Dirty Work

6

Stone sat in one of the little rooms where attorneys met with their clients. Carpenter was upstairs in the big courtroom, taking in the American way of justice.

The opposite door to the cubicle opened, and Herbie Fisher walked in. He looked terrible—no belt or shoelaces, his hair mussed, and an expression of terror on his skinny face. He sat down on the stool opposite Stone and grasped the chain-link partition between them.

“You gotta get me out of here,” he said, tears in his eyes.

“Take it easy, Herbie,” Stone said. “Nobody’s going to kill you.”

“You haven’t seen the guys I’m sharing a cell with,” Herbie replied. “Now you gotta get me out of here.”

“Herbie, do you remember the little chat we had yesterday?” Stone asked. “The one where I told you that if you fucked up, you were on your own?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Herbie cried.

“Keep your voice down. Now I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”

“Get me out of here first,” Herbie said. “Then I’ll tell you.”

“Herbie, unless you tell me what happened and tell me right now, I’m going to walk out of here and let you rot in jail.”

“You can’t do that! You gotta get me out! I can’t be in jail.”

“Herbie, listen to me very carefully,” Stone said. “Take a few deep breaths and calm down.”

Herbie sucked air.

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen.”

Herbie appeared to be a little calmer.

“Sometime tonight, you’re going to be arraigned in night court. The charges could include manslaughter or negligent homicide, breaking and entering, and attempted burglary. Do you understand?”

“But I didn’t kill anybody!” Herbie cried. “You gotta get me out of here!”

“Shut up and listen. At the arraignment, a lawyer will represent you, and you’ll plead not guilty to all charges. Then bail will be set, and you’ll get out. You’ll be having breakfast at home.”

“You’re going to represent me?” Herbie asked plaintively.

“No, another lawyer will. You are not to mention my name to him or anyone else. Do you understand?

“Yeah.”

“Now I want you to tell me exactly what happened tonight. Start when you entered the building.”

Herbie took a couple more breaths. “The downstairs door was open—like, ajar, you know? All I had to do was push it open.”

“Good, that helps with the breaking-and-entering charge.”

Then I took the elevator to the sixth floor, like you said, and I found a door to the roof. When I went out onto the roof, it locked behind me and that scared me, because I was stuck up there. I was going to have to shinny down a drainpipe or something.”

“Okay, you got onto the roof. Then what happened?”

“The apartment under the skylight was dark for a few minutes, then, a little before nine, a light came on, and I could see inside.”

“What did you see?”

“A girl was in the room and she was setting up one of those portable massage tables, you know?”

“I know. Go on.”

“Well, she set everything up, and she seemed to be real careful about everything in the room. She was turning lights on and off, until she got them the way she wanted them. Then she spread out sheets and stuff on the table.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Then, a little after nine, this guy arrived, and he took off his clothes. They both did, as a matter of fact.”

“Did they kiss or embrace?”

“Just a peck on the cheek and a pat on the ass.”

“Did you photograph that?”

“No, not yet. I was getting my gear ready.”

Stone resisted the temptation to yell at him. “Go on, what happened next?”

“Then the guy got on the table, facedown, so I figured it wouldn’t do any good to shoot him, if I couldn’t see his face.”

“So you still didn’t take any photographs?”

“No, not yet. So, anyway, the girl was rubbing him all over, and he was kind of squirming. Then he turned over on his back and I could see his face.”

“So you started photographing him?”

“No, not yet.”

“Herbie, did you take any photographs at all?”

“Sure, yeah, I did.”

“When?”

“I’m coming to that. Anyway, she starts to work on his thing, you know, and he’s writhing around, but my angle wasn’t so good, so I crawled out onto the skylight so I could get a better shot. It looked strong enough to hold me.”

“So, when you got a better angle, did you start shooting?”

“Yeah. I took a couple of wide shots with the thirty-five-millimeter lens, then I heard—no, I guess I felt—this creaking under me, you know?”

“Go on, Herbie.”

“So I stopped shooting and started thinking about getting off that skylight.”

“You stopped shooting?”

“Well, yeah, the skylight was sounding like it was going to break, so I had to get off it.”

“Did you get off it?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly?”

“I was kind of backing up, and the skylight creaked again, and the girl looked up, right at me.”

“Did you photograph her face?”

“I’m not sure. It all started happening very fast,” Herbie said.

“Then what happened?”

“The guy was just lying there, like he was done and had fallen asleep, the way you do, you know? And the girl started backing away from the table.”

“Yes, then what happened?”

“Then the skylight caved in and I started falling into the room.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean, you don’t remember?”

“Well, I must have been out for a little while, and when I came to, I was lying on top of this guy, and he was dead.”

“Wait a minute,” Stone said. “How do you know he was dead?”

“Because he was just kind of staring up with these dead eyes. He wasn’t blinking or anything.”

“What did you do then?”

“Well, I got to my feet and brushed glass and stuff off me and kind of walked around to see if anything was broken. Anything of mine, I mean.”

“But you were all right?”

“Yeah, but the guy was dead. I think I might have broken his leg, though.”

“When you fell on him?”

“Yeah. I fell on his legs.”

“That shouldn’t have killed him.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I didn’t kill the guy; I couldn’t have.”

“What happened then?”

“I heard all these guys coming,” Herbie said. “It sounded like a lot of them coming up the stairs.”

“They didn’t use the elevator?”

“No.”

“What happened next?”

“I figured it was the cops, so I looked around for someplace to hide my camera, and I saw this wood box by the fireplace. So I went over and opened it and took out a log, and I put my camera inside and put the log back on top of it. I was looking for another way out of the room when the door opened and all these guys came in.”

“Were they cops?”

“I guess so.”

“Were they in uniform?”

“No. They looked like detectives, in plain clothes.”

“And what did they do?”

“A couple of them grabbed me and threw me up against the wall, and a couple more went over to see about the naked guy on the table. I heard one of them say his leg was broken, and another one said he was dead.”

“And then what happened?”

“Then they left.”

“They left? You mean they left the apartment and left you alone there?”

“Yeah. One of them said, ‘You stay put.’ So I did.”

“And then what?”

“I tried to find another way out of the apartment, except by the door, but there wasn’t one. So I sat down on a chair and looked at the dead guy for a minute. Then the cops arrived. This time they had uniforms. And guns. And they arrested me and took me to a police station, where they put me in a van with some really badass guys and brought me here.”

“So the detectives just walked out, and a few minutes later the cops came?”

“Yeah, except I’m not so sure they were detectives.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when they were talking to each other, they had funny accents.”

“What kind of accents?”

“The kind you hear on PBS, on that show Mystery.”

“You mean English accents?”

“Yeah, like that. Like English cops.”

Stone was stumped. “Now listen: I’m going to get you a lawyer and arrange bail. If your lawyer asks about your relationship with me, you tell him I’m a friend of your uncle Bob, who’s out of town, and when you thought you needed a lawyer, you called me. Got that?”

“Yeah.”

“And you say nothing about our meeting yesterday. If he wants to know what you were doing on that roof, tell him you’re a freelance photographer, and you were trying to take a picture you could sell to the tabloids. Nobody hired you. Got that?”

“Yeah.”

“When bail is set and you get out, go home and get some sleep. I’m going to be looking into this, and I’ll call you when I find out something.”

“Okay.”

“Herbie, have you ever been arrested?”

“No, not until tonight.”

“Never? Drunk driving? Burglary? Disturbing the peace? Anything? They’ll find out if you have been, and it will make a difference.”

“Never. I’m clean.”

“Do you have a job?”

“Yeah, I run a one-hour photo processing machine at a drugstore in Brooklyn.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Do you live with anybody?”

“I got a little place near the drugstore.”

“Tell all this to your lawyer.”

“What’s his name?”

“I haven’t picked him out yet. I’m going to go and do that now.”

“When will I get out of here?”

“When they call your case. It could be two or three hours, there’s no way to tell right now. Your lawyer may be able to find out.” Stone pressed the button to call the guard. “Now go back to your cell and keep your mouth shut. Don’t talk to anybody about why you’re here, and don’t form any friendships with your cellmates. Any one of them will sell you out for a pack of cigarettes.”

“Okay.”

The guard came and took Herbie away, and Stone went upstairs to the courtroom.