Janwillem De Wetering - The Hollow-Eyed Angel

De Gier, after many years of practicing the art of criminal detection, had no trouble changing leads. He dropped Jo Termeer without effort.

"Charlie," de Gier said brightly. "Termeer's neighbor. Charlie is often in Central Park. The man is very visible. I have three reliable informants who describe subject as an older muscular type of male, who drags a leg. He allegedly looks kind and prosperous. Subject is suntanned. He works out near the Natural History Museum. He is often accompanied by a seeing-eye dog, a large female Alsatian.

"One informant tells me Kali was also seen with Bert Termeer."

"Aha," the commissaris said. "Termeer didn't have bad vision, did he? Does Charlie have bad vision?"

"We'll know tonight, sir."

"Tell me about your informants."

De Gier specified:

1) Antonio, a recovered alcoholic gay male nurse, an intelligent man living a disciplined life with a well-organized friend in a Horatio Street bed and breakfast, who visits Central Park regularly to sail his model boat. Antonio has often noticed Charlie. He also noticed the dog, Kali.

"Aha," the commissaris said. "I like recovering alcoholics. Antonio knows the pair by name? There is friendship?"

"No, sir, I put in the names."

"Antonio saw Charlie in the park on the day old Termeer died?"

"He thinks he may have."

"Ah," the commissaris said. "Ah. The good Antonio again. Didn't you say that Antonio knew Termeer too? Called him 'a prophet'?"

"Yessir, the two met. Termeer told Antonio 'to watch it.' There would be a philosophical implication."

"Please continue," the commissaris said. "Maybe have some coffee first? Let me pour it for you. Here you go. No sugar, a little milk. I'll stir it."

De Gier sipped gratefully, then continued.

2) The Central Park Precinct's efficient and intelligent-looking uniformed desk-sergeant knows both Charlie and Kali by name. He didn't see them on the day Bert Termeer died.

3) Mounted Policewoman Maggie McLaughlin, a levelheaded and intelligent person, knew both Charlie and Kali by name. She had told Charlie to keep the dog leashed, which he didn't. She was fairly sure she saw Charlie and Kali in the park on the day Termeer died.

"Now it's the other way around," the commissaris said. "We have opportunity, but do we have motive?"

The commissaris, in earlier, more positive and therefore more restricted times, used to say that "good luck comes to those who keep trying." He was lately heard to say that "good luck comes to those who are lucky."

Two events happened that afternoon. While the commissaris attended his lecture at One Police Plaza, where he viewed slides showing deadly weapons made from junk by handy criminals who, the burly captain lecturing said, "were out of cash but used these to get it," and while de Gier wandered about the magnificent display of Papuan art in the Metropolitan Museum, admiring wooden demons who sprouted other wooden demons out of the tops of their heads, Maggotmaid killer Trevor was shot dead in Central Park by Detective Tom Tierney.

Events that led up to Trevor's killing began when Detective Jerry Curran, dressed as a hobo, overheard Trevor talking into a public telephone. Trevor, when repeating the other party's information, used the words "Zabar's" "NYNEX" and "Alice" and the code figure/ letter combinations "IK," "2P" and "4P." Detective-Sergeant Hurrell cracked Trevor's code. He correctly surmised that Trevor was to meet his party at the bronze statue of Alice in Wonderland in Central Park at 2 P.M.

Both parties would be carrying shopping bags from the famous New York deli Zabar's. Each bag would contain a NYNEX phonebook. They would not greet each other but would sit down on the same bench. They would leave carrying each other's shopping bags.

If no police activity occurred, the parties would meet again at the Alice statue at 4 P.M. This time Trevor's bag would contain cash in the amount of the going wholesale price for one kilo of heroin and the other party's bag would contain the product.

When Hurrell and his two assistants attempted to arrest Trevor, who was carrying the heroin-filled shopping bag, Trevor pulled a pistol from under his jacket. Trevor's gun turned out to be unloaded.

Detective Tom Tierney's gun was loaded.

Sergeant Hurrell, later that same afternoon, walking contentedly through the park, noticed a derelict slumped on a bench. The man was wearing a dark brown tweed suit, complete with waistcoat, a quality shirt that had once been white, a plaid necktie, cream woolen stockings and leather boots that showed traces of polish.

The derelict, taken in by a patrol car summoned by Hurrell, admitted, at the Central Park Precinct, that he had robbed a body he'd stumbled upon. The man, drunk and stoned, couldn't remember when or where. "A while back." The derelict did say the body was dead "and bleeding."

Perhaps remembering that he had been on a higher level of existence once, he then rose laboriously, tried to strike an orator's pose and said "in theatrical tones," as Hurrell's report had it, that the body "had been urinating" and that he had found it "in the early morning hours."

Chief O'Neill, taking the commissaris home after the homemade firearms lecture, heard the news on his police radio. He stopped at the Central Park Precinct on the Eighty-fifth Street transverse and Hurrell showed him the confiscated clothes.

"No wallet?"

"No," Sergeant Hurrell said, "but check the trousers." O'Neill noted that there were bloodstains around the fly area. The chief instantly created a theory. "So Bert Termeer had been peeing, had he? Poor fucker fell down, felt the need, opened his fly, peed, had his heart attack, thrashed about, flung his head this way and that, then- dentures flying every which way-he dies."

O'Neill wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Next thing, a raccoon locates his dinner. Tears off what Termeer had exposed. Hurrell's bum finds the corpse, strips it of its clothes, puts them on. Leaves his own clothes and his dirty blanket. The raccoon comes back, brings his family. The commotion attracts the park's carrion birds. Hawks peck the head, raccoons eat the lower torso.

"Right, Yan?"

"Why not, Hugh?" The commissaris looked at the blood on the tweed trousers that Sergeant Hurrell was holding up for his inspection. "Oh yes, Hugh, that could easily have happened."

Hugh patted Hurrell's shoulder. He smiled. "I think our case is definitely closed now. Nice work, Earl."

The bellhop Ignacio, after he saw de Gier coming in to pick up the commissaris and observed the two men checking de Gier's map to find the location of Watts Street, Tribeca, insisted that they make use of the Cavendish's free limousine service.

The limo, exceedingly long and cumbersome even for that class of vehicle, got stuck in Canal Street traffic. The commissaris told the driver not to worry. He and de Gier could walk the short distance. After they got out traffic loosened up somewhat and the limo disappeared, taking with it de Gier's map, which the commissaris had left on the back seat.

"Watts Street," the commissaris said. "Should be easy. Lots of people about. They'll all know it."

De Gier, still focused on the Papuan ghost masks and soul boats that he had been looking at all afternoon, walked along dreamily.

Since they were now at Canal Street's eastern end, they would need, the commissaris explained, to walk all the way west, from the East River to the Hudson, and then, on Watts, they'd go south, aiming for the towers of the World Trade Center that no one could miss.

"Watts Street, Tribeca," the commissaris said, "short for Triangle Below Canal."

"Okay," de Gier said.

"Charles Gilbert Perrin," the commissaris read from his notebook.