Peter Spiegelman - Red Cat

“I tried her Monday and got no answer. I tried again Tuesday and Wednesday. By then I was worried. On Thursday I went over. There was nobody there, but her place was wrecked, and I was freaked. I wasn’t there ten minutes when you knocked.”

“You didn’t call the cops,” I said.

“And you think I don’t fucking kick myself about it? But I don’t deal with the cops- and besides, I didn’t know then what the hell was happening. Maybe her place got robbed; maybe she’d already reported it.”

“She wouldn’t have mentioned it to you?”

“Holly kept a lot of shit to herself.”

“You see any signs of a break-in?”

Coyle’s brow creased and blood welled in his cut. He shook his head. “No.”

I nodded. “You call anybody? Her family maybe, or friends?”

“I don’t know the family; I don’t know any friends, either. She talked about her art dealer- Krug- a few times, but I never met him.”

“So what did you do after her place?”

Coyle’s face colored. “You freaked me out. I didn’t think you were a cop, but I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t know what the fuck you wantedI didn’t know what to do. So I came back here and called her some more. Then I went looking for that prick Werner.”

The coffee was done and I filled two cups without scalding myself. We had no choice but to take it black. “Why Werner?” I asked.

Coyle shrugged and it looked like it hurt. “Holly was talking about him three, four weeks before. She was pissed off about something, and she was gonna talk to him about whatever it was.”

“You didn’t ask?”

Coyle colored again and he looked at the floor. “You don’t…You didn’t know her. You couldn’t push her- she told what she wanted to tell, and otherwise she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t tell me what was up with her and Werner. But I didn’t trust that little fuck, and I was gonna find out.”

“What did you think was up?” He shook his head and kept quiet. “You spoke to her on Sunday, and you went to her place on Thursday,” I said. “Where were you in between?”

“Up here.”

“Doing what?”

“Working.”

“On what?”

Coyle scowled, and thought about it. “The usual shit. Monday and Tuesday, Kenny had me painting. Then there was a plumbing problem in the D unit- we were at that till like nine or ten Tuesday night. Wednesday was garbage day. You want me to go on?”

“You didn’t work at the club?”

“It’s closed Sundays and Mondays.”

“What about Tuesday and Wednesday?”

“I called in sick,” Coyle said.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what J.T. said.”

His scowl deepened. “So I blew it off. So what?”

“Why?”

Coyle looked at the ceiling. His chin quivered and so did his voice. “I thought Holly might be there and…I was pissed at her.” He swallowed. “Jesus Christ…I didn’t want to see her.”

I nodded. “What did you think was up with her and Werner?” I asked again.

“I didn’t think-”

“Did you think she was seeing him again?”

His face darkened and his big hand clenched around what was left of the ice pack; for a moment I thought we were going to go at it again, but he had no heart for it. “Fuck you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know what to think.”

I nodded, and thought about dates. If Holly had been talking about Werner three or four weeks before her death, that would’ve been in December. “Did Holly say anything about someone looking for her?” I asked. “Anything about a lawyer coming to see her?”

Coyle looked confused. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“When did you realize that Holly was…”

Coyle stared at his hands, at the soaked T-shirt and his coffee cup- at things I couldn’t see. He dropped his T-shirt on the floor. “I saw the paper. I saw the picture…her tattoo.”

“And after that?”

“After that I didn’t know what to do. I went back to looking for Werner. I don’t know why, or what I would’ve done if I found him, but I didn’t know what else to do. Then I ran into you again.

“After that, I went by her apartment a few times. I wanted to go in, but I didn’t. I just…looked at the building. Then I saw cops there, and split. I figured it was just a matter of time before they came around here, and I thought about taking off- but where am I supposed to go? The last few months, every plan I had had to do with her.” Coyle shook his head and sighed. “I should’ve known better. Jesus, has it been two weeks since I saw that picture? It seems like a hundred years, or yesterday.”

“What plans did you make?”

“We talked about maybe moving in together, and maybe getting out of the city. Holly liked Philly- she said space was cheap there. She had in mind making different kinds of films- documentaries, maybe- or writing more plays.”

Coyle made a fist and examined it. Then he rubbed it over his eyes. “We talked about kids too, if you can believe it. It surprised the hell out of me Holly wanted them, but she did. She said she might be ready soon, if that was all right by me. I said sure, why not.”

I thought about Holly’s pregnancy, and I looked at Coyle- hunched and staring a hole in the concrete floor- and didn’t ask. If he’d known about it, I was pretty sure he would’ve said; if he didn’t…it wasn’t in me to tell him. I drank some of my coffee. It was cold.

“Holly ever talk about the guys from her videos? She ever worry about anything coming back at her?”

He looked up. Life came into his dirty, wrung-out face. “You think that’s what happened? You think one of them-”

I shook my head. “It’s a question, that’s all. I want to know if she ever talked about any of them, if any of them scared her.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, she never talked about them, not to me, and I didn’t ask. If she worried, it was only about the ones she was gonna question. That’s why she asked me to back her up those times. But even those she didn’t worry much about. Not enough, as far as I was concerned. She was in charge, she would say. She was always in charge.”

Coyle went back to studying the floor, and I thought more about Holly and her work. “You told Holly that the story in her videos was always the same. You said that she agreed with you, and that she said the questions she wanted to answer were all the same too.” Coyle looked at me and nodded uncertainly. “What were they?” I asked.

“What was what?”

“The story she wanted to tell, the questions she wanted to answerwhat were they?”

He shook his head slowly. “The story was always about a married guy fucking around, and the questions were all about why- why he did it, why he’d screw over his wife and kids that way. It was always the same thing, always about her family.”

“That’s what happened to her family?”

“That’s what she said. Her dad was a real asshole, I guesscouldn’t keep it in his pants, and didn’t bother keeping it a secret from anyone, including her mom. The whole time they were growing up, he was fucking around- his secretary, neighbors, even some of Holly’s teachers. The mom and dad went at it pretty good, I guess, and all the time. Her mom never left him, though. After all the yelling and shit, she just took it and took it, right up until the time she got in the tub, ate a few bottles of pills, and opened her veins. Holly came home from school and found her. She was, like, fourteen.”

“Christ.”

Coyle nodded. “It’s fucked-up shit.”

“You never met the sister?”

He shook his head. “Holly never invited me when she went up there,” he said. “I asked a few times, but she said no.”

I squinted. “How often did she go?”