Diamond Solitaire

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

One of the older cops passing through the office had a memory of a razor blade tattoo. It had been the emblem of a teenage street gang of the late 1970s that had created a certain amount of mayhem in a rundown area of Brooklyn, inspired by the punk-rock movement. The membership had reached about forty at the peak around 1978. By the eighties new gangs had taken over.

"Presumably you kesep records of tattoo marks of known criminals?" Diamond asked.

"They'll be on computer, sure."

They ran a check. Eleven males were listed as having a razor blade tattoo on one arm or the other. Not all had been members of the Brooklyn gang. Several, it seemed, simply liked the razor blade design; one extreme case had a chain of them running from the back of one hand, up his arm and over his shoulder down to the opposite hand.

The computer operator accessed the details of each. Three of the Brooklyn gang had descriptions promisingly close to Diamond's memory of Leather-jacket. He asked for mug shots. This entailed a visit to Records, in another building on the same block. The files were spread on a table for inspection by the time he got there. His pulse quickened.

Naomi's picture had paid off.

One of them was Leather-jacket. No question. The mean, narrow face, the eyes and, in the profile shot, the Charlton Heston nose.

"That's him."

"Lundin? He isn't nice."

The name was Fredrik Anders Lundin. Aged thirty-two. A history of juvenile crime followed by two sentences for armed robbery. Sandwiched between them was one for murder, but he had been released on appeal. There was information that since coming out after serving three years of the second rap for armed robbery, Lundin was offering his services as a contract killer. He was currently under police surveillance (the file claimed), presumably in prospect of putting him away for a long term, rather than some token sentence for the charge of intent.

"It says you have tabs on him."

Lieutenant Eastland said in his slow-speaking way, "You're one hundred percent certain this is the guy?"

"Absolutely."

"You saw him meet with Mrs. Tanaka and the kid in the airport parking lot?"

"Lieutenant, I was as close to him as I am to you right now."

"Okay, we'll pull him in."

"How?"

Eastland gave a shrug that said English detectives were dense. "That's what patrols are for."

"Look, this isn't a simple arrest," Diamond pointed out. "This man is a killer. He's abducted a child. Her safety is paramount. You send two patrolmen in and people could start shooting."

"What's your advice, then-a stakeout?"

"He's already under surveillance, according to this."

"Don't believe everything you reaa in records," Eastland cautioned. "Surveillance could mean we have a guy who watches him play pool a couple of nights a week."

Diamond couldn't be certain how much of this laid-back attitude was the New York detective's insulation against the dangers out there on the streets. He was in earnest, and he meant to leave nothing to chance. "Lieutenant, you asked for my advice. I'm suggesting some subtlety is necessary. I don't think you should attempt to arrest him in the room where he's holding Naomi. That's putting her in real danger.

"Mr. Diamond, I'm deeply obliged to you," said Easdand, affecting an English accent with about as much success as Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. "Let's take a jolly old spin out to Queens where the gentleman resides and be subtle. I assume you want to be on the team."

Diamond wasn't amused by the sarcasm, but he accepted an offer from Sergeant Stein to ride in his car. When they emerged from the Midtown Tunnel, the afternoon was drawing on. Some of the streetlights were switched on.

"Do you carry a piece?" Stein asked at some point on the journey.

"No."

"Is that light-mat English cops go unarmed?"

"Generally, yes."

"Didn't you ever need one?"

"Not up to now." He could have added that he was notoriously cack-handed, that in his possession a gun would go off when it was least expected, like now, from the jolting he was getting. The seat had no springs at all that he could discern.

Stein commented, "Me-I'd have been dead five times over without my automatic."

The area they were driving into was neither the best of Queens, nor the worst. The turn-of-the-century tenements had probably been smart addresses when they were built. The fire escapes that fronted them were still festooned with evidence of the warm afternoon that had just come to an end: canvas chairs, pot-plants, bedding, beer cans, take-out boxes.

A patrolman flagged them down on a street corner. "You can't drive past here. The suspect has a view of the street."

"Which side is his apartment?" Stein asked.

"The right."

"Anyone sighted him yet?"

"No. But there's a light."

"So we could get lucky."

They got out and joined Lieutenant Eastland and two more detectives, who had pulled up behind. A third car of uniformed officers had arrived from another direction. Eastland used his mobile radio to make contact with people already in position closer to the apartment. Then he issued orders. He wasn't messing now, and Diamond formed a better opinion.

"We're getting good cooperation from the people in the adjoining apartments," he told Diamond presendy.

"Have they seen the child?"

"Sorry, but no."

"Or heard her voice?"

"Nobody mentioned it yet."

"Maybe the walls are too solid."

"Could be."

"So what's the plan?"

"We can afford to wait awhile," said Eastland. "With luck, he may come out for food in the next hour, and then we grab him. You want to go closer?"

"Why not?"

Stein was told to accompany him. Like two local residents walking invisible dogs, they strolled along the sidewalk until they were level with number 224, where the lighted second-floor windows gave promise of Fredrik Lundin being at home. Any chance of a sighting was forestalled by Venetian blinds. Even so, it wasn't wise to linger. A finger's-width gap between the slats could give a clear view of the street.

They walked almost to the end of the block before stopping. Stein offered his pack of cigarettes.

Tempted, Diamond remembered that he was supposed to be a nonsmoker now.

Stein's personal radio crackled. Eastland's voice asked, "See anything?"

Stein reported back, "Light at the window. Blinds. First floor in darkness, apparently unoccupied. Front door looks easy. Want us to go in?"

"Not yet."

"The problem with this," Stein confided to Diamond when he'd switched off, "is that if Lundin gets suspicious, we could have a siege on our hands."

It was a risk Diamond was willing to take, in spite of the fact that darkness was setting in rapidly.

"Sieges can be heavy on manpower," Stein explained. "We don't let them happen."

Three cigarettes later, the radio broke the silence. "Okay, we can't wait all night for this jerk," Eastland announced. "You and Diamond can enter by the front and occupy the first-floor apartment Be ready to go upstairs as soon as the suspect is flushed and separated from the kid. Check?"

"Check, Lieutenant," said Stein.

Diamond had an impulse to wrench the radio from him and urge Eastland not to provoke a shootout, but cold reason told him it wouldn't alter anything. This was Easdand's operation, and with half his men looking on he wasn't going to take instructions from a limey detective. It was some reassurance that he'd expressed some intention of separating Lundin from Naomi.

He and Stein returned up the street towards 224. It was much darker by now and the front wasn't well lit. They could barely see their way up the stoop to the door. Stein put a hand in his jacket, evidently feeling for the grip of die gun he wouldn't be without He nodded to Diamond to try the door. It opened easily.

No sound came from upstairs. They were in a wide hallway with stairs facing them. Halfway along, on the right, was the door of the apartment where they were supposed to take up position. Diamond gripped the handle. Was it too much to hope that this door, also, would be unlocked? It was securely fastened. Probably a well-aimed kick would resolve the matter, but only at the risk of disturbing the entire house.

Fortunately Sergeant Stein had come prepared, with the strip of plastic known to housebreakers and policemen as the indispensable aid to easing latches aside. He used it confidently, the door opened inwards and they stepped inside. Warm air wafted over them, reeking of cheap perfume and body odor. Just like a knocking-shop, Diamond found himself thinking-a thought that lingered and lodged more firmly when he heard a female voice murmur sleepily but without alarm, "Hey, who is it? What time is it?"

A sofa creaked and something stirred. The woman who had been lying mere said, "Is there one of you, or two?" She got up and moved unsteadily towards a table lamp. "I'm not taking two-not together. Sorry, guys. One of you has to wait"

Her hand was on the lamp.

"Leave it," said Stein in a stage whisper.

She started to say, "What the fuck-" before Diamond moved fast towards her and clapped a hand over her mouth. She struggled, and he had to grab her round the back. She was wearing some kind of silk wrap that made her slippery to hold, because she was obviously naked under it His terse, "It's all right, we're police officers," was not a message calculated to reassure a lady of her calling, but it was the first thing to come to mind.

Stein told her more bluntly, "You make one sound and you're busted. We've come for the guy upstairs. Know him?"

Diamond relaxed his hold on her.

She said, too loudly for comfort, "You mean Fredrik?"

They both made shushing sounds.

With less voice, she said, "What's he done now?"

"Is there a kid with him?" Stein asked.

"A kid?"

"A girl."

She hesitated. "You mean, like, underage?"

"A small kid, child, this high, Japanese."

She seemed genuinely shocked. "Fredrik? He never puts kids to work. I'm damn sure he never uses baby-pros. I wouldn't work for a guy who uses kids."

Diamond remained quite still and said nothing, but a pulse was hammering in his head and his mouth had suddenly gone dry. Until this moment, child prostitution hadn't crossed his mind as a possible motive for Naomi's abduction. Now it had to be faced as a sickening possibility. Clearly Lundin had an income from pimping. Pray God the woman was right and he drew the line at selling children for sex.

"You heard any sounds from up there?" Stem asked her.

She shook her head.

"Nothing at all?"

"You can't hear anyone talk."

"But you can hear mem move around."

"Well, yeah. I hear that sometimes."

"Last evening?"

"I guess so."

"More than one?"

"I can't tell."

"Have you talked to Lundin since yesterday?"

"No."

"You think he's home right now?"

"How would I know? I was asleep until you arrived. Did someone give you a key?"

"Why don't you go back to sleep?" suggested Stein without much generosity in his tone.

He radioed Eastland and updated him.

"Okay," came their instruction, "stay where you are. Send the pavement princess out to us. She can help us."

"Did you hear that?" Stein asked the call girl just as she was reclining on the sofa. "Get dressed. Fast."

"And, Stein…" the voice on the radio went on.

"Lieutenant?"

"When he comes out, leave him to us. You go right in and find the kid."

Complaining bitterly, first mat she wanted no part in the police operation and then mat she couldn't see to get dressed, the woman stumbled about the apartment picking up clothes. Diamond scarcely noticed; he was still reeling from the suggestion he'd just heard. A minute ago, he'd been ready to urge the police to go easy on Lundin so that he'd be fit to give information; now, if this grotesque scenario was true, they'd have to restrain him from laying into the bastard.

"Jesus, what are you trying to find?" Stein demanded of the woman. He was standing at the open door.

"My face."

"Your what?"

"The bag with my lipstick and things. It's here somewhere."

"I don't believe this! Get your ass out of here."

She went

Eastland would use her as a lure. There was a better chance of Lundin opening his door to the woman who worked for him man to the New York police.

Above their heads the floorboards creaked. Someone was definitely up there. Stein immediately radioed his lieutenant Up to now, this operation couldn't be faulted. No doubt there were men at front and back, waiting for the swoop.

Diamond waited too, striving to apply concentration to the job he and Stein were about to do. He had to believe they would find Naomi unharmed in the apartment upstairs. He kept thinking how small her hand had felt in his. Usually he remembered the eyes of people. He could picture her eyes, but because of the nature of her disability, they weren't so eloquent. It was still the memory of a touch that moved him.

He and Stein took up position with the door fractionally ajar for a view of the hall. They knew this would take time to set up, and they waited at least twenty minutes before anything else happened.

Then there was the sound of the front door opening and footsteps across the tiled hallway. The call girl passed her own door and started climbing the stairs, her leather-soled boots, tokens of her trade, clattering on the wooden treads.

Stein drew his gun.

Two shadowy figures crossed the hallway a short way behind the woman. They made no sound.

She turned on the landing and started to ascend the second flight Her escorts followed.

Down in the hallway, more cops crept across the narrow bar of vision between the doorjamb and the edge of the door.

The woman was out of sight now, but the sound of Lundin's doorbell being pressed was loud and clear and so was her voice saying, "Fredrik, it's only me, Dixie."

Diamond heard footsteps cross the room above them, but he didn't hear Lundin's front door being opened. Presumably he was looking out through the peephole.

The bell sounded a second time.

By now the two gunmen would be flat to the wall on either side of the door.

"Fredrik, are you there?"

Something was being unfastened.

The woman's voice said, "Hi, Fredrik, could you possibly step downstairs a minute?"

"What the fuck do you want?" Lundin's voice demanded.

"I have a small problem with a client. Please."

"What kind of problem?"

"Um… he won't leave."

"What do you mean?"

Come on, come on, Diamond mentally urged him. Just step outside, will you.

"Like I said. He's being difficult."

"He won't leave the apartment? He had a trick and he won't leave?"

"I can't force him."

"Who is he?"

"Some guy. I don't know him. I can't work if he won't leave."

"Okay, okay, you go back. I'll see to it."

The door closed.

Diamond clapped his hand to his head in frustration.

Dixie the call girl came downstairs markedly faster than she'd gone up. She pushed her way in past Diamond and Stein. "That's all I'm doing for you guys," she told them. "You'd better not mess up now, or I'll be dead meat"

"Zip it up," said Stein. There isn't much credit in helping the police.

The wait began again, and it seemed longer, even though it was under five minutes.

Then footsteps crossed the floor upstairs and Lundin could be heard unfastening the latch on his door. This time he definitely stepped out onto the landing, because there was a shout of "Freeze-police!"

Rashly, Lundin chose not to obey the order. He could be heard making a dash for the stairs. He must have got down two or three when a shot was fired, followed by two more almost immediately. A shriek of pain gave way to the sound of a body hitting the stairs and thumping down several steps.

"They got him," said Sergeant Stein. He stared through the gap while shouts were being exchanged by the police in the hall, checking that it was safe to close in on the wounded man. "Let's go."

When they opened the door, a man in a white T-shirt and black jeans was lying near the bottom of the stairs and one of the cops was standing over him. Stein ran straight past, up the two flights, with Diamond close behind.

The door to Lundin's apartment stood open. The light from inside was dazzling after the long wait in darkness. The place was lavishly furnished in brown leather furniture, cream-colored units and a Chinese carpet. There were huge indoor plants and pieces of bronze abstract sculpture.

But mere was no little girl.

Diamond checked the other rooms-bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. He tugged back the bedding, flung open cupboards, and-with grim apprehension-looked into the bath.

She was not there.

He went back into the living room, looking around for some place he may have missed.

"Mr. Diamond." Stein had followed him into the bathroom and was still there.

Diamond found him kneeling by the toilet pedestal.

"Would this be the kid?"

A question that struck horror into Diamond.

"I always look in the John," the sergeant explained. "They panic and try and flush things away." He was holding up some small torn pieces of a photo.

Diamond arranged them on the floor. There were seven altogether, and they made an incomplete, but recognizable picture.

"Yes," he said. "That's her."