Robert Tanenbaum: Enemy within

"You mean like I tell you who gave me the stuff?"

Karp pretended to think this over. "Well, yes, sometimes that's possible. But in this case, we know very well who gave you the stuff. So we don't need you for that. Can you think of anything else?"

Paxton thought. He knew nickel-dime dealers he would be glad to sell, but he sensed that these would not lift the load for a major-quantity dope bust. It was unfair. He had never even had a taste of the stuff, he had been good as gold, had taken the warnings seriously, and now this. The guy was staring at him with those funny eyes. He remembered them from court, how he could hardly stand looking at them while he told the story of Des and that woman. Really, that was all he could think of, and he didn't think it would be enough. Despairingly he said, "I got that thing, that thing I was in court for?"

"Yes?" Karp exhibited the mildest interest.

"Yeah, what went down with Des and that Marshak. That wasn't exactly what happened."

"I see. And you would be willing to tell us what did happen?"

"Yeah, if I can get a little help off of this dope beef."

"Well, that's certainly possible, but first I'd have to hear your story."

Paxton nodded. Possible was a good word just now, a lot better than fifteen mandatory.

Karp made a gesture to the one-way glass, and a police technician walked in with a video camera on a tripod. A clerk came in and placed a typed paper on the table and left. Karp said, "Okay, Mr. Paxton, this document here reiterates your waiver of your rights and expresses your willingness to freely give a statement without legal counsel, and it also expresses your willingness to be videotaped doing it. If you'll just sign there at the bottom."

Paxton signed without reading. The camera whined into action. Paxton looked into the camera like a good American and told the truth. With very little prompting from Karp, he described how Des Ramsey had approached Sybil Marshak. He had been using a knife to cut twine, but he did not have it with him when he approached her. He had been polite. He had said, "Excuse me, lady. Do you have the right time?" And she had pulled out a gun and shot him, just like that. Paxton had run. He hadn't even checked to see how Ramsey was, he had grabbed up the knife and run. Then later, he'd seen the flyers about five grand for any information about the case, called the number, spoken with a guy named Peter Walsh, and told him the story, the truth, just how it happened, and mentioned what they were doing when the thing went down, and the knife business, which seemed to interest Walsh a lot. And then Walsh had taken him to see Mr. Solotoff, and he had shown Mr. Solotoff the knife, and Mr. Solotoff had said that he must have been mistaken, that his client had told him that Ramsey had come at her with a knife, and he had said, no, Ramsey just asked her the time. And Solotoff had said that wasn't a $5,000 story. The five-grand story was Ramsey had the knife. And Paxton had agreed to tell it that way. Ramsey was dead, it wouldn't hurt him any. And Solotoff had rehearsed Paxton, over and over, and Solotoff had told him he was connected, and if Paxton told anyone, he was going to get whacked. Paxton looked at the camera, and then at Karp, imploringly. "So… am I gonna get protection?"

"You won't need protection," said Karp. "He was bullshitting you."

Paxton looked doubtful for a second, and then he relaxed and tried on a smile. "I guess. He must've been bullshitting about you all, too."

"In what way?"

"He said the whole thing was wired with the DA. He said you all wanted it like that, on account of Marshak being such a big fucking deal, politics and shit."

Karp felt a peculiar chill at this statement, but kept his face blank and his voice neutral.

"Did he mention anyone specifically? In the DA's office?"

"All you all, he said. The DA, Keegan. And his main guy, what's his face?"

"You don't happen to recall his name, do you?"

"Feller? Or Puller, something like that. But his first name was Norton. I remember that because he had him on the phone while I was there to impress me or some shit. Norton this, Norton that, like they were buddies. He even showed me he had a tape recorder of them talking, make sure the guy didn't back away from it. He said it was a done deal. But it must've been a scam. I mean, like you say, the man's a bullshitter."

"Why do you think it was a scam?"

"Because he also said you was in on it, too. Matter of fact, he said it was all your idea."

Karp closed off the interview by having Paxton recount the various dates involved and was not surprised at how good he was at this. Scavengers, he knew, typically have a keen appreciation of calendrical time since their livelihood depends on knowing when different neighborhoods have trash picked up. Paxton would make an even better witness than he had as a perjurer.

Karp had the technician turn off the camera and leave. "Mr. Paxton, I want to thank you for being so forthcoming. I'm going to have your statement transcribed and have you sign it, and then we'll be done."

"What about me? What about my case?"

"Well, there's the matter of your perjury before the grand jury. That's a serious matter, and we're going to hang on to you until it's resolved. What we do about it will depend on your testifying truthfully when we reindict Ms. Marshak."

"No, I mean what about the dope? The fifteen years?"

"Oh, that. I think we can go easy on you there. I just want to say that I hope your baby recovers from its constipation."

Paxton goggled. "What the fuck you talking about, man? I ain't got no baby."

"You don't?" said Karp, miming vast wonder. "Then why did you have twenty-two pounds of baby laxative in your apartment?"

Karp called the DA's office and was connected immediately.

"We need to talk," said the DA.

"We do, but not today. I'm beat and I'm going home."

The DA didn't acknowledge this. "The press is going crazy. What the hell were you doing down in those tunnels? And whatever possessed you to take along your family and that priest?"

"It's a long story, Jack. There was an important witness hiding down there, and for a number of reasons I didn't want to involve regular channels."

"Regular channels? What the devil are you talking about? Why do you think we have a DA squad?"

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, I promise. But I can't even think straight right now."

"And why was Cooley down there? Jesus, Butch, if you're fucking with that case after I warned you off…"

"Jack, really, I'm practically falling off my feet. I'll see you in your office tomorrow."

"With good news, I hope."

"The best, Jack."

Karp was, in fact, falling off his feet, and hurting besides, but he did not go home. Instead, he went to Bellevue with Murrow in tow. After checking in on his daughter, he went to the locked ward, where he found a large, black detective sitting outside a room. This was Mack Jeffers, one of Clay Fulton's people from his days as a Harlem lieutenant. Clay had been true to his word. No one who shouldn't was going to get past Mack Jeffers. Karp exchanged a few words with the cop, and they went into the room.

Bellevue had washed John "Canman" Williams and trimmed off some of his hair. He had been battered by his struggle with Cooley, but he looked more like an undernourished professor than anything resembling the fire-faced demon of Rat Alley. Karp wondered whether the transformation was due to the hospital's cleanup or to something his daughter had accomplished. Canman was thirty-something, Karp estimated, although his skin had the thickened look common to those who lived rough. His eyes were blue, intelligent, wary, proud.

"How's Lucy?" were his first words when Karp entered, which Karp took as a good sign.