McSorley's. He never went in there at night-afternoons were the best time, when the sun flooded in through the dusty windows, dancing across the sawdust-strewn floors and gleaming off the row of antique brass beer taps.
'You know how some of them feel about profilers,' Chuck said. 'They're not buying the idea that we've got a serial offender on our hands.' His voice was apologetic.
'Well, they'll find out sooner or later they're wrong-when another girl dies.'
Down on the street, a couple was having an argument. The girl leaned against the building, arms crossed, while her boyfriend ranted and paced in front of her, throwing his arms around. Lee couldn't hear what he was saying, but judging from the sulky expression on the girl's face, it wasn't welcome. The boyfriend was bulky and blond, built like a bull terrier; she was lanky and dark-haired, with one of those Irish faces-sharp dark eyes and a pert, upturned nose. Her expression was defiant; she looked like she could handle him.
'You don't think it's the priest, do you?' Chuck said.
'No-and even if I did, you have to let him go unless you're going to charge him with something.'
'Oh, hell, Lee, I wish there was something I could do.'
The kettle screamed its shrill crescendo, and Lee pulled it from the gas flame.
'Look, it's not your fault,' he said. 'I hope I'm wrong-I really do.'
'Well, maybe we've got enough to go on with this one up in the Bronx.'
'We'll see,' he said, pouring the steaming water into a blue and white tin mug. 'A killer's progression tells us important things about him. The second killing was already more organized than the first.' He didn't say what else he was thinking: And more violent.
'We've been interviewing anyone who works at the church, but so far no one's given us anything. If it isn't the priest, do you think this guy could be a member of the congregation?'
'I don't think so. If we had enough manpower, though, it might be worth tracking down people to interview.'
He added milk and sugar to his tea and checked back in on the couple in the street. The girl was still leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. There was no sign of the boyfriend.
'For the time being we're trying to rule out some local sex offenders,' Chuck said. 'Butts and I are interviewing some possible suspects this afternoon-want to sit in?'
'Sure. What time?'
'In about an hour.'
'I'll be there.'
The interrogation room was tiny and stuffy. Chuck had brought in a man named Jerry Walker. Walker was on the maintenance staff at Fordham, and had a record of two arrests and one conviction-both for sexual offenses against young girls. As they waited for Detective Butts to arrive, Lee leafed through Walker's file. He had been convicted eight years ago of statutory rape, and had served five years of his ten-year sentence, with time off for good behavior. He was paroled three years ago. So far he appeared to have kept his nose clean, though with these guys you never knew. How on earth he'd managed to get a job doing maintenance at a college, Lee couldn't imagine.
The door was flung open, and Butts entered, sweating and out of breath.
'Sorry,' he said, sounding more irritated than apologetic. 'Damn fire on the A train.' He loosened his tie and took a drink of water from the cooler in the corner.
Walker smiled and leaned back in his chair as though he was enjoying himself. He was a cocky, macho type Lee was familiar with. He always wondered if these guys were for real-their behavior was full of cliches layered on top of cliches.
But Jerry Walker did not include self-awareness in his arsenal of personality quirks. He sat across from them at the interrogation table, legs spread wide, the insolent set of his shoulders expressing his disdain for the whole process. A pack of Camels was tucked into the sleeve of his T-shirt-another cliche, Lee thought. He was dressed like a biker from the fifties: white T-shirt, blue jeans, heavy black boots, slicked-back hair.
His pumped-up arms were crossed, the tattoos on his biceps bulging-a curvy mermaid on the left arm, 'I Love Jenny' in Gothic lettering on the right. Lee wondered who Jenny was, and if she knew that she had been memorialized in ink on the muscular flesh of Jerry Walker's right arm.
Detective Butts finished his water and paced behind Walker, rubbing his stubby hands together, while Chuck sat on the corner of the table across from him. Lee recognized the technique. Invade his territory, crowd him, make him feel cornered, creating feelings of insecurity. But judging by the smirk on Walker's face, it wasn't working.
'So you guys actually think I might be the killer?' Walker said, his mouth curled into a contemptuous smile.
'You tell us,' Chuck answered, his voice failing to conceal his dislike of Walker. 'We've been asked by the mayor to interview a few sex offenders living in the area. And that would include you.'
'Hey, that stuff's all behind me,' Walker protested. 'I got a new life now, a steady job, a girlfriend-the works. I'm even seeing a therapist,' he added, 'not that it's any of your business.'
'You're right,' Chuck replied, 'it's not my business. What I'm interested in is where you were on February eleventh.'
Walked smiled broadly, revealing a gold tooth. 'No sweat. On the eleventh I was out of town. Went to see my dear old mom-I'm a very devoted son. I can show you the plane tickets to prove it.'
Chuck held his gaze. 'Plane tickets can be forged.'
'Call my mother and ask her.'
Butts left his pacing and came around behind Walker. 'Oh, that's a good idea,' he said. 'I'm sure she wouldn't be interested in covering for her only son-I know she wouldn't think of lying to the police.'
Lee touched Chuck's elbow.
'What?' Chuck said.
Lee leaned in to whisper into his ear. 'It's not him. This isn't our guy.'
'Okay,' Chuck whispered back, 'but I still have to go through with this.'
'Your friend is right, you know,' Walker said. 'I'm not your guy.'
Chuck's fair face reddened. 'You know what? I'll decide that for myself.'
Walked shrugged and leaned back in his chair. 'Suit yourself,' he said, cleaning his fingernails with a book of matches. The picture on the matchbook cover was of a tall, curvaceous feline wearing black lingerie. The logo read PUSSYCAT LOUNGE.
'You know,' he said, 'I don't go for Catholic girls. Too uptight.'
Chuck leaned into Walker's face. 'This may be just a game to you, you son of a bitch, but it's not to us, and if you make one more crack like that, I swear-'
'Hey, easy, there,' Walker said, holding up his callused hands. 'I didn't mean anything by it, man. Just trying to let you know I'm not your guy.'
'Jesus,' Chuck muttered. 'What is it with you guys that you can laugh about something like this? What was left out when they put you together, huh?'
'I'm not any happier than you are about this guy,' Walker snarled. 'Hell, I'm no killer. It would never occur to me to hurt a woman-ask my girlfriend. I'm a pussycat.'
'Like the dancers at the Pussycat Lounge?' Butts said, indicating the matches on the table.
'Hey, hey-my girlfriend works there, okay?'
'Figures,' Butts muttered.
'She's a waitress, okay?' Walker said, going for a cigarette.
'No smoking in here,' Chuck snapped. He tried to snatch the cigarette from Walker's mouth, but Walker was faster, and put it back in the pack.
'Hands off, man-these things are expensive! Jeez, what do you guys do around here for fun?'
'Beat the crap out of guys like you,' Butts shot back.
'No shit. And you don't get busted for police brutality?' Walker asked with mock innocence.
'Why don't we find out?' Butts replied.
'That's enough!' Chuck snapped at the detective.
Walker smiled, and Lee was taken aback by the cruelty in that smile. 'You know, every minute you spend with
