After having heard
nothing from Marguerite for more than a week, Connor had tried calling
her. There had been no answer, only a
phone company recording that stated the number dialed was no longer in service.
Connor could think of
nothing else to do but to travel to Marguerite’s apartment downtown and ring
the doorbell. Again there was no
answer.
It took Connor almost
half an hour to locate the building’s super, a middle aged Russian in torn
overalls, who obviously didn’t want anything to do with someone who wasn’t even
a tenant. The man seemed determined to
be of as little help as possible and only grew more stubborn as Connor
continued to question him. “Zilander,
the woman in 5C? She’s gone. And no, I don’t know where. If she owes you money, that’s not my
problem.”
Connor reluctantly handed
the man a $20 bill he couldn’t really afford to spend, but not even that was of
much use. The super stuffed the bribe in
his overalls before giving Connor an appraising look. “Are you her boyfriend? That’s always the way it is, isn’t it? When a woman wants to get rid of a guy, she
never tells him that she’s moving. He
always has to find out the hard way.”
“She didn’t leave any
forwarding address then?”
The super snorted in
amusement. “A forwarding address? Are you kidding me? She didn’t even take her clothes or furniture
with her. Left everything behind. Even her cell phone and wallet were still in
the apartment when I went to clean the place out. No cash in the wallet though – you can be
damned sure I checked that first thing – so maybe she at least took her money
with her.”
“No note saying where she
was going? Maybe you missed it.”
The super shook his
head. “Not a chance. Who would know better than me what was
there? I went over every inch of that
apartment. I was hoping maybe your
girlfriend had left something valuable hidden away, a bottle or two at least,
but no such luck.”
Connor felt himself
growing increasingly alarmed. “Didn’t
anyone think it was suspicious that she just disappeared into thin air?”
“The landlord, he didn’t
know what to make of it. He didn’t want
to get in any trouble, so he called the police first thing. They took their sweet time getting here and
then did nothing once they’d finished looking around. She was paid up on her rent, and there’s no
law against moving away without telling anyone.
Happens all the time, they said.”
“Does it?” asked Connor,
“No one I knew ever did such a thing.”
“Then maybe you don’t
know the right people.” With that, the
super slammed the door shut in his face.
Connor didn’t know where
to go from there. He didn’t see any
point in contacting the hospitals or looking through the emergency rooms. If the landlord had already called the
police, they would have checked out those places as a matter of routine. As for talking to the authorities themselves,
Connor already knew that the less he saw of law enforcement the better off he
would be.
As it turned out, Connor
needn’t have worried about getting in touch with the police. They soon enough came looking for him.
He had just finished
eating dinner when the knock came at the door.
It was a loud insistent rap.
Connor didn’t have to ask who was there.
There’s something in a policeman’s knock that an ex-con recognizes at
once, though how he comes by that knowledge not even he can say.
There were two of them,
both detectives in plain clothes, standing in the hallway when Connor opened
the door.
“Michael Connor?” one of
them inquired perfunctorily. There
wasn’t any doubt in his voice as he asked.
He and his partner had probably taken a long look Connor’s rap sheet and
mugshot before leaving the station.
Connor went through the
formalities. “Do you have I.D.?” he
asked.
The second cop took out
his gold shield and shoved it in front of Connor’s face.
Connor stepped back and
allowed the pair to enter. Though he
knew that technically he didn’t have to permit them inside his residence unless
they had a warrant, he didn’t have anything to hide and saw no reason to
antagonize them unnecessarily. The
police could always make things harder for him than he could for them, he
reasoned.
The three walked together
into the kitchen and, without saying a word, sat down at the same time at the
table. The two detectives looked about
the room carefully. There was nothing of
interest to be seen, though, but a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
“Would you like some
coffee?” Connor asked.
The older detective shook
his head. “I’m Detective Stone and this
is my partner, Detective Klinger,” he said by way of introduction.
Connor nodded his head.
“Know why we’re here?”
the detective asked.
“No, sir,” answered
Connor in his most polite tone of voice.
“How long have you been
out now?” asked Klinger.
“A few months.”
“Keeping yourself out of
trouble?” Even as he asked the question,
Klinger made a face as much as to say he knew such a thing were clearly
impossible.
“I did my time,” replied
Connor quietly. “I don’t want to go
back.”
“Good you feel that way,”
said Stone. “But I’ve got to tell you,
the way you’re headed you’ll be back on Rikers soon enough.”
“What’s that supposed to
mean?”
“It means things keep
happening,” interjected Klinger, “the nasty sorts of things we police take an
interest in. And as soon as we start
looking into these things, who do we find there but you?”
“I don’t know what you’re
talking about.” Connor tried to keep his
voice steady. “I haven’t done anything
wrong.”
“You know Marguerite
Zilander,” said Stone. It wasn’t a
question.
“Yes, I know her. We were working together on the same project
at the university. It was an experiment
involving dream research.”
“You two were
lovers. At least that’s what you told
Casper Elicott, the faculty coordinator for the project.”
“If we were, there’s no
crime in that.”
“Are you aware that this
woman has gone missing?”
Connor didn’t like where
this was leading. “Yes, I went over to
her apartment earlier today and talked to the super. He told me she’d left without a trace and
that the landlord had already called the police.”
“Where’d she go?” asked
Klinger.
“I’ve no idea. If I did know, there wouldn’t have been any
reason for me to slip the super a twenty to try to get that information from
him.”
“People don’t usually
walk off and leave everything they own behind them. It’s not natural.”
“I realize that,” said
Connor. “That’s why I was concerned.”
“Maybe she was anxious to
give you the slip,” Stone suggested.
“She had no reason to
want to get away from me. We were on
good terms the last time we saw one another.”
Connor looked up. “I’ll save you
the trouble of asking when that was. It
was a week ago last Thursday. We spent
the night together. She was fine when I
left the next morning. I haven’t heard
from her since.”
Stone pulled a spiral
bound notebook from his jacket pocket and jotted a few notes with a silver
ballpoint that had a Yankees logo engraved on its side. He turned to Connor when he had finished
writing. “There’s no evidence of a crime
having been committed. Still, you
realize the circumstances of your friend’s disappearance are a bit unusual.” He leaned forward. He still held the pen in his hand and pointed
it now in Connor’s direction. “Are you
sure there’s nothing else you’d like to tell us?”
“I can’t tell you what I
don’t know. If I had any more
information, I’d be happy to share it with you.
That’s the truth.”
“Ok, so let’s forget
about your missing girlfriend for a minute and move on.” Klinger was speaking
now. “There’s another police matter
you’re involved in.”
Connor had no idea what
the detective was referring to. His
ignorance must have shown in his expression.
“Don’t play dumb,
Connor. We know you were friends with
Richie Gallagher.”
Connor, who hadn’t yet
heard anything of Gallagher’s death, was surprised at the mention of his name
but tried not to show it. “I might have
been friends with him once, but I haven’t had much to do with him lately.”
“Then why did you kill
him?”
“What?” Connor was so shocked by the accusation that
he involuntarily jumped up from his chair.
“Gallagher is dead?”
“Dead as a doornail,”
said Stone. “Shot through the heart with
a .22.”
“I didn’t have anything
to do with it.” Connor was
sweating. “You’ve got to believe
me. This is the first I’m hearing of
it.”
“Relax,” said
Klinger. “We already know you weren’t
there. Good old Professor Elicott
confirmed to us that at the time the murder was committed you were at the
university engaged in conversation with him and one Dr. Reicha. The three of you were together for several
hours. A very convenient alibi, if you
ask me.”
Connor felt some of the
tension leave his body. “I didn’t even
know he was dead until you told me just now.
Since you already know I’m not the killer, do you have any idea who
might be?”
“That’s what we were
hoping you could tell us,” said Klinger.
“We thought we had
something,” admitted Stone. “The weapon
was recovered at the scene and ballistics came up with a match. The same gun was used in the murder of a
small time dealer, one Johnny Hastings, in the East Village back in ’72. When we found the gun lying beside
Gallagher’s body, it had clean sets of prints all over it. We ran them and found out they belonged to a
woman named Deirdre Watkins who’d been busted for public indecency around the
time of the first murder. Apparently
she’d been working as a stripper at some joint on 3rd Street. There’s a fancy nightclub now at the address
where it was located.”
“Deirdre wouldn’t…”
Connor started to say and then bit his lip.
Stone looked at him
quizzically.
“I was just going to say
I’d never heard the name.”
“I’d be surprised if you
had. She’s been dead and gone forty
years or more. Hit by a bus on Third
Avenue in 1974 and died instantly. At
the time, the investigating officers suspected it might have been suicide. No, no way you could have known her.”
Though Connors’ mind was
reeling, he remained silent and tried to keep his expression blank. It was difficult for him to imagine either
Gallagher or Deirdre dead after he’d seen each of them so recently.
“It’s possible Gallagher
was the victim of a hit,” Klinger said.
“We have reason to believe he may have stolen drugs that were originally
the property of a Chinatown gang. Those
guys don’t allow themselves to be insulted that way. It would hurt their reputation if they let it
go. Rival gangs might get the idea the
Pale Horsemen were going soft and try to move in on their turf. No, they’d have to find the guy who did them
dirt and then kill him before word got out what he’d pulled. Otherwise, we’d have a gang war on our
hands.”
Connor remained poker
faced. “I get the idea.”
Stone and Klinger stood
up at the same time. “We’ll be going
now,” said Stone.
“You’re not taking me
in?” Connor couldn’t really believe they
were allowing him to remain free.
Klinger looked at him with
an expression of disgust and then rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “Believe me when I tell you we’d collar you
now if we could. It’s just we don’t have
enough on you. Not yet anyway.”
“That’s because I haven’t
done anything,” Connor couldn’t help reminding him.
“You know what they say
though,” continued Klinger, “about how where there’s smoke there’s fire.”
“What exactly is that
supposed to mean?”
“That’s my partner’s way
of saying we’re going to be keeping tabs on you,” replied Stone in an
indifferent tone. “We’ll be stopping by
to see you again sometime soon. We’re
going to have plenty more talks.”
“Plenty more,” announced
Klinger. He didn’t bother trying to hide
the truculence in his voice. “Until we
finally do have something on you, something that will put you away for a good
long stretch. And once we’ve got it,
you’re going down. Hard.”
“You don’t have to see us
out,” said Stone. “We’ll find our own
way.”
Connor watched their
backs until the two detectives had left the apartment.