Bodies in Winter

THIRTY-THREE

An hour later, Adele and I shared an overcooked (in deference to Adele’s injuries) pot of spaghetti and a Caesar salad. As we ate, we discussed what we’d done and what we hoped to do. The conversation held few surprises until Adele announced that she was preparing to avoid the NYPD altogether.

‘I got David Lodge’s file from an ADA named Ginnette Lansky.’ She picked at her salad for a moment, then added, ‘Ginnette heads the Major Crimes Bureau for the Queens DA.’

I shook my head. ‘You’re living in a fantasy. They’ll never do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘You’re thinking you can talk the District Attorney into taking over the investigation.’

‘Which he has every right to do.’

Adele was correct. The DA, with his own staff of independent investigators, could open a grand jury investigation tomorrow. But why would the current holder of that office, Kenneth Alessio, want to go down that road? Most of his investigators were retired cops who’d be anything but eager to put heat on the job. Plus, he’d run a law-and-order campaign in the last election, where he was endorsed by the Patrolman’s Benevolent Association.

‘You’re playing an angle, right?’ I finally asked. ‘Something you haven’t yet told me?’

Except for the swollen lips, Adele’s grin might have been described as impish. ‘Ginnette’s father was murdered when she was fourteen, shot down in a robbery. She tells me that it changed her life.’

‘Now she’s a crusader?’

‘You might say that Ginnette draws a sharp line between good and evil. You might say that outrage is her constant companion.’

‘So, you think she can talk Alessio into embarrassing the NYPD?’

‘I think she’ll try.’ Adele wiped her mouth, then folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate before looking up at me. ‘And when it comes to questions of basic justice, Ginnette is a very convincing woman.’

‘Does that mean she’s been taking lessons from you?’

When my question produced nothing beyond a smile, I volunteered to clean up, and Adele announced that she was off to the shower. A few minutes later, I heard the water running. I knew she wouldn’t be long. Rensselaer Village is cursed with a plumbing system that dates back to 1949 when the complex was built. In my apartment (and, I suspect, most apartments on the higher floors), it’s simply impossible to maintain a constant water temperature in the shower, the water jumping from cold to scalding hot in a matter of seconds. This is not a condition that makes you want to linger and Adele didn’t. Just as I finished clearing away the dinner things, I heard her scream. Whereupon the steady hiss of running water abruptly ceased.

Adele was still in the bathroom when my new cell phone began to ring. As the phone was still in my coat pocket, it took me a moment to retrieve it.

‘That you, Conrad?’ I asked without saying hello.

‘Guess again, sport.’

‘Nydia, how nice of you to call.’

‘Lemme speak to Adele.’

‘Adele’s in the shower, but I’ll give her your regards. What’s up?’

Nydia’s hesitation was accompanied by a slow, indrawn breath. I imagined her looking over both shoulders for an eavesdropper. Finally, I broke the silence.

‘How’d you know Adele was here?’

‘Everybody in the house knows.’

‘Is the talk coming from Russo?’

‘That’s what I called about. Russo, he’s a missing person. He hasn’t been to work, hasn’t answered the phone. Yesterday, two of his PBA buddies went to his house. They found newspapers on the lawn dating back to Saturday and the mail box stuffed with envelopes. Needless to say, Russo didn’t answer the bell.’

‘Did his PBA buddies go inside?’

‘Yeah, through a window. The closets and bureaus were full, his passport was in a desk drawer, and a basement storage room contained a matched set of monogrammed luggage.’

When she stopped abruptly, I said, ‘Thanks, Nydia.’

‘De nada, Harry. And that show you put on tonight? Well, I always knew you had balls. Only it’s not gonna help you. The word in the house is that you and Adele are responsible for Russo’s disappearance.’

‘Then why hasn’t anybody been to see us?’

‘I don’t know. Dante lived on Staten Island, in the One-Twenty, so it’s not our case. Anyway, I gotta run. Just make sure to tell your partner I called. Tell her what she said tonight wasn’t far off the mark. And tell her to watch her ass.’

‘What about my ass, Nydia? I have an ass, too.’

‘I know that, Harry. In fact, I’ve been watchin’ it for a long time. The way I figure, if you keep on swimmin’, you got another five years before it reaches the backs of your knees.’

Against all odds, the gambit Adele and I played in Sparkle’s had paid off. If not for Nydia, it might have been days before we discovered that Russo was missing. As it now stood, Russo’s disappearance could be used to harass Ellen Lodge and I dialed her number immediately.

‘Hey, guess what,’ she declared when I told her that Dante had vanished, ‘I’m not the next of kin.’

The line was too good to be spontaneous, the news too important to be dismissed with a quip. What’s more, Ellen had spoken without hesitation. That meant she’d had time to consider her response and how she’d deliver it. Still, I gave her credit for one thing. Feigning shock is beyond the scope of all but the most gifted actors. Ellen Lodge hadn’t even tried.

‘I called to give you a heads-up,’ I said, ‘but if you don’t think you’ll be next, there’s nothing I can do. On the other hand, if you want out, I can put you in a safe place.’

My very predictable offer resulted in a pitifully theatrical hesitation. ‘I gotta think about it.’

‘Do you remember, Ellen, the first day I saw you, I gave you my card?’

‘It’s in my drawer.’

‘Anytime, day or night.’

I now had two pieces of news to convey: Russo’s disappearance and the widow’s equanimity. Both were instantly forgotten, however, when the bathroom door opened to release a cloud of steam, shortly followed by Adele Bentibi in a white, terry-cloth robe. She was walking toward me, holding a roll of tape and a small pair of scissors in her right hand, a stack of gauze pads and a tube of antibiotic ointment in her left. Her arms were extended as she came, her face uncovered, her wounds clearly visible.

Adele’s nose, once overly sharp, was now flattened in the center. There were two cuts beneath the lower orbits of her eyes, one on each cheek, and a vertical gash that ran from the inner corner of her left eye down along the side of her nose. These were not knife wounds. They were not clean and straight. Adele’s cuts had been caused by the impact of a blunt object. They were jagged and irregular, their inflamed edges held together by dozens of micro-stitches that reminded me of ants swarming across slices of overripe fruit.

‘The dressings came off easily, but I’m having a little trouble putting them back on.’ She smiled as I continued to stare at her, then said, ‘I’ve decided not to wear the splint over my nose. I only want to cover the cuts.’

I took her into the kitchen and positioned her beneath the overhead fluorescent light, far and away the brightest light in the apartment. Then I washed my hands thoroughly. Though I had a box of latex gloves (filched from the job), I worked with my fingers exposed, pressing a thin layer of antibiotic ointment into her wounds. I knew her wounds were still tender, but I felt no reluctance. I was far more aware of her eyes. With her chin tilted up, Adele was looking directly at me and for a moment I thought I could see all the way back to the twelfth century, that I could trace every voyage in the long wanderings of the Bentibi clan, that every calamity which befell them had also fallen across my shoulders.

It was the most intimate moment of my life. More intimate even than the sight of her naked when I undid her robe a few moments later. More intimate than when I entered her for the first time a short while later.

We didn’t speak of Mel afterwards, though I remember thinking what a jerk he was to let Adele slip away and how I wasn’t going to make the same mistake. That Adele was finished with him was obvious. I hadn’t come between wife and husband. If Adele were more religious, she’d already have chanted the prayer for the dead over his memory, abandoning him the way her family had abandoned Europe in 1948. So long, scumbag.

But if Mel was in her past, our future — Adele’s and mine — was far from certain, a point she made as I was drifting off.

‘I meant what I said, Corbin,’ she told me. ‘I won’t live a trivial life.’

After careful consideration, I said, ‘Do you think it’s possible, in light of our changed relationship, for you to call me by my first name?’

‘Alright, Harold.’

Thus comforted, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

I was up at six o’clock, online and retrieving my emails. Now that I was doing this chore every day, I had fewer messages to deal with, and my eye was immediately drawn to the one from B. ARNOLD@cyberlandcafe. net. I clicked on the little envelope and a text message appeared.

Harry, Harry, Harry. What am I going to do with you? Russo’s picture is for Ridgewood; for the lady, not for Bushwick. Bushwick’s a dead end.

And watch your back in the Eight-Three. The talk is that you and your girlfriend should be stopped before you bring down the whole precinct.

When I re-entered the bedroom, Adele was sitting up with the bedclothes gathered about her waist. For some inexplicable reason, my eyes fell to her breasts which were small and set high on her chest, the swollen aureoles surrounding her nipples as smooth as butter.

‘Do I have to get dressed?’ Adele finally asked.

I sat on the edge of the bed, looked into her eyes and saw that she was pleased. Everybody wants to be desired and Adele was no exception. Nor was I. As I recounted the phone calls from Nydia Santiago and our anonymous angel, she reached out with her uninjured arm to pull me down alongside her. The touch of her hand was so casually sensual that my eyes narrowed and I breathed in through my nose as though reaching for some un-nameable and ultimately intoxicating fragrance. When Adele laid her head on my shoulder, I remember thinking, if this is what comes of acting virtuously, I’ll be a good boy forever. Then I looked down at Adele and realized that I wouldn’t have all that much choice in the matter.