Eric Norden - The Ultimate Solution

“It’s him, Bill,” he said, leaning across the desk towards me. “It’s gotta be him.”

“It sounds right,” I agreed. “But it still doesn’t put us all that closer. He hasn’t visited her for two weeks, and it might be another two weeks or two months before he shows up again. But it’s a start anyway, the first hard make we’ve had.”

“I’ll fill Pete in as soon as he gets up here.” Kohler ran a hand wearily through his tousled hair. “God, for the first time we’ve gotten close to the bastard. And if the Japs are stalking us, and know as much as we do, they’re liable to make their move pretty soon.”

That thought didn’t exactly fill me with joy, but at least we were dealing with something tangible.

“You know, Ed,” I said softly, “up till tonight I could never really believe the guy existed. I mean, I knew all the reasons he should exist, the mezzuzah, the skull in the park, the way the Japs are behaving, but I could never really believe in him. And now, thanks to that little girl, we’ve finally got a line on him, I can feel him now.”

“Yeah, all because he likes kids. Never even screwed her, hah?”

I shook my head and started to ask for a drink. But something stopped me, something away at the back of my mind. Something about kids.

“Ed, let me see that original precinct report on the robbery at Pickett’s place.”

He rummaged through some papers on his blotter and tossed the three foolscap pages across to me. I read it through once, then returned to the part about the skull in the park. Shit, there might be something there.

“Ed, when that woman returned the skull, the one her kids had dug up in the park, we only thought about the guy’s reasons for burying it, we were concerned with it only as an indication that he was a Jew. But there could be more to it. What if these kids didn’t just dig up that skull by accident? What if they saw it being buried and got curious? What if they were witnesses?”

Kohler squeezed his eyes shut.

“Good God, we never even talked to them.”

He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and headed toward the door.

“Take the report, it’s got the address.”

It was past six by the time we got to Washington Square but the sun was hot as ever and the humidity was hovering somewhere around the ninety degree mark. The Arnold Gellerts lived in a comfortable six-floor apartment building overlooking the park, and Mrs. Gellert was polite enough, if a bit baffled. “I’m sorry, officers, but my husband isn’t back from work yet.” She was a fairly attractive woman, in her late forties but with nice skin and the legs of a twenty-year-old.

“It’s about your children, Mrs. Gellert,” I said, and her calm expression told me they were right there in the flat. “Do you remember when they dug up that skull and you returned it to the antique shop?”

Understanding dawned on her face and, belatedly, she invited us into the airy living room. We all sat down and Kohler refused an offer of refreshments, though God knows I could have used a cold drink. Alcoholic, preferably.

“Yes, the proprietor, Mr. Stickett or something, told me it had been stolen. And to bury it like that, what a crazy thing to do. Tommy and Bob spend so much time in the park, it does worry me to think that characters like that are hanging out there. I tell them not to talk to strangers, but at that age it’s so difficult to do anything with them…”

“Do you know if your children ever actually saw or spoke to the man who buried this skull?” Kohler cut in.

A shadow of worry flickered across her face.

“Oh my no, at least I certainly hope not, I was just speaking generally. What happened, they brought this skull home one day, said they’d found it in the park, and when I saw the price tag I just assumed someone had lost it and I returned it to the store the next day, thinking the owner might return or they could trace it through a sales slip. But I never suspected it was stolen till Mr. Stickett told me, I just assumed the children had found it by accident, they dig a lot out there, burying their pets and that kind of thing…”

“Could we speak to your children, Mrs. Gellert?” Kohler asked quietly.

“Oh yes, yes of course, they’re at home, it’s too hot for them to play outside.”

She led us into another room decorated with model planets and poster blow-ups from the Torture Master series oh viddy. Two curly-haired kids in shorts were nailing a hamster to a sheet of plywood in one corner, the little animal writhing and mewling as the nails pierced the pink underside of its paws, and Mrs. Gellert marched over to them angrily.

“You boys promised me you’d keep this one for a week, they cost five dollars apiece and you are not going to have another this month.”

“Ahhh, Ma,” the younger boy whined, “it’s almost a week, we wanta have some fun.”

His older brother, around nine I’d say, dropped his hammer and scrambled to his feet.

“Yeah, Ma, and this one’ll stay alive another couple days anyway, we give him water so he keeps on making noises.”

“ If he’s around by Friday we may talk about it.” She turned to us with an embarrassed smile. “We can’t keep a cat around here for two days, you know what boys are. But it’s a healthy outlet for their aggressions, they say.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Kohler said. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Gellert, if we could speak to the boys…”

She looked flustered.

“Oh yes, I’m sorry. Tommy, Robert, these gentlemen are police officers, so you just cooperate and answer their questions now, or you know what’ll happen to you.” She backed out the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen, officers, just call me if you need me.”

The two boys regarded us without much awe.

“‘ You know what will happen to you! ’” The younger one laughed, a little high-pitched snarl that reminded me of von Leeb. “She must think we still believe in the bogeyman. What a dimmie.” The close-set little eyes regarded us directly for the first time. “What do you want to talk to us about?”

“Do you remember that skull in the park you found…”

“You see!” the older boy cut in, darting a triumphant look at his brother. “I told you there was more to that, I told you somebody would come around.” His voice grew a trifle more respectful. “How can we help you?”

Kohler smiled benignly on them.

“First of all, that was damned good police work, son. We may arrange a special citation for you.”

The older kid smirked, and his brother turned to the hamster in disgust and started to drive in another nail. It was surprising how much noise such a little animal could make.

“But,” Kohler continued meaningfully, “first we need some more information. Did you actually see the man who buried it?”

“Oh, sure,” the older kid said, and I could feel an electric thrill of tension along my spine. “He was an old guy with gray hair, we saw him around the park a lot. In fact, he buried the thing in a hole Bob and I dug for one of our hamsters. He had it under his coat and all of a sudden he shoved it in and covered it up with dirt. We were finishing the hamster off behind a tree, I guess he didn’t see us, there was nobody else around.”

“You say you saw him around a lot.” Kohler’s voice stayed even. “Did you ever talk to him?”

“Oh sure, he used to give us candy, those peppermint things, you know, in balls. He used to give all die kids candy. Probably wanted to take us behind the bushes and stuff chicken.”

“Did this man ever actually make any advances toward you?”

“Nah, he was an old creep, probably couldn’t even cut it no more.” One grimy finger tunnelled into his nostril and extracted a greenish glob of mucous which he contemplated briefly before wiping it off on his shirt. “He just wanted to talk a lot, dumb stuff, tell us stories, that kind of shit. A real weirdo. We just told him to fuck off, especially after he tried to give us a hard time.”