Streets of Fire

TWENTY-EIGHT

Knots of firemen still lingered outside Police Headquarters as Ben pulled over to the curb, got out and headed slowly up the stairs. Some were still dressed in their black slicks as they stood alone, or huddled together, talking quietly as the air darkened steadily around them.

Lamar Beacham slumped against the front of the building, his long, slender body propped like a bamboo fishing pole against its granite facade.

‘What happened today?’ Ben asked as he reached the top of the stairs.

Beacham smiled thinly. ‘Where you been — Mars?’

‘Working a case.’

Beacham dropped his cigarette to the steps and crushed it with the tip of his boot. ‘They brought us into it, the Fire Department.’

‘How?’

‘Just lined us up across the street,’ Beacham said. ‘And the Chief says, “Turn on the hoses.”’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘So we did.’

‘You sprayed the demonstrators?’

‘Yeah, we sprayed them,’ Beacham said. His face twisted with disgust. ‘We sprayed them good.’ He shook his head. ‘Shit, Ben, that water comes out of them hoses at a pressure of a hundred pounds per square inch. You got any idea what that does when it hits somebody?’ His eyes darted away, and he lit another cigarette. ‘It makes me sick, what the Chief made us do.’

‘Is that how the rest of them feel?’

Beacham looked at him. ‘A lot of us.’ His eyes turned back toward the avenue. A single red fire engine could be seen in the evening light. ‘The Chief, he better watch what he asks the firemen to do. We’re not like the cops. Lingo’s men, either. We’re not like them. It’s different with us.’

‘How long did this go on?’

‘Seemed like forever,’ Beacham said. ‘I was holding the nozzle. That fucking thing is heavy. After a while I felt like I was holding up a car or something. And the way the water was shooting through it, it was like wrestling a bull.’ He laughed. ‘You know Jim Pointer, don’t you, Ben? Little guy with a mustache?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, he was my backup, you know, holding up the hose,’ Beacham said. ‘Finally he just let go of it. Said, “No more, Lamar. They can get me to go in a burning building, but this ain’t my job and I’m through with it.”’ Beacham stared at Ben wonderingly. ‘And he just walked off. Just took off his helmet and walked right off. Can you beat that?’

Ben did not answer.

Beacham’s voice took on a grim note of warning. ‘Chief better watch it. He’s pushing too hard, and he’s going to find hisseif with nobody but the trash around him. Lingo’s men. Shit, half of them ought to be in the pen themselves.’ He shook his head despairingly, then eased himself from the side of the building. ‘Well, take it easy, Ben,’ he said as he moved down the stairs. ‘I got to go home, but Lord knows I dread it. My wife’s going to kill me for this.’

The inside of Police Headquarters was less crowded than Ben had seen it in weeks. The lines of makeshift cots were empty, and only a few stragglers remained in the detective bullpen. The Chief’s office was dark, and the only light in the corridor came from under Luther’s tightly closed door. It was as if a strange emptiness had overtaken everything, an eerie vacancy that could be felt in the nearly deserted hallways, the unoccupied meeting rooms, even the thickening night beyond the windows. There was an odd, unworldly quiet in the air, and as Ben moved from one room to the next, he could sense that some part of the raging tumult which had been swirling in the city for so long had finally run its course, become exhausted, and simply slumped away, like a wounded beast into the enveloping brush. He did not know what part it was, but as he headed toward the dark office door of Property and Records, he sensed that it was somehow vital to the rest, a fire guttering out, one that left in its wake only the faintly acrid smell of defeated anger.

‘What are you doing up here?’

Ben turned and saw a tall figure, backlit in the doorway at the opposite end of the corridor.

Ben stared in his direction. ‘Who’s that?’

The man stepped out of the shadows, his face now half-illuminated by a slant of light.

It was Breedlove, and his body seemed taut and catlike, poised to leap.

‘Most everybody’s gone home,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ Ben said. ‘It looks that way.’

Breedlove smiled coolly. ‘You weren’t with us today, were you, Ben?’

‘No.’

‘How come?’

‘I’m still working on a case.’

‘That little girl, right?’

‘Yes.’

Breedlove stared intently into Ben’s eyes. ‘You got some kind of special interest in that?’

‘Maybe.’

Breedlove took a single step toward him, his whole body now plainly visible in the hall light. ‘Why is that, Ben? Why are you so interested in that case?’

‘She was a little girl,’ Ben said flatly, ‘I don’t like what happened to her.’

Breedlove smiled. ‘Course, it happens all the time, don’t it?’

‘Too much, yeah.’

‘You always work them this hard?’

‘Always,’ Ben said bluntly.

Breedlove laughed thinly. ‘I admire your dedication,’ he said, suddenly forcing some lightness into his voice. ‘I really do.’ The edge was now entirely gone from his speech. It had been replaced by something else, a strained friendliness. ‘Well, good for you, old buddy,’ he said, his body relaxing visibly. ‘Nothing like a good cop to straighten out the world, ain’t that right?’

‘I guess so,’ Ben replied curtly.

Breedlove scratched the back of his neck casually. ‘Well, I got to get home like everybody else. You coming?’

‘No. I want to check a few things.’

Breedlove’s face clinched slightly, then relaxed again. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Ben stood silently in the corridor until Breedlove had disappeared down the stairs. Then he turned quickly, walked into the Records and Property Room and switched on the light.

Rows of gray metal filing cabinets lined the back wall of the room, and Ben walked over to the group marked ‘Traffic Citations.’ The citations were arranged by the date the summonses had been written, and Ben immediately began flipping through them, edging backward, closer and closer to the Sunday of Doreen Ballinger’s disappearance.

It was a slender stack, held together by a single rubber band, and it did not take long for Ben to find the few summonses that had been issued by either Tod or Teddy Langley. One had been given in the downtown area at around two in the afternoon. A second had been issued to an illegally parked car just inside the borders of Bearmatch. A third had been issued to a speeding car at about three in the afternoon. The fourth had also been issued as a speeding violation. The time was recorded at a quarter after five, and the location was 21st Street and Second Avenue, the southwest corner of the old ballfield. It had been issued to a man named Norman Siegel, whose address was listed as 2347 Williams Street, Mountain Brook.

It was nearly eight at night by the time Ben turned onto Williams Street. He drove slowly, craning his neck to see the addresses as he passed one modest wood-frame house after another. He finally spotted the one he was looking for. It was a light-blue wood-frame house with an enclosed garage, and as Ben pulled into the driveway, he noticed the large assortment of toys which dotted the recently mowed lawn.

The door opened after the second knock, and Ben could see a short, middle-aged woman through the silvery screen mesh.

‘Is this the Siegel residence?’ he asked.

The woman nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Does Norman Siegel live here?’

‘Yes, he does,’ the woman said.

Ben took out his police identification. ‘It’s nothing serious, ma’am,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to talk to Mr Siegel if he can spare the time.’

The woman looked at him worriedly. ‘All right,’ she said, her voice somewhat strained. ‘Come in, please.’

The screen door swung open, and Ben stepped into the house.

‘Just have a seat anywhere,’ the woman said as she disappeared into the back of the house.

Ben remained standing. His eyes drifted over the room. It had an exposed brick fireplace, its plain wooden mantel decked with family photographs in pink plastic frames. The carpet was reddish, with white flecks, and it was strewn with toys that looked as if they been scattered about haphazardly and then entirely forgotten. There was a brown naugahyde recliner, and opposite it, a plain tan sofa with bright red cushions.

‘I’m Norman Siegel.’

He was a small man in thick glasses, and he was dressed in khaki trousers and white, open-collared shirt. ‘I was just mowing the back forty,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘Night’s about the only time I have for it.’ He offered Ben his hand. ‘Sarah said you were from the police.’

Ben shook his hand quickly. ‘That’s right.’

Siegel laughed nervously. ‘Gee, I can’t imagine being in any trouble.’ He shifted quickly from one foot to the next. ‘You want to sit down? You want a glass of tea, maybe something stronger?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Okay,’ Siegel said. He thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘So what’s this all about?’

‘You were given a traffic ticket last Sunday, is that right?’ Ben asked.

‘Yeah,’ Siegel said. ‘I’ve already put the check in the mail.’

‘It’s not about the ticket,’ Ben said.

Siegel looked at him, puzzled. ‘What is it then?’

‘Well, not long after you were given the ticket, a little girl was seen walking in the ballfield, and not longer after that, somebody killed her.’

Siegel drew in a long, slow breath. A little girl? Well, that neighborhood’s — ’

‘A colored girl,’ Ben said. ‘Twelve years old.’

Siegel’s eyes grew tense. ‘My God, you don’t think I had anything to do with that?’

‘Not at all,’ Ben told him quickly. ‘But I was wondering if you might have seen anything.’

‘When?’

‘While the ticket was being written.’

Siegel thought about it for a moment. ‘I usually keep my eyes right on the road when I go through that part of town,’ he said. ‘Normally, I wouldn’t go through it at all, but I have a toy factory on the other side of that neighborhood, and so if I’m in a hurry I sometimes take a shortcut down Collins Avenue. It ends up taking me through there.’

‘Is that what you were doing on Sunday afternoon?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You were headed for your factory?’

‘Yes,’ Siegel said. ‘I got to it at around five-thirty. Lots of people can vouch for that.’

‘Were you speeding?’

Siegel shrugged. ‘I guess. Lots of people speed m that neighborhood.’

‘Do you know about what time you were pulled over?’

‘It was five-fifteen on the dot,’ Siegel said. ‘I know, because I glanced at my watch as soon as I stopped. I was hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible and then head on over to the factory.’

Ben nodded.

‘And I know exactly when I left, too,’ Siegel said. ‘Because I looked at my watch again.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m sort of time-conscious, if you know what I mean.’

‘What time did you leave?’

‘Five twenty-two,’ Siegel told him. ‘Which means that the whole thing just took seven minutes.’

‘Did you see a little girl around the ballfield while you were parked?’ Ben asked.

Siegel shook his head. ‘No, I don’t — ’ He stopped himself. ‘Wait a minute, now. Well, yeah, I think I did. Way across the field. In a swing.’

‘How about in the ballfield?’ Ben asked insistently, realizing that the girl in the swing was Ramona Davies. ‘Maybe walking toward the swing?’

‘No, just the girl in the swing,’ Siegel said. That’s the only little girl I saw.’

Ben pulled out the picture of Bluto. ‘How about this man,’ he said as he handed the photograph to Siegel. ‘Does he look familiar?’

Siegel stared at the picture for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No.’

‘He’s a real big guy,’ Ben said. ‘Did you see a real big guy standing off somewhere? Maybe in the distance?’

Siegel handed the picture back to Ben. ‘No.’

‘Just the girl then?’ Ben asked. ‘The one in the swing?’

‘That’s all,’ Siegel said. He smiled. ‘Except for those two cops.’ He laughed lightly. ‘They seemed like two real by-the-book types. One comes around one side of the car, one comes around the other, just like on Highway Patrol.’

Ben nodded silently. ‘Well, that’s just following regulations.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Siegel said. ‘Then why’d they just do it to me?’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. The next guy they pulled over, they didn’t do any of that stuff.’

‘Next guy?’

‘Right after me.’

‘They pulled over someone else?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Siegel said loudly. ‘Right as I pulled away, they went after another car. I was still putting all my papers back in my wallet and they were after another one.’

‘You saw this?’ Ben asked.

‘I wasn’t more than a few yards away,’ Siegel said. ‘It was just at the other end of that old ballfield.’

‘What’d you see?’

‘I saw them pull this big car over, and the two of them get out,’ Siegel said. ‘I was going real slow, sort of feeling burned, you know, and I was just heading on toward the factory, and these same two guys had pulled over another car.’

‘What were they doing?’

‘They were going up to it,’ Siegel said. ‘To the driver, I mean. Only it was different this time. I guess they decided to forget the by-the-book stuff.’

Ben nodded.

‘Anyway, they were both heading toward the driver’s side of the car, and when the tall one got to it, he just leaned right in.’

‘He leaned in?’

Siegel chuckled. ‘He couldn’t have leaned in any further if he’d been a guy trying to kiss a girl.’

‘The driver — did you see him?’

‘No, he was turned toward the cop,’ Siegel said. ‘I could just see the back of his head. All I can say is that he had gray hair.’

‘What about the car?’

‘Oh, it was a nice one,’ Siegel said. ‘A Lincoln. Dark blue. A real slick deal. It didn’t look like it belonged in that neighborhood.’

‘Did you see the car drive away?’ Ben asked.

‘No.’

‘Did you see anyone else in the car?’

‘No.’

‘Did you see anybody get out?’

‘No, not a soul,’ Siegel told him. He wiped his forehead. ‘You sure you don’t want something to drink?’

‘No, thanks,’ Ben said.

‘This car, the Lincoln,’ Ben said. ‘Did you see a little girl in it?’

‘No.’

‘She would have been in the backseat.’

Siegel thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anybody but the cops.’

‘And the driver,’ Ben reminded him.

‘Well, sort of,’ Siegel replied. ‘But the ones who really got a good look were those two cops. They saw him face to face.’