Lawrence Block - A Long Line of Dead Men

"I can't really-"

"- go into details, right. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get an idea what it is I should be trying to remember. You know, I just took it for granted it was a mugging, what I guess they'd call a crime of opportunity. I think one of the cops used that phrase, meaning the mugger was out there looking to score a few dollars from somebody, and Mr. Watson came along, good neighborhood, looked like he belonged there, suit and tie, obviously a professional man coming home from work, figure he'll have a good watch on his arm and some big bills in his wallet." He frowned. "But if somebody was setting out from the jump to murder Watson, how would he do it? Just stake out his house and wait for him to come home?"

"That's one way."

"Then you'd have somebody lurking in the neighborhood," he said. "I don't remember seeing anything like that, but I don't know if it's something I'd notice. Some sleazebag with dirty clothes and a scruffy beard skulking around in the shadows, well, yeah, part of my job was to spot people like that and either roust them myself or call nine-one-one and drop a dime on them. But the guy you're looking for wouldn't operate like that, would he?"

"Probably not."

"He'd probably be dressed decent," he said, "and he'd want to be able to keep an eye on Watson's house, or on the approach to it. And, come to think of it, he'd most likely be in a car, wouldn't he? You think mugger, you picture a guy on foot, but somebody looking to fake a mugging might have his own car, right?"

"It's very possible."

"Was there a car parked in the neighborhood? Now there were plenty of cars, so the real question is was there anybody sitting in a parked car, and the answer is I would never have noticed something like that. What's the guy look like, the guy you're after?"

"No idea."

"You don't have a suspect in mind, huh? Or a physical description?" I shook my head. "So if he had a car-"

"No idea of the make or model or plate number."

"What I figured, Matt."

"Or even if he had a car," I said. "See, if I knew who did it, I'd be coming at it from another angle entirely."

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

We talked a little about the nature of detection, about the ways I'd approached other cases in the past. He didn't have a police background but the time he'd spent doing guard work and street patrol had left him with an interest in the subject, and he asked good questions and caught on quickly. The conversation died down when the waiter came around to refill our cups, and when it resumed the topic shifted to AA and alcoholism and where Jim might decide to go from here.

"I don't know if I'm an alcoholic," he said earnestly. "I heard a lot tonight that was interesting, but there's plenty that happened to the speaker that never happened to me. I was never hospitalized, I was never in a detox or a rehab."

"On the other hand, he never lost a job because of his drinking."

"Yeah, and I did. No argument there."

"Look," I said, "who knows if it's for you or not? But you're between jobs right now, you were saying how you've got time on your hands, and it's cheaper to kill time in meetings than around the bars. The coffee's free and the conversations are more interesting. It's the same people, you know, in the meetings and in the ginmills. The only difference is the ones in the meetings are sober. That makes them more fun to be around, and a lot less likely to throw up on your shoes."

At the meeting we'd just attended, I'd bought a meeting book during the secretary's break, and I went through it now with him, pointing out some meetings in his neighborhood. He asked me which ones I went to, and I told him I went mostly in my neighborhood. "Every meeting has its own style," I said. "If you try different ones you'll find out which one suits you best."

"Like different bars."

I gave him my card, one of the minimalist ones with my name and phone number. "That's my office," I said, "but when I'm not there the calls get forwarded automatically to my home. If it's an emergency you can call me any hour, day or night. Otherwise it's not a good idea to call after midnight. If it's after midnight and you get antsy, you can always call Intergroup. The number's in the meeting book, and they've got volunteers taking calls around the clock."

"You mean just call up and talk to a stranger?"

"It's better than picking up a drink."

"Jesus," he said, "you've given me a lot to think about, you know that? I mean, I didn't see this coming."

"Neither did I."

"You called me, I figured what the hell, I'd meet you, drink a glass of beer or two, gab a little, maybe I'd get lucky and you'd spring for the beers. I didn't figure they'd be the last beers I'd ever have in my life." He laughed. "I'd known that, maybe I'd've ordered something imported."

It was well past midnight by the time I got home. Elaine's Girls' Night Out had evidently had an early ending; she was sleeping soundly, and didn't stir when I got in beside her. I was exhausted- it had been a long day- but the time I'd spent with Jim Shorter had energized me, leaving me tired but wired. My mind was all over the place, and I thought I was going to have to get up and read or watch television to unwind. I was bracing myself to do just that when sleep came along and took me by surprise.

Over breakfast I told her how I'd spent the evening. "I don't know if he'll ever get to another meeting," I said, "let alone get sober and stay sober. He says he didn't drink that much and it didn't screw him up that badly, and for all I know he's right. But I'll tell you, it did me good. They say there's nothing like working with a newcomer to reinvigorate your own commitment to the program."

"Did he have anything helpful on the murder in Forest Hills?"

"Nothing," I said. "He had a lot of questions and a couple of theories, but he didn't suggest anything I hadn't thought of myself. As far as Forest Hills is concerned, I think I'm going to have to go out there. What's the forecast? Is it going to rain?"

"Hot and humid."

"That'll be a change, won't it?"

"More of the same tomorrow. Possibility of rain on Monday."

"That won't do me any good," I said. "I was hoping it would rain today, or at least threaten to."

"Why?"

"So I could get out of traipsing out to Forest Hills. I ought to see Alan Watson's widow and I'm not looking forward to it."

"No, but you'll do it," she said. "And if it was raining you'd go out there in the rain, knowing you. It'd be the same trip, only you'd get wet. So you're lucky it's only hot and humid."

"I'm glad you pointed that out to me."

"So enjoy yourself with the widow. What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, of course not. Although I can't say I expect to enjoy it."

"Whatever, darling. Just so you're back here by eight this evening. We've got a date, remember?"

"You still want to go?"

"Uh-huh. We should get there by ten, and we'll want to have dinner first. Should I cook something for us or do you want to eat someplace downtown?"

I told her not to cook, that there was no end of nice restaurants within a five-minute walk of Marilyn's Chamber. "Although for fifty bucks a couple," I said, "you'd think the bastards could feed us."

"The body parts are just for show," she said. "It's considered bad form to eat them."

I went across the street to my hotel, collected my mail at the desk, went upstairs, and called the number I had for Alan Watson. It rang ten times, unanswered by human being or machine. I sorted my mail, threw out most of it, wrote checks for the rent and phone bill, checked the number with Queens Information to make sure I had it right, then dialed it again and listened to it ring another eight or ten times.