Blood Count

CHAPTER 43

T he wet sheets, piled up in plastic baskets in the Armstrong’s laundry room, were like crumpled ghosts. On a line stretched between hooks screwed into opposite walls, hung a newly washed pink cotton baby blanket, shedding water onto the floor. The acrid smell of bleach mixed with the wet laundry hit me as soon as I got to the entrance. A young guy in uniform tried to stop me going in. I showed him my badge.

All the overhead lights were on. A portable spotlight had also been set up. It was aimed at one of the washing machines, where Virgil was standing, looking down. Lily stood a few feet away, still wearing the green shawl she’d worn to Simonova’s funeral that morning. Her arms were crossed. Diaz was there, too, along with a middle-aged woman in jeans, a yellow sweatshirt, and an apron. There was the low buzz of talk, people mumbling, hesitant.

“Over here,” said Virgil. “Jesus, who the fuck does this kind of stuff?” He pointed at a mound covered by a green bath towel.

“What is it?”

“It’s the dog,” he said.

“What?”

“The Hutchisons’ dog.”

“Ed,” Lily said.

“The black Lab?”

Virgil nodded. “Shirley found it,” He nodded in the direction of the woman in the apron.

“The dog?”

“Yeah, somebody put him in the washing machine and ran it for a complete cycle,” said Virgil. “Then they stuffed him into one of the old gas dryers and tried to light the mechanism under it. There was gas in there, it almost blew the place up. We’re waiting for the ASPCA forensics truck. They can test on the spot, but there’s no question what happened here. I’ve seen the shit people do to animals. I remember one case, we picked up some crush videos.”

Lily looked at me questioningly.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“Men use dogs to fight each other, you know that, but there are women who like to put on high heels and stick them in the dogs’ flesh. They kick them to death.”

She turned away.

All I could think of was Marie Louise and her fear of dogs. She’d been terrified of the Hutchisons’ dog.

“First Lionel, now the dog,” said Lily. “Virgil told me about Lionel. I can’t believe it. He was fine. I should have done something.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Virgil told me he was killed around three this morning.”

“I know,” I said.

She looked at me, and I knew what she was thinking. We had been at the club dancing, or fooling around in her apartment, when somebody killed Lionel Hutchison.

“Does Celestina know?” I asked Virgil.

“I told her.”

“It must have hit hard.”

“She said she brought the dog home from her sister’s yesterday when she came to change for the party, and she left the dog with Lionel because her sister couldn’t put up with Ed’s yapping. She said Ed was especially nervy and barked a lot, so she left him with Lionel for the night.”

Again I thought about Marie Louise. If she had been in the Hutchison apartment, if she went to get rid of Lionel, she would have found the dog. Did she, terrified, kill Ed? Did the dog yap at her? Was she also scared the neighbors would hear, would hear the dog and find her? But why like this? Was this some kind of awful exorcism?

I had seen the awful fear in her eyes, her fear of this black dog, a dog she’d told me had orange eyes and was an evil spirit. There had been plenty of time in the night for Marie Louise to stuff it in the washing machine. And she knew her way around the laundry room.

“Lily?”

“Yes?”

“Have you seen Marie Louise?”

“Why?”

Lily knew about Marie Louise and her fear of the black dog. “What do you want her for, Artie?” She was defensive.

I moved a few yards away from the washing machine and closer to the dog. Virgil pulled back the towel covering the animal. I wanted to puke.

“You found him?” I said to Shirley.

“Yes. I opened one of the old dryers. I saw something sticking out that made me open it. I found him. I put him there on that mat. I put the pieces there.” She turned away suddenly, and covered her face.

“Lily?”

“I saw Marie Louise a little while ago, when I got back from the cemetery.”

“Where was she?”

“She was on her way into Lennox’s apartment. She had some cleaning to do, she said.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yeah, sometimes. If he needs extra stuff, ironing, shit like that. She works like…she works really hard,” said Lily, and I knew she’d almost said “works like a dog” but caught herself.

“I know that.”

“She works two, three, four jobs. She’s determined to go back to her country and make a real life.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do, Artie.”

“Where else does she work?”

“She does anything-cleaning, babysitting, she works at a local coffee shop. The job market sucks, you know that.”

“Why don’t we go upstairs.”

“I don’t see why you want to know about Marie Louise suddenly? You’re doing a favor for a pal in immigration?”

“No.”

All the time we were talking, Virgil stood back, phone in hand, watching us, his face expressionless. “I have to go,” he said suddenly. “I’m going to leave a couple of guys here to wait for the animal people.” Without another word to Lily or me, he left the room, and I could hear his footsteps as he went down the hall.

He knows, I thought. He knows Lily and I were together last night.

“Can you go see if Marie Louise is at Lennox’s place?” I said to Lily when we got upstairs. “I don’t want to bother her if I don’t have to,” I added. “You understand? But she cleaned for the Hutchisons and maybe she saw something, or someone, OK? I’ll try to help her. If I can.”

Lily nodded, handed me her keys, I went into her apartment as she walked across the hall. Less than a minute later, she was back.

“She’s there,” she said. “Marie Louise is at Carver’s place. She said she’d stop by when she was done.”

“That’s good.”

“I don’t believe she did anything,” said Lily. “I want a drink.”

“Me too.” I went to the kitchen, found the Scotch and some glasses, and poured the drinks.

Dropping her shawl onto the floor, Lily slumped onto a kitchen stool, took the glass, drank half the Scotch in one gulp.

“At least it’s over. With Marianna. At least there’s that,” said Lily, who, in spite of Hutchison’s death and the dead dog, seemed composed, as if the trip to the cemetery had helped steady her. Maybe she was relieved that her friend had been buried, that she, Lily, had done the right thing.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “What was it like?”

“Lonely,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

She looked at me. “There was nobody except me and the guys making the grave, putting the coffin in like something in a bad Shakespeare production. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry-you know how I can get really stupid giggles at the wrong time?”

“I remember.”

“So, I’m there alone in this cemetery, and there’s only one other group, at a grave close by, and they’re all in black. They look like something from a mafia movie, except I guess they’re Jews, since it’s a Jewish place, and there’s me, and this skinny young rabbi. I guess they got him cheap. Or he’s all they could get on a Sunday or something. Lionel Hutchison told the funeral home Marianna wanted a Jewish burial and they sent this rabbi, he looked about twelve, and he was Orthodox.” Lily finished her drink. “Marianna would have hated it, and I was no good. I mean, my mother was Jewish, but she didn’t have any religion, so what do I know?”

“You did what Marianna wanted. What Lionel Hutchison said she wanted, and we know she talked to him. They were close.”

“I guess,” said Lily. “I don’t want to be buried like that, all alone. We didn’t even call her friends.”

Simonova’s address book was still in my pocket. “There wasn’t much time.”

“Lionel told me she wouldn’t want anybody there. But early this morning-you were still asleep-I decided I wanted him to go with me, that Marianna would have wanted him there. I knocked on his door, but nobody answered,” Lily said. “I thought he was asleep. I guess he was already dead. My God, how did it happen? I don’t understand.”

“This is a bad time,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else.

“There was one bizarre thing,” said Lily. “Carver called me.”

“Why?”

“He called and said, was I at the cemetery, and I said yes, but I couldn’t really talk, and he said, could they hold it, he wanted to come, and I said it was too late. They had already put Marianna in the ground, and he asked me to describe the scene and tell him the location of her grave, I think he was crying. Then he just hung up.” Lily pushed her hair back and fastened it in a pony tail with a rubber band. “When I went by his place a few minutes ago, to find Marie Louise, he looked wrecked. I asked what it was. He just shook his head and didn’t say anything.”

“Listen, didn’t Simonova have presents for him and his kids under the tree? She made up stockings for them, with money and chocolates, right? Maybe they were close.”

“I guess.” Lily leaned on the kitchen counter. “All the way home, I was thinking how lonely it was there, Marianna all alone. I don’t want to be like that,” she said. “Artie, tell me about Lionel.”

I told her how I’d found him lying on the ground, that I figured it for an accident at first and then thought it might be suicide. I told Lily the ME was now sure Lionel Hutchison had been pushed.

“How sure?”

“When they find the spot where he was pushed, when they match some boot prints to the person who pushed him, when there’s some decent forensic stuff, we’ll know for sure. Meanwhile, pretty sure.”

“Pushed from where?”

“The roof. I was up there. There’s a broken wall.”

Lily poured more Scotch for both of us.

“Talk to me, Artie.”

“What should I tell you?”

“Everything. Anything. Whatever it is that’s buzzing around in your cop’s brain. I mean, who would fucking kill Lionel? Who would kill a dog like that?”

“I don’t know. You want to know what’s on my mind?”

“Sure.” She drank a little more and pulled a plate of cookies across the counter. “If we’re going to drink like this, we should eat something.” She picked up a cookie, put it back. “I can’t eat.”

“How well did you know Amahl Washington?”

“Hardly at all, I told you,” she said. “Why?”

“You must have figured out where I’m going with this. Lily? Right? I’m going to work this case, if it’s OK with you,” I said.

“What about Virgil?”

“With him. It’s his case. I’ll help.”

“So it’s been decided.”

“The chief at the local house is going out of his mind. This is pretty high profile. I mean, Hutchison meant something in this community.”

“And you think whatever happened to Lionel is connected to Amahl Washington?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Artie?” She kicked off her boots. “The dog-you thought Marie Louise was involved, didn’t you, as soon as you saw it?”

“Didn’t you?”

Lily hesitated, and before she could answer, somebody knocked at the door. Lily opened it. It was Virgil.

“Celestina Hutchison is back,” said Virgil. “She’s asking for you, Artie. She says you’ll understand.”

“She knows about the dog?”

“They came, the animal forensics unit, and she wouldn’t let them take the dog. It’s in her apartment. Your phone’s ringing, Artie.”

It was a message from Gloria Lopez. I sent her a text saying I’d call soon. She sent me one back saying she’d have information by the next day, information on the pills I’d sent over to her.