time ago,’ Babbio said.

He led them through corridors lined with silent men sitting in wheelchairs. Elderly men on oxygen. Young soldiers recently returned from the desert. A bird colonel still proudly wearing his uniform, sitting motionless in his chair, his head bandaged. Facing a window beyond which was a green lawn and a blue sky he could not see.

Max Sobolov’s records were already on microfilm. He’d indeed been treated here for rehab. Nothing they could do about his eyes, he’d lost both those to a mortar explosion. But they could teach him about spatial layouts, and environmental constants, and features of walls and floors, and how to use echolocation. They could teach him how to carry out complex tasks, travel intricate routes, locate difficult objectives. They could teach him the use of the long cane. They could teach him independence.

‘We have him discharged after five years,’ Babbio said. ‘According to this…’ He tapped the file folder. ‘… he was a difficult patient.’

‘In what way?’ Meyer asked.

‘Bitter, uncooperative. Lots of them come back that way, you know. They go off all gung-ho, and suddenly they’re home, and they’re still young, but they’ve lost an arm or a leg, or half a face, or they’re paralyzed, or blind - as was the case with Sobolov here - and it gives them an entirely different perspective. Sobolov was in a lot of pain. We had to medicate him quite heavily.’

‘Did he become drug dependent?’ Carella asked.

‘Well… who can say? We gave him a lot of morphine, let’s put it that way.’

‘Was he an addict when he left here?’ Carella insisted.

‘There is nothing in his record to indicate he was morphine-addicted when he left VAMC,’ Babbio said.

The detectives did not appear convinced.

‘Look,’ Babbio said, ‘we’re lucky we were able to release him as a functioning member of society. Most of them never get back to what they once were.’