Carol O’Connell - Crime School

‘One of them did.’ She tapped the photographs of the uniformed officers. ‘Can you tell Loman from Parris?’

‘That’s easy,’ said Charles, though he knew neither man on sight. ‘Loman is the only one in the crime-scene photos. Parris wouldn’t go back inside that room. Oh, I see. They are rather alike.’ Even Lars Geldorf had confused one for the other. Both in their early twenties, the patrolmen had the same regular features, dark hair and eyes beneath the brims of their caps. ‘When the boy was in the hall with Alice White, that second encounter should have reinforced his identification. But he saw two men in uniform.’

‘It’s the uniform he remembered best,’ said Mallory. ‘If the boy couldn’t tell them apart, how do we – ’

‘I suggest you flip a coin,’ said Charles, for logic could not take him everywhere.

Riker leaned toward the window by his desk in the squad room. News vans on the street below were double-parked at the curb. A few men with microphones assaulted the police entourage surrounding and concealing the wounded detective, whose head was covered by a white helmet of bandages. The rest of the reporters were looking up at the second-story windows, mouths open like dogs waiting to be fed. ‘Nothing like a good hungry mob to jack up the fear.’

When Officer Waller and his partner came through the door, they were supporting Ronald Deluthe on both sides. Nursemaids could not have been more tender than these large men slowly walking him across the squad room and watching his face with grave concern. The dividing wall between detectives and uniforms came down when one of New York’s Finest was wounded in the line of duty.

An angry rope burn circled Deluthe’s neck, exposed stitches ran down one cheek like a dueling scar, and the dislocated shoulder was covered with a sling supporting his left arm. Riker saw the dead-white face as a sure sign that the boy had not taken any recent medication to block the pain.

Had that been Mallory’s idea?

The wounded man’s honor guard was dismissed. Riker did not want the uniforms to see what would happen next. When the stairwell door had closed behind the departing officers, Mallory undipped a pair of handcuffs from her belt and manacled Deluthe’s good hand to the one that dangled from the sling.

Jack Coffey sat at the table beside the lockup cage. He had used a pencil to jam the sash of the only window, and now the small room was hot and airless as he entertained the East Side lieutenant with a story about the three Stellas’ reunion. ‘So this theatrical agent – real scary, like a nun gone psycho – she’s got Stella Small an acting job on a soap opera. But the mother and grandmother plan to take the girl home to Ohio.’

‘Good idea.’ Harvey Loman’s feet tapped the floor as his eyes strayed to a clock on the wall. He seemed mildly crazed by this tale that went on and on.

‘Well, the poor kid’s been through hell,’ said Coffey, pleased with the other man’s agitation. ‘And she’s knocked out with sedatives. So the agent leans over the hospital bed and smiles with real sharp little teeth. She says, „Up to you, baby doll. It’s a three-year contract with the hottest show on daytime TV.“ Now the agent acts real concerned. She says, „Oh, sorry, hon. Would you rather be buried alive in Iowa?“ Then Stella’s mother chimes in, „We live in Ohio.’„ So the agent says, „Yeah, yeah,“ like there’s a difference.’

‘Nice little story, Jack.’ Loman’s political smile was flagging. He took out a handkerchief to mop his brow and bald head. ‘Now what the hell am I doing here?’

‘We’re closing out an old case of yours. Nobody told you? It’s the Natalie Homer murder.’ Coffey could read surprise in the other man’s face, but nothing more.

‘That wasn’t my case, Jack. I was only a uniform in those days.’

‘I know. I invited Parris too. He’s on the way over.’

Loman winced with real pain, then mopped his bald head and brow with a handkerchief. ‘Alan Parris?’

‘Yeah,’ said Coffey. ‘Your old partner.’

The man you sold out for a shot at the golden shield.

Lieutenant Coffey rocked his chair on two legs, enjoying the moment, for he had always disliked this man. ‘So, how come you never mentioned that old hanging? When you dropped off the paperwork – ’

‘I never made the connection to the hooker’s case.’

‘Both women were hung by the neck and gagged with their own hair. How many connections did you need?’

‘The crimes scenes were nothing alike.’ Loman stood up and jangled car keys in his pants pocket. ‘I’m not gonna stick around for this, Jack.’

‘I’m not giving you a choice, Harvey. You’re on my list of material witnesses. So you stay till we wrap it.’ Jack Coffey was smiling as he rose from his chair, daring the man to push his luck in this precinct.

Still smiling, the commander of Special Crimes Unit stepped into the hall and locked the door behind him.

The squad room was quiet and dim. All but one of the overhead fluorescents had been killed, and only a few independent lamps were left on, though all the desks were empty. The only bright light was focused on Mallory and the rookie detective. Ronald Deluthe wore a bloody T-shirt. His jeans and baseball cap, ripped from the wall of the incident room, were free of stains.

Riker stood by the window and watched the crowded sidewalk below. He saw Charles Butler’s head above the crowd of normal-size human beings and that other species, the reporters.

Mallory was still instructing her star performer. ‘Keep your face down.’

Well, that should be easy enough. Riker doubted that the boy would have the strength to lift his head. ‘We should send you back to the hospital, kid.’

‘He wants to do this,’ said Mallory, speaking for Deluthe. ‘So he stays.’’

Riker was about to make another comment but let it slide for Deluthe’s sake. In the aftermath of killing the scarecrow, this was almost therapy, though that was not Mallory’s motive. She only wanted an authentically battered doppelganger.

‘One problem,’ said Riker. ‘Even if they don’t see his face, they’ll recognize the hair. You can see that bleach job through solid walls.’

‘I know.’ Mallory resolved the problem with a mascara wand. After a few deft strokes, the fringe of hair beneath the bandages was turned to brown. ‘Deluthe, you’ve got everybody’s attention now.’ She leaned down to his eye level. ‘So no more bleaching.’ And that was a direct order. ‘You’re not invisible anymore.’

Riker was startled. Empathy was not his partner’s forte. She should have been the last one to work out the puzzle of Deluthe’s bright yellow hair.

‘I don’t want to see any emotion at all,’ she said. ‘We’re clear on that?’

‘Yes,’ said Deluthe.

Mallory dabbed at his bleeding lip with a tissue, perhaps perceiving fresh blood as a sign of overacting. ‘When Janos brings you back to the squad room, I’ll ask a few questions. Don’t speak. Just nod.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘A lot hangs on that nod.’Jack Coffey crossed the squad room to join them. ‘We got nothin’ else, kid. No physical evidence.’

They could not even justify an arrest warrant. And since there was no need to mention that Deluthe had dispatched their only eyewitness with a baseball bat, the lieutenant led him down the hall in silence.

‘So you got your perp.’ Geldorf s voice came from the stairwell door, where he stood with Charles Butler. ‘Nice work!’

‘Hey, Lars.’ Riker returned the old man’s broad smile. ‘You know all your lines?’