Kindness Goes Unpunished

12

Katz said he would catch up with Gowder and then meet me with the ledgers at the Academy later so that Henry could have a look at them. I wanted to get over to the hospital, but it was late in the afternoon and I had run out of time. I needed a shower and could get dressed at Cady’s for the reception, thereby killing two magpies with one stone. When Vic and I got there, Lena was gone and so was Dog. There was a note on the counter, along with a roasted chicken and a six-pack of beer in the refrigerator.

Vic sat on the stool. “You don’t think we’re looking for William White Eyes.”

I pulled two of the longnecks from the refrigerator. “No, at least not as a killer.”

“Osgood?” I opened both of them and handed one to her.

“I don’t think so, but I’ve been wrong before.”

“Diaz?”

I took a sip of my beer. “He’s a killer.”

“You don’t think that he and Osgood could have kissed and made up?”

“Toy Diaz does not strike me as the forgiving type.”

She took a sip of her own beer. “The assistant DA could be a pretty convenient partner in crime.”

I thought about it. “I think they’re in cahoots.”

She laughed. “Cahoots, Jesus…” She slugged down the rest of her beer. “It is pretty convenient that Toy Diaz appears to be flying around under the radar, and all the inconvenient people in Osgood’s life are meeting with the pavement.”

“Including Cady?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me it didn’t cross your mind.”

I shrugged. “Devon was very convincing.”

“I would be too if somebody was trying to tear off my head and flush it down a public toilet at Citizens Bank Park.”

“I was a little more civilized than that.”

She nodded and placed the tip of her tongue at the bottom of a particularly pointed canine tooth. “Yeah, I’ve seen you in those moods; I bet the meeting was very civilized.” She stood and stretched, her black T-shirt rising and exposing the flat, toned muscles of her midriff. I looked away, but I was pretty sure she’d seen me looking. “I need a shower.”

“Me too, but you go first.”

She had taken the second bedroom upstairs, so I collapsed on the sofa and noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. Vic had stopped on the landing and was looking through the glass of the cupola at the cables that rose from the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. “Cady’s not involved with this.”

Not for the first time, I studied her profile. “You mean in cahoots?”

She grinned. “Yeah.”

I took one of my shallow breaths. It didn’t hurt as much. “I think Osgood put the pressure on Devon, and Devon tried to put the pressure on Cady. I think Cady discovered Devon’s laundering scheme through William White Eyes and was going to drop a dime on them. I’m just trying to figure out why she didn’t do it.”

“You still think Devon hurt Cady.”

I nodded and watched her as she stood there looking at the flat light on the powder blue bridge. “I think if it’d been Toy Diaz, we’d have already been to a funeral.” I cleared my throat and voiced what had been on my mind since I had heard the message on her cell phone. “How could she let herself get involved in an abusive relationship like that?”

“You mean the daughter you raised?” I didn’t say anything. “It can happen to anyone, that’s the point.” She still looked up at the skyline, and her hands slid across the railing as if she were petting the city. She nodded a sad smile, looked down and watched me for a few moments more, and then disappeared.

I was left with the answering machine. There were people back in Wyoming who were desperate for information about Cady and me. I started to reach across and press the button, but the energy eluded me again. I slumped against the cushions and pulled my hat down, thinking that a short nap might do the trick.

The water began running through the pipes, and it was like rain. I could feel myself drifting off. I sat like that, with my back crooked and my finger guard lying on the back of the couch and thought about what I was going to do about Cady.

The water stopped after a while, and I heard Vic’s bare feet padding across the balcony above. I felt myself slipping away but woke a few minutes later because of pressure across both of my thighs. I started to push my hat up, but she took it from me and placed it on her head, an old western tradition. She straddled me with her strong legs and, since the hat was out of the way, I could see that her bathrobe was untied. I could smell the still-wet of her skin, smooth and full.

I started to speak, but she put a finger to my lips and leaned in. “Just shut the fuck up.”

She pulled my face forward with the fingers of one hand twisted into the hair at the back of my head, and I buried my face into her breasts as she reached to unbutton my pants. I could feel her taking the majority of her weight up onto her knees as her fingers quickly undid my belt and began working me through the opening in my underwear and jeans. Her fingers felt cool encircled around me, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from climaxing right then.

I could feel her leveraging me, and I slid into her. She gasped and yanked my head back, locking her mouth over mine, her tongue sliding deep between my lips. I could feel her grinding her hips down onto me, the furious quality of hungry passion as if she might swallow me whole.

I thought I heard a noise from behind her, almost as if the door had opened, but ignored it and slipped my hands under the robe, feeling the heat of her body as my fingers slipped beneath her breasts and cupped them. She broke from my mouth and gasped, a guttural growl coming from the back of her throat as she looked down at me and began pulling my face forward again.

I stopped her. “No.”

I watched as her nostrils flared and the pebbled surface of her nipples rose and fell inches from my face. “No what?”

“I want to see your face.”

Her eyes softened, and she smiled. She pulled my head back, her face a little above mine, and we settled into a rhythm with our eyes locked. I slid myself to the edge of the sofa and for the first time was able to push myself all the way into her. Her eyes flashed again, and her breath caught in her throat as she stayed like that, her grip tightening.

When I was able to think again, I was in the shower trying to wash myself with one hand, the other with a bread bag over it, secured with a rubber band. I couldn’t be sure if I was ever going to leave the water; it wasn’t safe out there.

Vic must have been reading my mind because, after about fifteen minutes, I became aware of her outline through the opaque surface of the shower door. I turned off the water and stood there, dripping.

“Walt?”

“Yep?”

She waited a moment and then spoke again. “It was just sex.”

“Uh huh.”

It was a longer pause this time. “You’re still who you are, I’m still who I am, and we’re still who we are.”

“Right.”

I watched as she put earrings on and applied lipstick. “The only difference is that we had sex.”

“Okay.”

She laughed and turned toward the shower. “Are you all right?”

I took a deep breath and winced a little. “Yep.” She waited, and I finally heard her let out a long sigh. I wiped the water from my eyes. “Vic?” I stared at the shower control and tried to stay focused. “We can’t ever do that again.”

She chuckled as she went out, not closing the bathroom door behind her. “Speak for yourself, big guy.”

I didn’t have any clothes upstairs, so I had to go down with a towel wrapped around my middle. She sat at the counter with another beer and the two-day-old Daily News that had the story about Devon Conliffe’s death on the front page.

I memorized every detail of her appearance with just one glance: the wife-beater T-shirt; the brown, pebbled leather jacket with studded conchos; the belt with green copper studs; a dark green lace skirt which stalled out at midcalf; and a pair of clunky-heeled alligator packers.

She had blown her hair dry so that it feathered down and covered her eyebrows, and she wore a turquoise choker and earrings, with my hat sitting ludicrously large on her head. I had known her for three years and, as good as she had always looked, she had never looked this good. “You want your hat back?”

I clutched my towel and pulled my only suit jacket and tie from my bag. “Eventually.”

She took a sip of her beer. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” She smiled.

“Look…” I wondered about what I wanted her looking at. “I’ve got a lot of things going on in my life, and the last thing we should be…”

She cut me off with each word as a statement of its own: “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” She tried to continue, but the urge to laugh was too much. I waited while she laughed at me. “Jesus, Walt, you’re acting like some fucking prom queen the morning after.”

I stood there in my towel and felt ridiculous.

She got up from the stool and dangled the bottle from her hand like she had on the bridge and walked toward me, slowly. “How about I make it easy for you? We’ll just call it rape. I raped you. There. Do you feel better?” She was very close now, and she smelled like our sex, which she hadn’t tried to cover up. She gave me a long look from toe to head, where she replaced my hat. “And, if you don’t get dressed, I may do it again.”

It’s hard to scamper in a towel.

Vic said she’d meet me at the Academy with Katz and Gowder and had left me to my own devices and the hospital. We had taken the same cab for a while; Vic’s attention stayed out the window as the city rushed by. I kept trying to detect a weirdness in her, but it just wasn’t there. It was quite possible that she had more experience than I did. Since the end of her marriage, she’d been briefly involved with a dentist and had had a ferocious weekend with some rodeo cowboy who’d then showed up at the office and been treated to a reenactment of the Battle of Benevento; Ruby and I had desperately tried to pretend that we weren’t listening.

“I’ve only had sex with six women in my entire life.” It came out before I had a chance to edit it or make any additions, and I said it like I was talking about heart attacks.

She turned her head and looked at me, with a little bit of sadness. “Oh, Walt…”

When I got to the ICU, the head nurse told me they had been trying to call me. Cady had opened her eyes. Michael had been in the room. He was by her bed, standing easily on the one unwounded foot. “How ya doin’, Sheriff?”

I looked at her, but her eyes were closed.

“She had them open for about an hour and a half, and she closed them no more than ten minutes ago.”

I sat down in the chair by the bed and stared at her motionless face, at the ceremonial Cheyenne trappings still surrounding her, and started to cry. I couldn’t stop. All the pent-up emotion of the last week found fissures in my stalwart act and began cracking like ice dropped into hot water. I could feel the strike of tears dripping onto the two-fisted grip of my hands. I wasn’t aware of Michael moving, but I felt his hand on my shoulder. The wretched, cynical husk that had written Cady off and had prepared me to let her go was dying. The transition from malice to relief was quick and, when my eyes could refocus, I noticed that I’d crushed the finger brace.

Michael and the nurse kneeled in front of me, both of them looking at the twisted aluminum wrapped around my broken finger. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

I tried to catch my breath and noticed that my ribs weren’t aching either. I looked past the nurse’s head and could see that Cady had opened her eyes again. I smiled. “Not anymore.”

Rissman had been called; he had left a message that he wanted to talk with me when I arrived. He was trying to keep my attention as I watched Cady’s eyes and counted how long it took her to blink. He said that most comas end with the patients opening their eyes and regaining consciousness, but that 10 percent of those who do fall into the category of Apallic Syndrome and don’t respond to environmental stimulus.

I squeezed Cady’s hand, but she didn’t respond. Her eyes looked into the distance to places I could not see. The color was clear, and the whites as bright as I’d ever seen them.

He said that for her to regain consciousness, both reactivity and perceptivity would have to be present.

I bit my lower lip and could feel the heat returning behind my eyes.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” He looked at the ceiling, the floor, and my left shoulder.

I looked across the bed at him. “She’s going to make it.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t get your hopes too high. Even in the best of circumstances…”

“She’s going to make it.” I sometimes underestimate the vigor of my statements, and I’d imagine it has to do with having to deal with the law on a continual basis. I rarely let emotion get a strong grip on me or have an influence in my responses, but this was different. I’d been waiting so long for hope that I wasn’t letting it slip away. I’d seen what the hopeless approach was like, and I was never going back there again. “She’s going to make it.”

Rissman said that he was ordering some more tests now that she had opened her eyes and that I had at least a few hours. Michael said he’d be happy to stay and wait for Cady while I went to the reception. I tried not to concentrate on the features he shared with Vic.

“This section tells the story of the Autumn Count; it is a legendary buffalo robe inscribed by Crazy Horse that supposedly had the ability to tell the future.” He looked up at us. “I have never heard it mentioned outside the tribal council and certainly never by a white man.” He looked back at the ledger and turned the page. “This is the most comprehensive history of the Notame-ohmeseheestse I have ever read outside of the reservation.” He shook his head. “I would very much like to meet this William White Eyes.”

Katz pulled out a chair and sat down across from Henry, while Gowder leaned against the table with his arms folded. Vic stood beside him. “Welcome to the fucking club.”

The Academy staff was setting up the finishing touches on the reception that was scheduled to open in less than an hour, and it promised to be quite the wingding. The main hall was festooned with billboard-sized enlargements of the Mennonite Collection, as it was now called, and it was a little odd to have a gigantic Lonnie Little Bird looking at me from behind the table where Henry sat. I could almost hear the “um-hmm, yes, it is so” drifting across the marble-floored hall.

“What about page seventy-two?”

He flipped the pages, placed a hand gently in the corner, and held the book open. “It is a record of business dealings, numbers, but there is a code that I do not understand.”

I glanced at Katz, who nodded. “Money laundering accounts.”

“So, this ledger possibly gives us the numbered accounts of Toy Diaz’s operation?” Katz shrugged, probably weighing the evidentiary value of a prosecuting attorney holding up the ledger in a court of law. “But I guess without William White Eyes’ corroboration, these things are pretty much useless?”

Henry looked back at me. “They are incredible works of art.”

I reached over and took the ledger from him. “You’ve been hanging around in museums too long.” I handed the book to Katz, who stacked it on top of the other one. “I guess we need Billy Carlisle.”

The detective dropped his head. “I’ve got a wife and kid who’ve forgotten what I look like.” He scooped up the ledgers, placed them under his arm, and glanced at Gowder. “I’ll head back to the Roundhouse and get Meifert on a search for Carlisle. You?”

“I might hang around.”

I put my hat back on, and we all stood. I made the general announcement. “Cady’s eyes opened.”

The Cheyenne Nation was the first to respond, even if his expression stayed the same. “Of course they have.” He reached out and thumped both paws on my shoulders. “I wondered why you were acting strangely.” I glanced at Vic, who covered her mouth. Henry had followed my look and then added. “We will retire to the hospital after the reception.”

“I may not last that long.”

He smiled. “I understand. I will meet you there.”

Michelle Reddington, the dapper woman with the black dress and security pass, came around the corner from the gift shop and took Henry up the ornate, brass-railed stairs toward the Great Hall, where the majority of the photographs had been hung. He paused at the railing, looked back at me, motioned with his right hand in a fist against his chest, and then pointed his index finger down, the Cheyenne sign-talk for hope/heart.

I smiled back and brought my open right hand within a foot of my face, lowering it down and out to the right with a slight bow: thank you.

Katz and Gowder were equally congratulatory, but I told them what Rissman had said about being overly optimistic. They agreed that whatever the outcome, Cady’s eyes opening was certainly a good sign. Vic stood apart, clutching herself with her arms and smiling; after a moment, she turned and walked away.

Katz excused himself, and suddenly Gowder and I found ourselves looking at each other. “I owe you an apology.”

He waved me off. “Forget about it.” He gestured toward the bar up on the mezzanine. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.”

As we were walking up the steps, I noticed that the gates had opened and the lower lobby was filling with well-dressed receptionees. Vic and Katz were carrying on a conversation by the revolving door at the front, and I started wondering what they were talking about-and then wondering why I was wondering. It was about that time that I noticed Vince Osgood and a beautiful young woman handing over their wraps at the coat check. This was beginning to have all the makings of an interesting evening.

Gowder ordered a gin and tonic; I ordered a Yuengling. We wandered up the rest of the stairs and decided to beat the rush to the exhibit. There were about two hundred of the photographs, some in montage, some in their original snapshot format, and some enlarged to the size of doors. Dena Many Camps’s poetry was etched across the bottoms and sides of the large ones in a bold italic.

I sipped my beer. “You mind if I ask you a question?”

He studied the photo of the chiefs, who were holding one end of the American flag while some cavalry officers held the other. “Go ahead.”

“This case seems pretty important to you and Katz.”

“Is that your question?”

I tipped my hat back. “Yep.”

He thought about it for a while. “Different reasons; with Katz it’s a way of cleaning house. Dirty cops, dirty lawmakers, dirty lawyers bring out the inquisitor in him, and the last thing anyone in Philadelphia ever wants to hear is that Asa Katz wants a sniff of him. He did fourteen years with homicide and they tried to kick him over to cold case, but he took Internal Affairs Division.”

“That kind of move can make a man unpopular.”

Gowder smiled. “He doesn’t care. He never went in for that cult-of-the-cop shit.”

“So it’s Osgood?”

“For Katz.”

I nodded. “He’s here.”

“Osgood? Yeah, I saw him. Why do you think I stayed?”

I smiled back. “And you?”

He glanced at the picture of Henry’s father sitting on the steps with the cat. “You know all these people?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and chewed on an ice cube. “You know that crack house you guys took out earlier this week? I was born two blocks away from there.”

I studied him carefully. “You mind if I ask you another question?”

“Go ahead.”

“You guys were interested in Devon because of the money laundering thing, but who put you onto Cady and me?”

He took a sip of his drink and smiled. “Asa got a phone call from somebody who wanted you looked after.”

“Who?” He kept looking at the picture, but the message was loud and clear.

I left him behind and walked along, looking at the familiar photographs. I stalled out at the one of Frank White Shield’s wife, who was stringing snap peas on the front porch of their two-room cabin. The photo was compelling, but it was Dena’s words that froze me. can you hear the sound of old women clacking their old tongues to the roofs of their mouths in the dust? this is prophecy so never ask the Indian whether she’d take the million dollars or the match. gasoline is on the shelf in all our houses.

I hadn’t noticed that Vic was standing beside me. “You look nice, Walt.” I wasn’t sure what to say, so I self-consciously straightened my tie. She made an exasperated sound and reached out to straighten my now crooked tie. “I said you look nice. Stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry.”

“And stop apologizing.”

“Okay.” She studied the photograph and was reading Dena’s poetry, the point of her nose turned up. I couldn’t help but wonder if the world had changed, that things were, indeed, different. “Lucian calls it my union-organizer suit jacket.” She wasn’t really paying attention to me but was thinking about Dena’s words. “You look great, too.”

Her head turned back to me. “Thank you.”

She smiled, and I smiled back. “Why do I have a feeling that what we did this afternoon was for my benefit?” She didn’t say anything, but took a sip of her dirty martini, and I watched the iridescent sparkling in the tarnished gold eye, and was thinking that I was doing exactly what I’d been fighting against for years: falling in love with my deputy.

Someone was standing beside us. It was Osgood and the young woman I’d seen with him in the lobby. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“Howdy.” I stepped back and introduced Vic. The blonde’s name was Patricia Fulton, and she was making it abundantly clear that we hillbillies were not the people she had come to meet. He dismissed her to get drinks, which produced volumes of lower lip, but she disappeared.

Osgood gave Vic a strong look, from her turquoise choker to her boots, and I had the urge to toss him off the balcony. “So, you’re from Wyoming?”

She finished off her cloudy cocktail and took an olive out that had been impaled by a tiny, plastic sword. “I’m from Ninth Street, shitbird, and don’t you forget it.” She bit the olive, turned, and started for the bar in a calculated retreat.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” We both looked after her.

“Is she a Moretti Moretti?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He sighed, and his head dropped a little. “Man, I can’t catch a break.” He noticed my stitches and the finger guard. “What happened to you?”

I shrugged. “I got mugged.”

“When?”

“This morning. It’s no big deal.”

He leaned in closer to me, and his voice dropped. “I have some information for you.”

I waited. “Okay…”

“Not here.” He glanced around. “The bridge. Later?”

I took a moment to respond. “No.”

He studied me. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I’ve got other things I have to do tonight and running to the other side of town and hanging around on bridges is not one of them. If you’ve got something to tell me, just tell me.”

“It has to do with your daughter.”

“Cady. Then I’m interested, but I don’t have the time to go anywhere else.” I pulled out my pocketwatch. “As a matter of fact, I’m only going to be here for about twenty more minutes.”

He thought about it. “I’ll meet you outside.”

“Where?”

“There’s an alley behind the building; it turns a corner and there’s a loading dock. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”

I took a tip from the blonde and tried to look bored. “You bet.”

I left him and continued around the gallery, careful to catch Gowder’s eye as I got another beer from the bartender and retrieved Vic. “You got your sidearm?”

She looked genuinely shocked. “What?”

“I take that as a no?”

“Yes, that’s a no.”

I steered her out of the main gallery to the landing as Gowder appeared, and I nodded him toward us. “Osgood just arranged a little meeting with me out back.”

His eyes widened. “Put him off, and we’ll wire you.”

I shook my head. “No, I have every intention of being back at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital within the hour. This case is important, but Cady is more important.”

The detective sighed. “How you want to play it?”

“You guys go ahead and get set up. I’ll be along in a few minutes. If he sees us together it may not happen.” I reached into the pancake holster at my back and handed Vic my. 45, which she slipped under her jacket. “It’s probably nothing, but the people around this guy have an alarming tendency to turn up dead.”

Gowder looked around. “I’ll find that woman from the Academy. Maybe there’s another way into the alley than the Cherry Street entrance.”

Vic looked at me a moment longer then followed him. I stood there and watched as Osgood came down the stairs past me and disappeared into the crowd below; he was talking on his cell phone.

What was it the assistant district attorney had planned? I didn’t figure there was any real danger from him, but if Toy Diaz and he were in cahoots, then discretion was the better part of armed backup. And what about Cady? Was it something to do with her connection to William White Eyes? Or was it simply a ruse? Anyway, I had a meet.

There was a general commotion in the lobby. Of all the things I thought I might’ve seen coming through the brass revolving doors of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Lena Moretti with Dog on a leash would’ve probably been the last.

Two security guards, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping up, were following her closely. People were backing away, even though Dog seemed to be in his best form. Evidently the time in Lena’s company had done him some good, since he appeared freshly washed and trimmed. She pulled up with the brute and smiled as I got to the bottom of the steps. She was beautiful, flushed, and breathless.

“I brought you your dog.”

She reached the leash out to me, and I noticed that it was a black leather one rather than the extension cord we’d been using. I also noticed it matched her outfit, a sleek and sophisticated formfitting black skirt with a black ruffled cardigan over a black knit top. The opera was going to get a run for its money.

“Thank you.” Dog sat on my foot.

She studied my face. “I know it’s inconvenient, but I didn’t have anywhere to keep him tonight.” She glanced around the room, and I’m sure she was looking for her daughter.

I thought about the noise I’d heard while Vic and I had been on the sofa. “I, um…”

Her eyes flashed back to me. “I’m out tonight, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to check on him tomorrow, so I thought I’d just bring him over here.”

“Thank you.” Dog looked up at me, and I tried to think of what to say next, finally settling on the most important thing. “Cady opened her eyes.”

She softened and stepped forward, hugging my arm. “I know. Michael called me. It’s wonderful.” Her genuine happiness cut through the awkwardness. “I have to go. Can’t be late for Rigoletto. ”

She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and turned. I watched as the fluted skirt twirled just enough to show a shapely calf, and she disappeared back through the revolving doors. Like mother, like daughter.

Dog looked at me, and I wondered what the hell I was going to do with him. I looked at the two security guards, and the two security guards looked back at me. “Sir, the dog can’t stay.”

I petted Dog. “That’s okay, neither can I.”

It had begun raining on Broad Street, a gentle, misting drizzle that glossed the surfaces of the city and diffused the light from the globes above. Even the thunder was gentle in the soft, eastern spring, gently bouncing from the tops of the skyscrapers.

I flipped the collar up on my jacket and pulled my hat down a little as we started around the block; Dog seemed happy to be outside and, truth to be told, I was too.

I stopped at the corner and looked down the narrow alley. The yellow Hummer was there, and there was an identifying sticker in the window that stated OFFICIAL. There were a few other cars scattered along the building, but the windows were clear of condensation and nobody was in them.

A weirdo wearing sunglasses and a knit cap was smoking a cigarette under the awning of the back door, but I didn’t see Osgood. I turned up the alley and walked past an empty Cadillac where the brick pavement turned and ran alongside the building. There was a loading dock, just as he had said, along with a four-story brick warehouse with numerous alcoves that housed windows and doors. There was a chain-link fence at the end of the dock that blocked off the two-foot-wide area between the buildings. I tried to think of a better place for bad things to happen, but the alley was easily the dankest, most forbidding place I’d been in in a long time.

The kid in the knit cap called out to me as I got to the corner. “Hey, mister? You’re not supposed to be back here.”

I waved him off. “It’s okay.”

I looked ahead and saw Osgood in a trench coat with his hands in his pockets. His collar was flipped up too, and he nodded as I looked past him. He didn’t make any move to come toward me, so I continued to walk to him, wondering where Vic and Gowder might be, and then Dog paused.

It was at that precise moment that the assistant district attorney’s head exploded.