The City When It Rains

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

WALTER MADDOX was in the yellow pages under private investigators, his address listed as 345 West 57th Street. To Corman’s surprise, he agreed to see him immediately.

On the way uptown, the connecting door of the subway suddenly opened and a large man stepped into the crowded car. He was wearing a flannel jacket that was two sizes too big and baggy gray trousers, torn at the pockets. A tangle of Rastafarian curls hung about his ears, and when he spoke, Corman could make out two gold teeth.

“I smell bad, but I’m hungry,” the man shouted over the grinding roar of the subway car. Then he banged a tambourine against his leg and began to sing: “I shot the sheriff.”

The crowd shifted away from him. Scores of faces buried themselves in newspapers, magazines, a dance of fiddling fingers. Corman reached for his camera and began shifting right and left as he angled for a shot.

“I’m gonna be riding this line for the next month,” the man said loudly. “Break you guys in.” He thrust out a half-crumpled Styrofoam cup. “I smell bad, but I’m hungry,” he repeated. Then he stepped forward, elbowing his way through the crowd. When he got to Corman, he stopped and held his cup out. “God bless the givers,” he said.

Corman lowered the camera and shook his head.

The man edged the cup forward, his dark eyes staring intently into Corman’s face.

Again, Corman shook his head.

The man inched the cup forward until it nearly rested on Corman’s chin. “I smell bad, but I’m hungry,” he repeated emphatically.

Corman sat back slightly and started to put his camera away. He could feel the man staring at him, resented the little pinch of fear it caused and felt relieved when he finally moved away.

Maddox’s office was a good deal more luxurious than Corman had expected. There were no splintered wooden desks or rickety filing cabinets, no battered gray hats hanging from pegs beside the door or empty whiskey bottles collecting dust on the windowsills. Even Maddox himself looked as if the lean years were well behind him, his body draped in an expensive, double-breasted suit. He wouldn’t do for the kind of hang-dog gumshoe Julian no doubt would prefer, and Corman wondered if there might be a way to shoot him that would give him a somewhat less prosperous aspect, make him look more like the weary tracker of a million hopeless lives than the beaming petty bourgeois who sat behind his desk.

“Glad to meet you,” Maddox said exuberantly as he rose and shook Corman’s hand. “Photographer, that’s interesting. What sort of stuff do you shoot?”

“Anything that comes up,” Corman said. “Accidents, crime scenes, just about …”

“Crime scenes,” Maddox interrupted. “Interesting. Do you have many contacts at NYPD?”

“A couple,” Corman said. “Barnes down at the photo lab, Harvey Grossbart in …”

“My God, Harvey Grossbart,” Maddox said. “He was in uniform the first time I saw him. Any promotions lately?”

“No.”

“Hasn’t made it to Division Chief yet?”

Corman shook his head.

Maddox looked faintly disappointed. “Why not?”

“Bad luck,” Corman guessed. “Integrity.”

Maddox laughed and motioned for Corman to take a seat opposite his desk. “So, what can I do for you?”

“A book I’m working on,” Corman said. “A woman. Jumper. Went out the window in Hell’s Kitchen last Thursday.”

Maddox nodded thoughtfully, and as Corman watched his face grow steadily more solemn, he realized that his first impression had been slightly off. Maddox hadn’t lost his curiosity yet. The varied ways in which human beings drove themselves or others nuts still interested him enough to wipe the wide, self-satisfied smile from his face.

“Her name was Sarah Rosen,” Gorman said. “I think you did some work for her father.”

“Professor Rosen,” Maddox blurted immediately. “I did a lot of work for him.”

Corman reached for his notebook.

Maddox’s eyes swept down at the the notebook, then back up to Corman. “All of it confidential, of course.”

“It would be off the record,” Corman told him. “I’m just trying to find out a few facts.”

Maddox wasn’t yet willing to give him any. “Well, what facts do you already have?”

“I know you did a background check on a woman named Bernice Taylor.”

Maddox nodded. “That’s right. Clean except for this one rap.”

“Shooting someone.”

“Her husband, boyfriend. Anyway, a worthless little prick.”

The harshness of the language seemed odd coming from Maddox’s round, cherubic face, but Corman could see the stripped-down soul beneath the business suit.

“His name was Harold, wasn’t it?” Maddox asked. “Harold something?”

“That’s right.”

“She shot him in the arm,” Maddox added. “A through-and-through.” He shrugged dismissively. “She didn’t hurt him much.”

Corman nodded.

Maddox leaned back in his seat and spread his legs widely. “I did a lot of that kind of work for Dr. Rosen. He was about as close as I ever got to a steady customer.”

“You checked on other people?”

Maddox nodded. “Quite a few. Tutors for his daughter. Math. Science. Anything. I checked on all of them. Once, when he was having his place remodeled, I even checked on the architect.” He laughed. “Rosen was the type of guy that liked to keep tabs on things, know exactly what he was dealing with.”

“Did you ever meet his daughter?”

“Just to say ‘hi’ on the way to Rosen’s office,” Maddox said. “Sarah, like you said. Black hair. Brown eyes. Not a beauty, but pleasant-looking, am I right?”

Corman nodded.

“I have an amazing mind, don’t I?” Maddox asked, half-jokingly. “It drives people crazy, the way I can remember details from years back.”

“Is this a common practice?” Corman asked. “Doing so many background checks?”

“Well, it’s not uncommon,” Maddox said. “But I’d have to say that Dr. Rosen was a little excessive.”

“In the number of people he had checked?”

“That, and in the depth he wanted. You couldn’t just come up with a quick fact-sheet, born here, worked there, blah, blah, blah. He wanted more than that. He wanted to know about what was going on inside of them, in their heads, what their personalities were like, that kind of thing.” He smiled broadly. “And that was okay with me. It took a lot of time, and I worked by the hour.” He shrugged. “Of course, I never really came up with all that much for him. The business with Bernice Taylor, her record, that was about it, and he didn’t even use that.”

Corman looked at Maddox intently. “Didn’t use it? What do you mean? He fired her.”

Maddox shook his head assuredly. “No, he didn’t.”

“She said he did.”

“Fired her?” Maddox asked wonderingly. “When?”

Corman flipped back through his notes. “November 1973.”

Maddox shrugged. “Well, he must have fired her for something else, then,” he said confidently. “Because I had that report on Rosen’s desk a long time before November.” He thought about it again, as if checking his facts, then shook his head determinedly. “No, believe me, if he had fired Bernice Taylor for having a criminal record, he would have fired her in August. That’s when I submitted the report.”

“Before she was hired,” Corman said.

“Of course,” Maddox replied. “That’s the way Rosen always worked. The background check was what cleared the way.”

Corman nodded.

“Have you spoken to anyone but Bernice?” Maddox asked off-handedly, as if trying to test Corman’s investigative skills gently, without accusing him of not having any.

“No,” Corman admitted. “Who do you suggest?”

“Well, are we talking about a quickie here?” Maddox asked. “Cut and paste?”

“I’d like to get some information as soon as possible,” Corman told him.

“Then if I were you, I’d start with her husband.”

“She was married?”

“As far as I know,” Maddox said. “Rosen asked me to do a background on him before they were engaged. I did, and after that I assumed they got married. Anyway, it. was the last business I got from the old man.”

“Do you remember the fiancé’s name?”

Maddox smiled confidently. “Of course. Oppenheim. Peter Oppenheim.”

“Does he live in New York?”

“As far as I know.”

“What did you find out about him?”

“Very much a steady type,” Maddox said. “All the right schools. Andover. Yale. Good family, lots of connections. A dream come true as far as Rosen was concerned. They were colleagues, you might say. Both of them at Columbia.”

“Oppenheim teaches there too?”

“He was when I did the background.”

“When was that?”

“Five years ago,” Maddox said. “And everything was fine as far as Rosen was concerned.”

“He seemed pleased? I mean, with Oppenheim?”

“Pleased?” Maddox said. “As pleased as he ever got. I think he actually smiled when I told him his future son-in-law was about as clean-cut a guy as God ever made. And to tell you the truth, Dr. Rosen didn’t exactly have what you’d call a smiling face.”

Corman regretted that he didn’t have a picture of that face. He glanced at his watch, and realized that he still had time to get one.