The Long Fall

53

I don’t remember the journey to the dimly lit and gray interrogation room. I just opened my eyes and found myself sitting there with elbows on the table and pain coming awake at various points in my body. My left foot felt tight in its shoe, and I had pulled an upper-back muscle somewhere along the way.

Willie Sanderson came into my mind and I had the fear of a boxer who connects with his best punches but his opponent keeps on coming, round after round. But the fright didn’t last long. Sanderson was a reminder of the girl-child who had offered me a treasure. She was rich, but she had suffered, too. I was too late to save her. I caused less damage when I’d done piecework for killers and thieves.

I don’t know how long I sat there or if those thoughts came quickly or slow.

The door to the room opened, allowing Bethann Bonilla and Carson Kitteridge to enter. She was wearing a buff-colored dress suit and he was clad in a shabby green, single-button two-piece that he had owned for at least the last five years.

The homicide sergeant’s face was mostly impassive. She seemed distant and maybe just a touch confused. Carson’s attempt at a poker face, on the other hand, could not mask the fact that he expected to win the pot.

They pulled up chairs opposite me and settled in.

I wondered if I could walk.

“Lana Hull,” Kitteridge said. “Her first name is Veronica but I guess she prefers her middle name.”

“That supposed to mean something to me?”

“Her maiden name was Maxwell, but she lived with a guy named Paxton for a while. Her son was Thom Paxton.”

I didn’t care. My face, I was sure, revealed that fact.

“We know that she hired a detective named Norman Fell to find the men who she blamed for her son’s death.” Carson could not repress the smile.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

“Why do you say that, Mr. McGill?” Bonilla asked.

“Kid died seventeen years ago. How come all of a sudden outta nowhere she’s gonna start looking for those men?”

“She didn’t know until recently,” Carson said. “When Thom was young, just a boy, she was committed to a mental institution by her parents and the father of her child. They say she’s a schizophrenic. Her boyfriend, Lloyd, moved away and kept the boy. Later on, when Thom died, the father, through Lana’s mother, let her know that he’d succumbed to pneumonia. But when the father died, six months ago, he left a letter for Lana. In the letter he told her what he remembered about the boy’s death. There was a letter of explanation from the detective in charge of the investigation.

“It wasn’t much. But I guess it was enough for you to find them after Fell fed you the nicknames. How did you manage to get into sealed records, anyway?”

I wasn’t going to incriminate his disgraced partner but I’m sure he suspected.

“Fell gave the names to Lana Hull and she told Willie,” Carson continued. “They had become very close when she was at the nut-house after a relapse.

“Willie killed three of the men outright and had his cousin pay somebody to knife the one they call Toolie in prison. Toolie’s dead, by the bye, he had a heart attack. They’re calling it homicide anyway.”

“Mr. McGill?” Bonilla said tentatively. There was a hesitance in her tone, as if she hoped that her question would go unanswered.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“That’s a big question.”

“Why risk your life like that?”

I opened my mouth but that was as far as I could get.

“He might not say it,” Carson interjected, “but you better believe that old LT has an angle.”³€€ he

I could see that Kitteridge was smitten with the homicide sergeant. She, on the other hand, was not convinced by his cavalier indictment.

“Why am I here,” I asked, “instead of at home, in my bed?”

“You know,” Kitteridge said.

“No, I don’t.”

I gazed into Sergeant Bonilla’s eyes and she glanced away.

“Fell,” Kittridge said.

“I know a guy named Thurman.”

“Three other dead bodies, four if you include Willie.”

“Sanderson’s dead?” I asked.

“Brain hemorrhage. You finally got him, LT.”

I only had a high school diploma but I knew my numbers. There should have been five corpses even if the security guard under the flower arrangement had not died.

I looked up at Carson and his eyebrows rose an eighth of an inch.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked. I was feeling better.

“No. The DA is concentrating on Lana Hull, but he can’t get to her.”

“Why not?”

“She’s up in Albany, institutionalized again. Her father-in-law, too. You know the old man was knee-deep in gangsters since he was in his teens. We think he might have helped the wife but they got more lawyers than a teenager’s got pimples. If it ever comes to trial, you will be asked to testify.”

“I’ll keep my calendar open,” I said, grabbing on to the table and hoisting myself up.

I put some weight on my left foot and almost fell back into the chair.

“Should I get you a crutch?” Bethann asked.

“No need,” I said.

I took a step and stopped, took another step. The pain didn’t ease but I was coming to understand it. I limped to the door, grateful for the knob, and then lurched out into the brightly lit, light-green hallway. I had taken half a dozen steps when Carson called to me. Gratefully, I rested my hand against the wall and waited for him.

“Thanks for the save,” he said. “You did a good job out there. I should’ve sent a squad car up to the Hulls’ place. I wasn’t that worried because I figured they were rich and had some kind of security system.”

³€€ updiv height="1em" width="1em" align="justify"“They had a good gate,” I said. “How did Sanderson get in?”

“It wasn’t clear but he probably had the combination to the keypad.”

“Lana would have given it to him—if they were friends.”

“Probably. Anyway, LT, you saved my butt there. If it had gone wrong, I’d probably be out of a job or writing parking tickets on Staten Island.”

He held out his hand.

I accepted the capitulation.

“My son was surfing the Net the other day,” I said, “looking for porn, I guess. Anyway, he came upon this site called zebramanonthehunt517.com. You should take a look at it. I think that it’ll get you some brownie points with the brass.”

Carson frowned.

“What?” I asked him.

“This doesn’t let you off the hook, LT,” he said. “I still plan to put your ass in stir.”

“What’s a little jail time between friends?”

Ê€„