When the Sacred Ginmill Closes

Chapter 11

"Yeah," a voice said. "I sort of figured it was you.Whyntchasit down, Matt. You look white as a ghost. You look like you seen one."

I knew but couldn't place the voice. I turned, my breath still stuck in my chest, and I knew the man. He was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, deep in the room's long shadows. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt open at the throat. His suit jacket was draped over the chair's arm, and the end of his tie peeped out of a pocket.

"Jack Diebold," I said.

"The same," he said."How youdoin ', Matt? I got to tell you you'd make the world's worst cat burglar. You wereclompin ' around up there like the horse cavalry."

"You scared the shit out of me, Jack."

He laughed softly. "Well, what was Igonna do, Matt? A neighbor called in, lights on in the house, blahblahblah, and since I was handy and it was my case I took the squeal myself and came on over. I figured it was probably you. Guy from the Six-eight called me the other day, mentioned you weredoin ' something for thisTillary asshole."

"Neumann called you? You're at Brooklyn Homicide now?"

"Oh, a while now.I made DetectiveFirst, shit, it's been almost two years."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Anyway, I came over, but I don't know it's you and I don't want to charge the stairs and I thought, shit, we'll let Mohammad come to the mountain for a change. I didn't mean to scare you."

"The hell you didn't."

"Well, you walked right past me, for God's sake, and you looked so funnygoin ' about it. What were youlookin ' for just now?"

"Just now?I was trying to guess where he keeps his liquor."

"Well, don't let me stop you. Find a couple of glasses too, while you're at it."

A pair of cut-glass decanters stood on a sideboard in the dining room. Little silver nameplates around their necks identified them as Scotch andRye. You needed a key to remove them from their silver caddy. The sideboard itself held linen in its center drawers, glassware on the right-hand side, bottles of whiskey and cordials on the left. I found a fifth of Wild Turkey and a couple of glasses, showed the bottle to Diebold. He nodded and I poured drinks for both of us.

He was a big man a couple of years my senior. He'd lost some hair since I'd seen him last, and he was heavy, but then he'd always been heavy. He looked at his glass for a moment, raised it to me,took a sip.

"Good stuff," he said.

"Not bad."

"What were youdoin ' up there, Matt?Lookin ' for clues?" He stretched the last word.

I shook my head."Just getting the feel of it."

"You're working forTillary."

I nodded. "He gave me the key."

"Shit, I don't care if you came down the chimney likeSanty Claus. What's he want you to do for him?"

"Clear him."

"Clear him? The cocksucker's already clear enough to see through. No way we'regonna tag him for it."

"But you think he did it."

He gave me a sour look. "I don't think he did it," he said, "ifdoin ' it meansstickin ' a knife in her. I'd lovethinkin ' he did but he'salibied better than afuckin ' Mafia don. He was out in public with this broad, a million people saw him,he's got charge-card receipts from a restaurant, for Christ's sake." He drank the rest of his whiskey. "I think he set her up."

"Hired them to kill her?"

"Somethinglike that."

"They're not hired killers by trade, are they?"

"Shit, of course they're not. Cruz and Herrera, button men for theSunsetPark syndicate.Ruboutsa specialty."

"But you think he hired them."

He came over and took the bottle from me, poured his glass half full. "He set them up," he said.

"How?"

He shook his head, impatient with the question. "I wish I was the first person to question them," he said. "The guys from the Six-eight went over with a burglary warrant, they didn't know when they went in where the stuff was from. So they already talked to thePRs before I got a crack at 'em."

"And?"

"First time out, they denied everything. 'I bought the stuff on the street.' You know how it goes."

"Of course."

"Then they didn't know anything about a woman who got killed. Now that was horseshit. They ran that story and then they changed it, or it died a natural death, because of course they knew, it was in the papers and on the television. Then the story was that there was no woman around when they did the job, and on top of that they were never upstairs of the first floor. Well, that's nice, but their fucking fingerprints were on the bedroom mirror and the dresser top and a couple of other places."

"You had prints putting them in the bedroom? I didn't know that."

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you.Except I can't see how it makes a difference. Yeah, we found prints."

"Whose?Herrera's or Cruz's?"

"Why?"

"Because I was figuring Cruz for the one who knifed her."

"Why him?"

"His record.And he carried a knife."

"A flick knife.He didn't use it on the woman."

"Oh?"

"She was killed with something had a blade six inches long and two or two-and-a-half inches wide.Whatever. A kitchen knife, it sounds like."

"You didn't recover it, though."

"No. She had a whole mess of knives in the kitchen, a couple of different sets. You keep house for twenty years, you accumulate knives.Tillary couldn't tell if one was missing. The lab took the ones we found, couldn't find blood on any of them."

"So you think-"

"That one of 'empicked up a knife in the kitchen and went upstairs with it and killed her and then threw it down a sewer somewhere, or in the river, or who knows where."

"Picked up a knife in the kitchen."

"Or brought it along.Cruz carried a flick knife as a regular thing, but maybe he didn't want to use his own knife to kill the woman."

"Figuring he came here planning to do it."

"How else can you figure it?"

"I figure it was a burglary and they didn't know she was here."

"Yeah, well, you want to figure it that way because you're trying to clear the prick. He goes upstairs and takes a knife along with him. Why the knife?"

"In case someone's up there."

"Then why go upstairs?"

"He's looking for money. A lot of people keep cash in the bedroom. He opens the door, she's there, she panics,he panics-"

"And he kills her."

"Why not?"

"Shit, it sounds as good as anything else, Matt." He put his glass on the coffee table. "One more session with 'em," he said, "and theywoulda spilled."

"They talked a lot as it was."

"I know. You know what's the most important thing to teach a new recruit?How to read 'emMiranda-Escobedo in such a way that they don't attach any significance to it. 'You have the right to remain silent. Now I want you to tell me what really went down.' One more time and theywoulda seen that the way to cop out onTillary was to say he hired them to kill her."

"That means admitting they did it."

"I know, but they were admitting a little more each time. I don't know. I think I could've got more out of them. But once they got legal counsel on the spot, shit, that's the end of our cozy little conversations."

"Why do you likeTillary for it?Just because he was playing around?"

"Everybody plays around."

"That's what I mean."

"The ones who kill their wives are the ones who aren't playing around and want to be. Or the ones who're in love with something sweet and young and want to marry it and keep it around forever. He's not in love with anybody but himself.Or doctors. Doctors are always killing their wives."

"Then-"

"We got tons ofmotive, Matt. He owed money that he didn't have. And she wasgettin ' ready to dump him."

"The girlfriend?"

"The wife."

"I never heard that."

"Who would you hear it from, him? She talked to a neighbor woman, she talked to a lawyer. The auntdyin ' made the difference. She came into the property, for one thing, and she didn't have the old woman around for company. Oh, we got lots of motive, my friend. If motive was enough to hang a man we could goshoppin ' for a rope."

JACK Diebold said, "He's a friend of yours, huh? That's why you're involved?"

We had left theTillary house somewhere in the early evening. I remember the sky was still light, but it was July and it stayed light well into the evening hours. I turned off the lights and put the bottle of Wild Turkey away. There wasn't much left in it. Diebold joked that I should wipe my prints off the bottle, and off the glasses we had used.

He was driving his own car, a FordFairlane that was showing a lot of rust. He chose the place, a plush steak-and-seafood restaurant near the approach to theVerrazanoBridge. They knew him there, and I sensed that there wouldn't be a check. Most cops have a certain number of restaurants where they can eat a certain number of free meals. This bothers some people, and I have never really understood why.

We ate well- shrimp cocktails, strip sirloins, hot pumpernickel rolls, stuffed baked potatoes."When we weregrowin ' up," Diebold said, "a man who ate like this was treating himself right. You never heard a goddamned word about cholesterol. Now it's all you hear."

"I know."

"I had a partner, I don't know if you ever knew him. Gerry O'Bannon. You know him?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, he got on this health kick. What started it was he quit smoking. I never smoked so I never had to quit, but he quit and then it was one thing after another. He lost a lot of weight, he changed his diet,he started jogging. He looked terrible, he looked all drawn, you know how guys get? But he washappy, he was really pleased with himself. Wouldn't go drinking, just order one beer and make it last, or he'd have one and then switch to club soda. The French stuff. Perrier?"

"Uh-huh."

"Very popular all of a sudden, it's plain soda water and it costs more than beer. Figure it out and explain it to me sometime. He shot himself."

"O'Bannon?"

"Yeah.I don't mean it's connected, losing the weight and drinking club soda and killinghimself. The life you lead and the things you see, I'll tell you, a cop goes and eats his gun, I never figure it requires an explanation. You know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean."

He looked at me. "Yeah," he said. "Course you do." And then the conversation took a turn in another direction, and a little while later, with a slab of hot apple pie topped with cheddar in front of Diebold and coffee poured for both of us, he returned to the subject of TommyTillary, identifying him as my friend.

"Sort of a friend," I said. "I know him around the bars."

"Right, she lives up in your neighborhood, doesn't she? The girlfriend, I forget her name."

"Carolyn Cheatham."

"I wish she wasall the alibi he had. But even if he got away from her for a few hours, what was the wife doing during the burglary? Waiting for Tommy to come home and kill her? I mean, take it to extremes, say she hides under the bed while they rifle the bedroom and get their prints on everything. Theyleave, she calls the cops, right?"

"He couldn't have killed her."

"I know, and it drives me crazy. How come you like him?"

"He's not a bad guy. And I'm getting paid for this, Jack. I'm doing him a favor, but it's one I'm getting paid for. And it's a waste of my time and his money anyway, because you haven't got a case against him."

"No."

"You don't, do you?"

"Not even close." He ate some pie, drank some coffee. "I'm glad you're getting paid. Not just because I like to seea guy turn a buck. I'd hate to see you bust your balls for him for free."

"I'm not busting anything."

"You know what I mean."

"Am I missing something, Jack?"

"Huh?"

"What did he do, steal baseballs from the Police Athletic League? How come you've got the red ass for him?"

He thought it over. His jaws worked. He frowned.

"Well, I'll tell you," he said at length. "He's a phony."

"He sells stock and shit over the phone. Of course he's a phony."

"More than that.I don't know how to explain it so it makes sense, but shit, you were a cop. You know how you get feelings."

"Of course."

"Well, I get a feeling with that guy. There's something about him that's wrong, something about her death."

"I'll tell you what it is," I said. "He's glad she's dead and he's pretending he isn't. It gets him out of a jam and he's glad, but he's acting like a sanctimonious son of a bitch and that's what you're responding to."

"Maybe that's part of it."

"I think it's the whole thing. You're sensing that he's acting guilty. Well, he is. He feels guilty. He's glad she's dead, but at the same time he lived with the woman for I forget how many years, he had a life with her, part of him was busy being a husband while the other part was running around on her-"

"Yeah, yeah, I follow you."

"So?"

"It's more than that."

"Why does it have to be more? Look, maybe he did set up Cruz andwhatsisname -"

"Hernandez."

"No, not Hernandez.What the hell's his name?"

"Angel. Angel eyes."

"Herrera. Maybe he set them up to go in, rob the place. Maybe he even had it in the back of his mind she might get in the way."

"Keep going."

"Exceptit's too iffy, isn't it? I think he just feels guilty for wishing she'd get killed, or being glad of it after the fact, and you're picking up on the guilt and that's why you like him for the murder."

"No."

"You sure?"

"I'm not sure that I'm sure of anything. You know, I'm glad you'regettin ' paid. I hope you'recostin ' him a ton."

"Not all that much."

"Well, soak him all you can. Because at least it'scostin ' him money, even if that's all it'scostin ' him, andit's money he doesn't have to pay.Because we can't touch him. Even if those two changed their story, admitted the killing and said he put 'emup to it, that's not enough to put him away. And they're notgonna change their story, and who would ever hire them to commit murder anyway, and they wouldn't take a contract like that. I know they wouldn't. Cruz is a mean little bastard but Herrera's just a stupid guy, and- aw, shit."

"What?"

"It just kills me to see him get away with it."

"But he didn't do it, Jack."

"He'sgettin ' away with something," he said, "and I hate to see it happen. You know what I hope? I hope he runs a red light sometime, in that fucking boat of his. What's it, a Buick he's got?"

"I think so."

"I hope he runs a light and I tag him for it, that's what I hope."

"Is that what Brooklyn Homicide does these days? A lot of traffic detail?"

"I just hope it happens," he said. "That's all."