William Bayer - Blind Side

"Guess what, Geoffrey? You're annoying me."

"And you're,bugging me, Sal. So why don't the two of us cut the shit. '

"Tell me where you've been."

"I don't want to tell you."

"I know you've seen her." He gestured toward my reconstructed serial portraits of Kim.

"What makes you say that?"

"I smell it."

"Maybe your nose is off."

"Maybe it's not. Maybe I Smell her all over you. Maybe you've been eating out her snatch and the fumes are still coming off your face."

I gave him a severe look of disgust.

"I thought you were a classy guy."

"You thought wrong--I'm a cop." I hesitated. I knew I had to give him something.

"If I did decide to tell you anything, Sal, it would be that she doesn't know who killed Shadow."

"How about why Shadow was killed?"

"She doesn't know that either."

He went quiet, just stared at me. When he spoke again it was with confidence.

"We found that Mrs. Z you told us about."

That worried me, though I tried not to show it.

"What did she have to say?" I asked.

"You won't tell me nothin'. Why should I tell you?"

"Let's trade."

"I'm a cop. I don't have to trade."

"Suit yourself," I said.

"Now, if you don't mind I've got mail to answer here."

He groaned.

"You're acting like a real asshole."

"That's the story of my life."

"Don't be a sucker."

"What do you want?"

"Kimberly Yates. I want to talk to her."

"She won't talk to you. Anyway she's out of state."

"Which state? Okay, forget it. I won't ask you that. I'll ask this: last time we talked you were sure about one thing, that her building super didn't do it. Tell me why you were so sure?"

"Just a hunch."

"A hunch, huh? You know, you really are a jerk." He knew something-I could tell: he had an I-know-it look on his face.

"Everyone thinks we're stupid. Stupid cops Thick heads. Lugs. Who else would go into this kind of work? Got news for you, pal. A few of us are bright. Dave Ramos, for instance. He gets interested in something, he starts looking around, and when he does he's very methodical. Ever hear of VIA?"

"What's that?"

"Visual Investigative Aid. An approach to criminal investigation. A way to chart what you know and what you don't, useful when you have a complicated case. You chart this stuff, then you draw lines in between, and sooner or later you start to see connections. You see what you need to know to put the thing together. Knowing what you need to know-in police work that's half the battle. "

He smiled at me, and that made me nervous. He did know something, I was sure of it.

"Okay, you call me from the airport, that means you're going someplace. So Dave and me, we listen to the tape-yeah, we tape everything. We listen and figure out you're calling from La Guardia. So we check on what flights are going out of there around the time of your call, we get the passenger lists, and, lo and behold, we find your name on a flight to Miami." He smiled again.

"Shakes you up a little, doesn't it?"

"A little," I agreed.

"So we make some calls, check around Miami, hotels and stuff. And car rental companies. Don't want to forget those."

I didn't say anything.

"Seems there's this fella, Geoffrey Barnett, he's rented this nice little Toyota Corolla. Guy rents a car, guy returns a car. When he returns it to the airport we start checking on flights again. And guess what? We find his name, this time on a flight to Dallas with a connection to Albuquerque. So, using deduction, we're more or less sure the little honey pot's in either Florida or New Mexico. Maybe she's back here now. Not a bad suppose, since you're here and you follow the honey. Course, we can check with the airlines, run her name through their computers. Or you can tell me now and save me the time.

I knew Kim had used an assumed name on the plane, but still there was a moment there when I thought about telling Scotto the truth. We'd have to forget the blackmail, we wouldn't get rich, but maybe we'd see some justice. It might even feel good to go on to the law-andorder side.

But the thing had taken on a life of its own. Kim wanted the money, Frank needed it, and I'd brought him in. It would be hard to let them down.

There was something else too: my fascination with the game, which is the way I'd begun to think of it. A

three-cornered game, with three teams of players: Kim, Frank and me; Darling and Mrs. Z; and Ramos and Scotto. The object of the game was to outsmart the other two teams and carry home the loot. And the prospect of doing that, the anticipated high if we won, was, I was beginning to understand, as important as the actual winnings.

I think something had changed in me those last few weeks. I think I gave up my gloomy view. And the possibility that we might really force something out of those monsters had become a lot more exciting than any photograph I could visualize.

I was also, I discovered, as I talked to Sal, finding it easier to lie.

"Okay," I told him, "you're a good detective. I never thought you weren't. I'm going to tell you something now so you don't waste your time. Kimberly's not in New York. As for where I went, yes, I was in Florida and New Mexico, and the reason was to take pictures-which happens to be my profession. As for Shadow, you say you located Mrs. Z. In my opinion that's the place to look. I'll tell you another thing. There was a Swedish girl named Sonya who also worked for Mrs. Z, a friend of Kim's and Shadow's. I never met her, but I hear she disappeared and there're people who think she was killed by someone close to Mrs. Z."

Scotto had been writing in his notebook the entire time.

"That it?" he asked when I finished.

"One more thing, and I swear to you it's all I know. there're some fancy people who live in Soho, a painter named Duquayne and his rich-bitch wife. I think they know something. Before I left I tried to talk to them. they threw me out. Maybe you and Ramos'll have better luck. "

Scotto put down his notebook. Then he stood.

"Okay," he said, "you've told me a couple of things, maybe helpful, maybe not. I think you've been straight with me. If I ever find out you're not, I'm going to sic Dave onto you, Geof. And with Dave there's no mercy. None."

After he left I thought about his threat: he'd turn me over to Dave; Dave would have me designated a material witness. It didn't sound all that bad, More like passing the buck.

Meantime, I thought, I'd tied some good knots. Tomorrow Sal would pressure Mrs. Z, which, added to the pressure Kim was putting on her tonight, should propel her into a state of panic. And if the Du(juaynes could be made to panic too, then Darling would soon feel the force of our attack.

An hour after Sal left, I slipped out of my loft. At first I thought about leaving my lights on, in case his lookout was still around. But it occurred to me it would look more natural if I turned them off-it was getting late, time for the itinerant photographer to go to bed.

Once outside I strode swiftly toward Broadway, hailed a cab, and asked the driver to drop me at Forty-second and Eighth,

It was 1:30 in the morning, but it could just as easily have been noon-the action at that sleazy intersection was still that heavy and fast. The tang of pot, sweat and cheap perfume hung upon the air. There were throngs of tourists, camera-toting Japanese, assorted teenagers, beboppers and a man, dressed in a horned helmet like a Viking-, regaling the crowd on the subject of fleshly sin. Pimps, prostitutes and drug dealers cruised, and a mad shopping-bag lady, with bulging eyes, shouted a string of mindless obscenities to the wind.

As I walked toward Seventh I ran a gauntlet:

"Going out?" a girl asked.

"Date?" asked another.

"Smoke? Coke?"