Blood Count

CHAPTER 47

Cold so bad that night it got under your clothes, and into your skin, your soul, too, if you had one. The wind blew tiny slivers of ice, like glass shards, against my face. No one out on Edgecombe Avenue, except Virgil, staring up at the Armstrong, smoking, tip of his smoke glowing.

“You like it out here or something,” I said.

“I know who it is, Artie.” He looked triumphant. “Yeah, I was going to call you, just needed a cigarette.”

I waited to hear, let him tell me about his victory in his own time. He turned to look down at the city. Dark night, ribbons of traffic, red and white lights streaming across the tangle of highway over in the Bronx, people trying to get home. I took a cigarette from the pack of smokes Virgil offered me.

“Diaz is now my pal, also that guy he hangs with.”

“The Goof?”

“No, it’s the other one, Fidel, you remember? Diaz’s other crony?”

“What’d you get?”

“I got the building security tapes. Back and front doors. I got to look at some of them on a DVD player Diaz keeps in the basement. It’s like fucking Best Buy down there. I think when people leave or die, he just helps himself to whatever he can get his hands on. TVs, computers, beds, whatever.”

“What did you say to him?”

“You don’t want to know, I’m not sure it’s exactly kosher.” Virgil tossed his cigarette away.

“So who is it?”

“It’s Carver Lennox. I know it. In my gut.”

“We’ll need more than your gut.”

“I made a timeline, and I think he fits, Artie.”

“Go on.”

“Lennox was in and out of the building a lot, yesterday, last night, after the party, but before Lionel Hutchison was murdered, according to the times I got from the ME. Lennox’s daughter was with him. I saw them on a tape,” said Virgil. “Made it look nice, him with his pretty teenage daughter.”

“You think he’d use her that way?”

“Why not? He was first on the scene after you found Hutchison, right? Made it look like he was distraught. How did he know to show up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Also, he has a good motive, better than good. He wants those apartments.”

Something struck me. “You were here last night?”

“I was working the other homicides, like I said, but I stopped by, just to see who I could see while most everyone was over at the club. People in the building, especially the help, feel more like talking when Lennox isn’t around. I thought I might hear something about Simonova.”

“Diaz?”

“Him. Others.”

“You want to pick him up?” I said. “It’s your case.”

“Not yet,” Virgil said, putting his notebook away. “I want it solid, Artie. I don’t want any fancy lawyers finding a nice little well-greased legal loophole. I want to get Lennox in a place where we have the goods to lock him up for life. I know it’s him. He has access to pretty much all of the building, the roof, the basement, all of it. I think he even fucking killed the dog.”

“What for?”

“Maybe he did it to make Marie Louise look guilty. Everybody knew how scared she was of that dog.”

“You want to take a look in his place?”

“Without a warrant?”

“You on for that?”

“It so happens that he’s out with his daughter at this very time,” said Virgil. “Nice, right?”

“You know that?”

“Not for nothing that I’m a detective,” said Virgil. “I managed to have a pleasant conversation with Lennox about life and the holidays and children. I believe he thinks I’m up to his standard, thinks because he went to fucking Princeton and they let him join one of their eating clubs, he’s somebody. But deep down he thinks I come from class while he only learned it. What an ass,” Virgil said. “Snobs are such easy prey.”

In spite of myself, I liked Virgil more and more. I liked working with him. He was smart. Sharp. He was a detective with balls, who didn’t wait around for the bureaucrats to give him permission, and he had a brain and a sense of humor. I would like him even more if I got Lily away from him. Anyway, for now it looked like she didn’t want either one of us.

Virgil had told her what had happened with Marie Louise, or most of it-I wasn’t sure he’d told her about his pal in Homeland Security-and Lily was furious with both of us. I’d already had a couple of angry messages, her voice icy and unyielding. I’d called back. She didn’t pick up.

“You must have loved hearing Lionel’s stories about people who lived up here, all those jazz musicians, right?” said Virgil as we got to the Armstrong’s front door.

“Sure. Not your music, though, is it?”

“Not really. More my father’s thing.” He held the front door open for me.

“I should tell you I sent some pills I found in Huchison’s apartment to an old pal. Same type of meds as I found in Simonova’s.”

“What kind of pal?”

“A good friend in forensics. She knows people who can take a look at what’s in them fast. It’s just a hunch, OK? But I figured, what the hell. OK with you?”

“Your friend has a name?”

“Gloria Lopez.”

“That’s good for me, Artie. I know Gloria,” he said, as we went into the lobby. “How long will she take to see if there’s anything that shouldn’t be there? I don’t really make Carver Lennox for a guy who offs people with bad meds. You?”

“Gloria said by tomorrow. She can put the nicest kind of pressure on her contacts.”

“Good. Listen, Artie, could you believe Carver beat you up in the basement?”

“No. If it went back to him, it must have been somebody he hired. I think I heard somebody speak Russian, or maybe he wanted me to think he was a fucking Russki.”

“Or a Cuban who spoke some Russian? Carver could find himself a Cuban, right?” said Virgil, just as Diaz opened the inside door for us. Tipped his hat at Virgil. Looked at him nervously. Wished him Feliz Navidad.