Hyde

1

Tuesday, January 30, 8:00 P.M.

New York City

Benny was a bully and was happiest when Kerri committed some transgression that permitted him to give her another disciplinary session. So Benny was very happy this day. Kerri had given him some sunshine in the middle of the coldest spell in New York memory. Once again she had broken his rules and now she had to be punished.

One look at her told Benny that she knew she had done wrong. Trouble was, she didn’t look scared enough. Over the past year Benny had begun to suspect that Kerri might actually enjoy discipline, and that disturbed him. It took a lot of his fun away. But rules were rules, and whether she enjoyed it or not she still had to get hers.

He started with the blanket, her only source of comfort and her primary protection against the bitterly cold north wind blowing down Third Avenue. Kerri was sitting on their mattress spread on the ground, wrapped in her blanket, just staring at him with that mournful gaze while she shivered, waiting.

Give me the blanket, he ordered. Stupid people got to be cold.

Kerri didn’t move except to gather the blanket closer around her shoulders.

Benny was surprised. He had come to expect immediate compliance to his orders. Good thing this happened, he thought. Bitch needs a tune-up. He took a step toward her and was gratified when he heard her whine.

Benny, please. Not the blanket. I’m too cold already. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.

Kerri’s pleas were music to Benny’s ears. He stood over her and savored the moment as she closed her eyes and cringed, waiting and braced for the blow.

This is one pitiful white woman I got me involved with, Benny thought. Sitting there with her eyes closed. I can do whatever I want. Stupid. Then he bent over and grabbed the two handles stitched into the sides of the mattress and pulled up with all his might. Kerri rolled over backwards and wound up on her back on the pavement, with her head resting just inside the doorway of the closed print shop. She was still clutching her blanket, her eyes still tightly closed, unmoving.

Benny looked at her contemptuously while he stood over her, holding the mattress by the handles. What to do next? He took a look around him. The street was full of people, but everybody was walking fast, with someplace else to go and something else to do. Nobody cared what the homeless were doing.

Benny wasn’t surprised. He had been through this before. He reached a decision. Time to throw a real scare into her. He placed the mattress on top of the hospital laundry cart that held all their worldly possessions and rolled the cart in front of Kerri so that she was invisible to anyone walking by. She lay in the stall he had created like a young calf waiting to be slaughtered. Placing his foot on her gut, he pressed hard, hard enough to force all the air from her lungs and stomach, but she kept her eyes screwed shut.

Ain’t no fun like this, Benny thought, so he reached down, took hold of the blanket, and growled, I’m leaving and I’m taking what’s mine.

Kerri’s eyes popped open. No more blank stare. Only terror. She let go of the blanket and Benny pulled it away. She watched him fold up the blanket and place it under the mattress in their laundry cart. Then he picked up the rest of their things and neatly placed them in the laundry cart, each in its accustomed place. Satisfied with his work, he turned back to Kerri. She was still staring at him, terror-stricken.

Benny liked the way she looked. But maybe I can make it better, he thought. Let’s see. I’m going over to the Citibank. Come get your shit later once I get unpacked.

It worked well. Kerri rolled onto her stomach and crawled over to him until she was lying at his feet like a dog. She put her hands over her head and dug her chin into the sidewalk. Beat me, Benny. But don’t leave me. I’ll die out here without you. I can’t do this by myself.

Then why you always breakin’ the rules? Benny asked in a low, threatening voice. Why can’t you learn to live right out here? His voice was rising. Why can’t you listen and show me some respect?

Like a parent scolding a child, he waited for an answer but got none. Kerri’s silence enraged him. Why do I got to be stuck with the dumbest bitch on the planet? he yelled as he gave her the first kick. It was short and sharp and caught her in the side of the ribs, but Kerri didn’t seem to notice. She had known it was coming and she was ready for it. Not now, Benny, she wailed. You gonna have a crowd.

Her reasoning stopped him. She’s right, he thought. No reason to do this now. Who needs a crowd? Later is better, when the streets are clear.

Benny brought his anger under control and looked around him. None of the people walking by showed any interest in him or her. Not used to the cold like he was, they were bundled into their gloves, overcoats, and scarves as they passed with heads down against the wind, paying no attention to the two souls who sometimes lived in front of the recessed print shop, partially protected from the elements by the ten-foot overhang of the apartment building over the shop.

But someone was watching, and had been watching them for days. The thin, bearded man was sitting at a table next to the window in the Japanese restaurant across the street, oblivious to the other customers. He picked at his second order of sushi and stared out at the street, apparently lost in thought. He didn’t hear the waitress approach his table, which made her uncomfortable as she stood there, waiting to be acknowledged. She followed his gaze and saw nothing of interest outside as she wondered what had recently made this strange and silent man into such a regular customer.

She reached no conclusion. At one time or another during the past week he had tried everything on the menu and, although he ate slowly, it appeared to her he ate without pleasure.

At first she had thought that he was trying to gain weight. The clothes he wore looked like they belonged to someone a size larger than he was, and she speculated that maybe he was trying to fit into clothes someone else had given him. After all, she thought, they are nice clothes.

She waited as long as she politely could while he continued staring out the window, but he didn’t notice her presence so she picked up his small bottle of sake from the table and shook it.

Her move startled him and he turned to her quickly.

More sake? she asked, smiling as she looked down to his empty cup.

Yes, please. That would be fine.

She poured the remainder of the bottle and stood waiting for his next request.

Check, please.

She smiled politely at him, then shuffled to the cash register and watched him while the cashier computed the bill. The customer picked up his last piece of sushi with his chopsticks and placed it in his mouth. He was staring out the window as he chewed, watching a bum push his laundry cart down East 30th Street. A sloppy woman was following abjectly, five steps behind. The waitress lost interest and looked away, but the customer didn’t. He knew Benny and Kerri’s routine well and knew where they were going.

He chewed slowly, pleasantly surprised that he could actually taste his food. He washed it down with the last of his sake, savoring every sip.

Once again, he had murder on his mind.

2

Wednesday, January 31

Midtown Manhattan

It was even colder the next morning when Detective First Grade Brian McKenna got out of the taxi in front of the 17th Precinct on East 51st Street, but the cold didn’t bother him. Looking out of place with his deep tan, he was bundled in his overcoat, scarf, and gloves, ready for the weather. After a frustrating year of working in police headquarters, followed by a month on vacation, he was also ready for his new assignment in the 17th Detective Squad.

The headquarters people had thought he was out of his mind when he’d opted to give up his large office with a view and his fancy title of assistant commissioner in order to be a detective again, but for McKenna it was the only way. He had found that pretending to work was harder than actually working. He would be happy never to hear another word about management surveys, cost analysis studies, integrity review boards, supervisory ratio formulas, administrative rule reviews, and promotional screening standards. In the entire year he had stopped no crimes, solved no cases, and made no arrests; those tasks simply weren’t done by an assistant commissioner, he had been told many times. It got so that sometimes he forgot his gun at home and his handcuffs were always on his desk holding down a pile of reports he somehow never found the time or the interest to read.

The worst part of it was that nobody in headquarters noticed what he did. They complimented him at every turn and thought he was performing splendidly, just like they were. They could have been, for all McKenna knew. He had no idea what they were supposed to be doing, but was sure it had nothing to do with police work. To keep his self-respect, McKenna knew he either had to quit or get his hands dirty being a cop again.

But not too dirty, at first. He knew he was rusty, so he had chosen the 17th Squad. He figured it would be a slow start because the 17th Precinct was a far cry from some of the war zones he had worked in over the years. It covered the East Side of Midtown Manhattan, encompassing some of the most expensive real estate on earth and most of the Fortune 500 companies, the United Nations, the best hotels, and the trendiest restaurants in the most expensive city in the United States.

As far as McKenna was concerned, there was only one minor drawback in starting out in the 17th Detective Squad: Everything that happened in the precinct was deemed important and invariably made the papers, so that a purse-snatch on Fifth Avenue in Midtown was a page-two event while a triple homicide on Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn would get a paragraph on page thirty-six, if it was covered at all. Press coverage aside, McKenna figured he would start with the mundane stuff like burglaries and car break-ins. There were enough stars in a squad like the 17th to handle anything heavy that came along, so he could take his time while he relearned the ropes.

Just then, another reason McKenna had chosen the 17th Squad got out of a cab in front of him, impervious to the cold with her overcoat over her arm. Detective First Grade Maureen Kaplowitz was primly dressed in a business suit, as always, was smiling, as always, and looked to be in good physical condition for a woman in her midforties, which was one of those matters of speculation in the detective bureau that had taken on a life of its own. Only McKenna and Police Commissioner Ray Brunette knew she was actually fifty-nine, though neither of them would ever admit to the knowledge. Maureen had been in the detective bureau for nineteen years, and she had learned all the tricks of the trade. A master at paperwork with an uncanny memory for names and faces, she was one of the few detectives who actually had accomplished that feat of police work they all lied and claimed they had accomplished: More than once she had arrested a bad guy on the street because she recognized his face from a wanted poster.

But Maureen’s greatest asset in any investigation was that she always seemed to know what everyone around her was thinking, a skill that made her the perfect interrogator. Because she looked prim and proper and was so nice, suspects just had a hard time lying to her, and when they tried to pull it off, she always knew. In those cases she would put that hurt look on her face and say something like, Young man, you don’t really expect me to believe that…. Then the suspect would realize how silly he was being and either yell for his lawyer or give it up. It’s like trying to lie to your kindergarten teacher. It can’t be done, one prisoner had complained after confessing to Maureen that he had killed his girlfriend.

Maureen made it to the station house door before she turned around and saw McKenna. At once, she bounded across the street like a schoolgirl and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him like he was her long-lost son. Then she held him at arm’s length while he stood for inspection. You look adorable with that tan, she said. Florida?

Yep. A whole month.

Good for you. Been working out, I see.

Whenever I can, McKenna said, knowing what was coming next, but hoping she wouldn’t.

She did, anyway, grabbing his chin with one hand and tousling his hair with the other. Still got enough on top, but it’s getting a little gray on the sides, she observed.

Maureen, I don’t care what color it is, as long as it’s there.

Nonsense. No need to look old when you don’t have to. You should dye it.

Dye it?

Everybody does here. This is Midtown, she explained to him as if he just got off the boat. She let him go and said, Now do me, and be honest.

McKenna made a show of looking her up and down before his verdict. Perfect. Getting younger every day.

And she heard that every day. Okay, don’t be honest, she said as she grabbed his hand. Come on. Thomas must be waiting for you.

Thomas?

She looked pityingly at him, then remembered that the slow children needed special attention. You know. Lieutenant Ward. He’s a nervous wreck. Got everything spick-and-span yesterday.

McKenna made the attempt to pull himself out of remedial kindergarten, remembering that there was no rank in Maureen’s life. The squad commander was Thomas just like the police commissioner was Ray. They were her boys, and she had helped to put many of them into the best positions. Why’s he nervous? he asked.

Because you’re an assistant commissioner. He’s very impressed with titles.

"Was an assistant commissioner. Now I’m just another detective working for him."

You’ll know he believes that when he sends you out to get him a sandwich, she said, pulling him across the street and into the station house.

A young cop was sitting at the reception desk, reading the paper. He glanced up at Maureen and McKenna before returning to his sports. Then he looked up again and did a double take as his eyes went wide. He popped up straight and yelled Attention! so loud that McKenna came to attention himself. Everything stopped in the large room, with every cop standing straight with eyes front. Everybody, that is, but the two astonished prisoners being booked at the desk. But eventually even they got into the act and began earning their time off for good behavior, snapping to attention in their own way.

Good God! was all McKenna could think. He felt warm and knew he was blushing when Maureen started giggling. He didn’t know what to say, but she did. Everybody, this is Brian. He’s a friend of mine and he’s going to be working here, she announced.

The desk lieutenant was the first one to relax and the others quickly followed his lead. McKenna read the room. A friend of Maureen’s? So he’s not a problem?

The lieutenant hurried from around the desk and offered his hand. Sorry, Commissioner. Nobody told us you were coming.

McKenna self-consciously shook his hand. It’s just detective now, Lieutenant. We don’t all have to go through this every time I come in or go out.

Detective?

Yeah. Detective. I’m coming back to work, McKenna explained, but saw he wasn’t getting through.

Why? the lieutenant asked.

It’s a long story, seemed to be the best explanation for the moment.

But what do I call you?

Brian if you like me, McKenna if you don’t.

Oh! Okay, Commissioner. I’ll be right here if you need anything. Name’s Lieutenant Leavey, but you can call me Jay.

This is gonna be harder than I thought, McKenna told himself, glad that Maureen was dragging him toward the stairs. Still, he felt the need to say something. Okay, Jay. I’ll be upstairs if you need me for anything.

Welcome aboard, Commissioner, he heard as the stairwell door closed.

In the squad office on the second floor things were different, but not much better. They obviously knew he was coming, which led McKenna to conclude that detectives aren’t necessarily smarter than their uniformed brethren, just better informed. Three detectives were pecking away at the typewriters on their neatly arranged desks in their immaculate office, each one pretending he was so busy that he didn’t notice the new arrival. All their shirts were whitest white, all top buttons buttoned, and all ties snug at the neck.

McKenna had never seen anything like it, especially at ten to eight in the morning. All hands present and accounted for, busy as beavers ten minutes before their tour of duty officially began. Although he had memorized the roster, he couldn’t fit the faces with the names.

Don’t mind them. They think this is a trick, Maureen said to him, then shouted, Everybody, let’s not forget our manners! This is my friend Brian McKenna.

McKenna smiled like the new kid in class and looked from one to another, but nobody said a word. He focused on the detective he perceived to be the senior man and searched his mind for a name. It came to him: oldest one here, has to be Detective Second Grade Billy Mercurio, twenty-one years on the job, a real star. McKenna walked over and held out his hand. Billy Mercurio, right?

Mercurio responded with suspicion as he shook. Brian, right?

All the time.

What’s this all about?

Simple. Ever notice how every time you go to headquarters, you get a feeling like you have to pee?

Yeah?

Well, I just spent a year there and I’m all pissed out. I’ve had enough of the clown show.

Apparently that made sense to everyone. The ice was broken and the introductions commenced. Steve Birnstill, a well-built and well-dressed detective said. I don’t know how you stood it for so long with them slimeballs.

Kenny Bender. This one looked like he jumped into the office straight from the front panel of a box of Wheaties. Welcome aboard, but I have to tell you, you must’ve been out of your mind to spend a year with them low-life, do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do, hypocritical, back-stabbing, make-work phony fucks.

McKenna was glad to hear that the relationship between headquarters and the field was still intact and exactly as he remembered it. It was apparent to him that detectives were still expected to be profanity proficient, and he had grown a little rusty hobnobbing with all those whatever-they-call-them types in headquarters.

The lieutenant’s been waiting for you, Mercurio said. He asked me to tell you to go in whenever you’re ready.

Then I guess I’m ready. McKenna went to the squad commander’s office and knocked on the door, feeling very much like a kid caught smoking in the boys’ room summoned to see the principal.

Come in, please, Ward’s voice immediately sounded from the other side.

Ward was one of those tall, thin men who always managed to look meticulously correct while having more fun than anyone else. His posture was formal, his jacket was buttoned, his tie up, and both of his hands rested in front of him on his desk as McKenna entered.

It was to be a real job interview, McKenna surmised, and he knew if Ward didn’t want him, then he wouldn’t be staying. Been a long time, Brian, Ward said, pointing to the chair opposite his desk.

McKenna took it. Yeah, Lieutenant, a long time, and I guess you’ve got some questions.

Lots of them. I assume you sent yourself here?

Yeah, my last act as a big shot.

Had enough of the headquarters crowd?

I got really comfortable there until one day it occurred to me that I couldn’t stand the place.

I figured that would happen to you sooner or later, but you’re not making a real common move. It’s a big cut in pay, isn’t it?

More pay, more taxes. As a first-grader, I’m doing okay. Lieutenant’s pay without the headaches. Besides, I wasn’t earning what they were giving me.

Then came the big question. You and the commissioner still tight? Ward asked.

Best of friends, but that doesn’t mean anything here. I’m no spy and Ray wouldn’t ask me a thing about what was going on around here. He put you in that chair, so he’d ask you.

McKenna could see that his answer sat well with Ward, but he wasn’t in yet. Why’d you choose a precinct squad? he asked. Why not something more glamorous like the Major Case Squad?

Their office is in headquarters and I wanted out.

Why not a homicide squad?

I’m sick of bodies.

Robbery Squad?

I’ll leave that to the young breed. I’ve had enough shooting in my life for a while.

You’ve toned down a bit, I see. Good. Makes me happy to know I’m not gonna be spending half my time documenting McKenna adventures.

Not for a while, I promise you that. Not till I’m sure I know what I’m doing again.

Ward took it in stride. Fair enough, he said. Last question. Why this particular squad?

You and Maureen, mainly. Besides, it’s Midtown, it’s close to home, and it’s a good place to ease back in.

So you’re here to stay a while?

If you want me, McKenna said.

Ward liked McKenna’s answer. He loosened his tie and extended his hand across his desk. Welcome aboard, Brian, he said. It’s good to have you.

Thanks, McKenna said, shaking Ward’s hand before he loosened his own tie.

You know, when I heard you were coming it made me a little nervous, Ward admitted, waving his hand at that foolish concern when McKenna gave him his best hurt look. Then the phone on Ward’s desk rang. Calls before eight o’clock are never good news, he observed as he picked up the receiver.

It was a short call, with Ward mostly listening while leaning back in his chair. McKenna surmised from the conversation that it was the precinct commander calling with a problem. I’ve got just the man for the job, Captain, Ward said before he hung up, and McKenna knew he was in trouble.

You still one of the press’s glamour boys? Ward asked with a sardonic smile.

I guess so. I haven’t stepped on their toes recently and a few of them owe me dinners.

Good, because I’m gonna put you right to work. The precinct CO’s pulling his hair out and dodging the press. Another one of our homeless citizens froze to death last night at Thirty-first and Second.

Another one?

Second one for him this week, so the captain’s in real trouble since Plan B is in effect. He’s not a bad guy, so take Maureen with you and do what you can for him.

3

No one knows for sure how many there really are, but the estimates of the number of homeless people living on the streets of the City of New York range from 10,000 to 100,000. Whatever figure one chooses to believe, a walk around Midtown will convince anyone that the problem is enormous. There are panhandlers everywhere, and at night the homeless sleep on the street in the cardboard beds they fashion for themselves. There are so many of them that it would be easy to draw the conclusion that nothing is being done to help the downtrodden.

That would be a mistake. Available to each homeless adult is a monthly stipend of $382.00 from the Department of Social Services, in addition to food stamps and free medical care provided at the city hospitals. The problem is that $382.00 buys little in the way of housing in New York City. So, at great expense, the taxpayers of the most generous city in the world are paying for a network of shelters to house and feed the homeless street people and protect them from the elements.

The problem is that the shelters are not really a place to live, just a place to spend the night. Most provide beds in a warehouse-type setting and evict their guests at eight every morning. Still, it’s a warm, dry place to spend the night, which would indicate to the uninitiated that the homeless shouldn’t be sleeping on the streets.

Most of them wouldn’t, if it weren’t for the crime. Ludicrous as it seems, the shelters are infested with criminals, also homeless. Since the homeless have all their worldly possessions with them in one place while they sleep as guests of the city, they are frequently preyed upon by their fellow indigents and awake to find themselves owning even less than they started with before their stay. So the weak and the infirm, those people the system was designed to protect from the ravages of nature, avoid staying in the city shelters whenever possible. Some refuse to go no matter what the weather outside. But not all of them; the worse the weather, the more crowded the shelters become.

The city administration is aware of the problem, of course, and has hired a number of private security agencies to provide guard services at the shelters, and they do something to improve the situation. But the city hires these guard agencies on a lowest-bid contract format, so the guards working the shelters are low paid, poorly trained, and they haven’t gained a reputation for fairness or efficiency. When the weather gets cold and the shelters get crowded, they are overwhelmed by the job.

But homeless people freezing to death on the streets of the most generous city in the country makes for very bad publicity, so the mayor placed the problem in the hands of the police department. Cold Weather Emergency Plan B is the response developed by police administrators.

According to the plan, whenever the wind-chill factor falls below ten degrees Fahrenheit, the police are charged with searching for the homeless and directing them to the shelters, and even bringing them and their belongings there, if requested to do so.

On paper, the plan works when the patrol officer finds a homeless person who agrees to go to one of the shelters. The problem arises when the subject doesn’t want to go because in the United States, if a person hasn’t committed a crime, then the police have no constitutional authority to force that person to stay anywhere against his or her will. So police administrators in New York City have devised a line of reasoning under the Mental Health Law that disregards the conditions in the shelters. To convince those reluctant to check into the shelters, the police tell themselves that if someone won’t come in from the cold, then he or she must be crazy. They then cart this person to one of the city hospitals to consult a psychiatrist who will, presumably, concur with the street opinion rendered by the officer and order that the homeless person be locked in a warm place for the night. Sometimes Plan B works as intended and a few lives are saved.

But not always. The problem is that homeless people might be cold and might be crazy, but frequently they aren’t stupid. As the temperature drops, the more streetwise among them have learned to avoid the police. If one fails and finds himself talking to a cop, he will say something like, Good to see you, Officer, and thanks for stopping by. Unfortunately, I can’t stay to chat because I’m on my way to the shelter. He then makes a show of pushing his belongings in the direction of the nearest shelter until the satisfied officer leaves.

But he’s not really going to the shelter and, in spite of Plan B, a number of homeless people freeze to death every year. When that happens, unfavorable publicity for the city is generated, heads must roll, and the chiefs know exactly what to do.

According to departmental reasoning and tradition, anything that goes wrong in a precinct is ultimately the fault of the precinct commanding officer, so the chiefs vent their wrath on this unfortunate, reacting as if they found the body in the captain’s freezer at home. They mark him as unworthy for further advancement and end his career by banishing him to the large police prison the department calls Patrol Borough Brooklyn North.

The two luxury high-rise apartment buildings comprising the Kips Bay Towers apartment complex seemed almost out of place in Manhattan, very pleasant and more suburban than urban in character. Separated by a large private park, one building looked onto East 33rd Street between First and Second Avenues and the other faced East 30th Street. On the Second Avenue side of the complex was a row of small stores, a supermarket, a movie theater, and a Citibank branch, all set back from the street behind a row of trees and bushes. This commercial strip was elevated four feet above street level, so that shoppers from outside the Kips Bay Towers complex must climb a short staircase to get to the stores.

Two radio cars, an ambulance, and a press van were already parked at the curb on Second Avenue at East 31st Street when McKenna and Maureen arrived. McKenna parked behind them and they got out of their car, McKenna marveling at Maureen’s total disregard of the cold wind whipping down Second Avenue. He hunched his shoulders inside his overcoat while she took a minute to remove a few imaginary specks of dust from her skirt. Looking around, the two detectives saw no sign of the uniformed cops.

They’ll be over here, Maureen said, and McKenna followed her up the stairs leading to the row of stores set back from the street.

Maureen was right. The uniformed sergeant, two young cops, and the ambulance crew were gathered around a body on the ground outside the Citibank branch. As McKenna and Maureen approached, one of the cops removed a blanket from a laundry cart parked next to the bank entrance and spread it over the body. A small group of well-dressed people stood to the side watching while the news crew filmed Heidi Lane, a pretty, blond Fox Five News TV reporter in her late twenties. She was talking into a microphone, with the laundry cart, the body, and the cops in the background.

Heidi saw McKenna and she pointed at him. The cameraman switched his focus to him as Maureen left her partner’s side and walked to the group of cops. The camera stayed on McKenna as he stopped next to Heidi.

Standing with me is Assistant Commissioner McKenna, Heidi said into her microphone before turning and placing it in front of McKenna’s face. Would you care to make a statement on this tragedy, Commissioner?

McKenna didn’t. He turned his back to the camera and stood between Heidi and her news crew. I just got here, Heidi, and it’s Detective McKenna now, he said, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. If you turn your equipment off and give me a chance to look around, maybe I’ll be able to give you a statement later.

McKenna’s attitude caught Heidi by surprise. She glared back at him for a moment before giving him a contrite smile. Sorry, Brian. I get carried away sometimes, she said, lowering her microphone. She waved to her cameraman, who lowered his camera from his shoulder and shut it off. Satisfied? she asked.

Yeah, thanks. You know, I just came over to say hello, not to make a fool of myself on the evening news.

Then hello it is, she said, giving McKenna her hand. I heard about this detective stuff, but didn’t know if it was true.

McKenna gave her hand a businesslike shake, surprised at how warm Heidi could look with such a frozen hand. Over Heidi’s shoulder, he saw Maureen giving him an amused smile. It’s true, he said, feeling a little self-conscious as he let go. I’m back in the trenches.

Why? Did you have some problem in headquarters?

No, I just like this job better.

It took Heidi a moment to digest the information. Might be a good human-interest angle in there somewhere, she speculated. You gonna give me a story on it?

No. Let’s just stick to this one. How are you playing it?

You know. Tragedy, poor unfortunate homeless person, large uncaring city. We’ll do some background on him once you tell us who he is, but I’d like to wrap it up quick. There’s some crews from the other stations on the way.

Then let’s make a deal. You’re here first, so just give me a little time and I’ll give you the statement.

Heidi smiled. An exclusive?

Not exactly, but you’re the only one I’ll go on camera for.

That’s a deal. We’ll wait in our van ’til you’re ready. See you later.

Heidi turned and walked down the stairs, followed by her news crew. Maureen was talking to the uniformed sergeant, an old-timer in his fifties, when McKenna joined them. The two cops and the ambulance attendants were chatting quietly, trying not to notice McKenna as the sergeant gave him a crisp salute.

The salute surprised McKenna and left him no choice but to return it. I’m just a detective, Sarge, he said. I’m supposed to salute you, not the other way around.

Got it, the sergeant said, entirely unconvinced. You want to take a look at him? he asked.

McKenna nodded. The sergeant bent down and grabbed the blanket, pulling it off so McKenna could inspect the body on the ground.

The dead man was black and in his forties. He looked content and perfectly at ease with death, stretched out on a large piece of cardboard spread on the sidewalk in front of the door to the bank, with his arms extended and his eyes closed. He had been dressed for the cold, wearing a hooded polyester jacket with a scarf wrapped around his face and gloves on his hands. All of his clothes were old and dirty.

Got the call at 7:35, the sergeant said. Anonymous male caller to 911 stated there was a body on the sidewalk here. Sector Charlie responded and found him here. Pronounced dead at 7:45 by Ambulance Attendant Chavez.

Any ID on him? McKenna asked.

We were waiting for you before we did the search.

His name’s Benny Foster, Maureen said, surprising everyone. Date of birth September 9th, 1947. Been living on the streets as long as I can remember. He’s a mean, rotten snake. His body’s frozen, but his soul is burning in Hell.

How do you know all this? McKenna asked.

Because I locked him up last year for beating up that poor little thing, Maureen said, pointing inside the bank.

Then McKenna and everyone else saw Kerri for the first time. She was in the bank in the front section where the ATM machines were located. She was easy to miss because she huddled under the counter where the deposit slips were, sitting on a blanket on the floor and hiding behind two plastic trash cans she had placed in front of her.

McKenna guessed that Kerri was around thirty. She had a red round face, stringy blond hair, and a potbelly that looked out of place on her thin body. But it was her eyes that got McKenna. Scared and doleful, her face was bruised and she peered at him through eyes that were almost swollen shut. He could see that she was shaking. Looks like he threw her another beating last night, he observed.

I’m not surprised, Maureen said, turning back to Benny’s body. She’ll keep in there until we’re done out here. Let’s hurry and get this piece of garbage off the street.

Mildly surprised by the vehemence in Maureen’s voice, McKenna turned and looked back toward the sidewalk. He could just make out the roof of his car through the bushes and knew that the entrance to the bank was not visible from the street. Any cops driving by the night before couldn’t have seen Benny and Kerri, leading McKenna to conclude that Benny’s location was the main reason he was dead. He turned back to the sergeant. Let’s get the search done.

Time for the search, the sergeant loudly ordered over his shoulder to the two cops. They abruptly ended their conversation with the ambulance attendants and hurried over. Although young, both were experienced and knew what they were doing. From their tags McKenna saw that their names were Smith and MacGregor.

MacGregor pulled a pair of latex surgical gloves from his pocket, put them on, and bent over the body while Smith took out his memo book, pen poised and ready to write. MacGregor started with Benny’s jacket pockets and found another pair of gloves and three handkerchiefs. He gave them to his partner, then zipped open the jacket. Benny was wearing two sweaters and a flannel shirt. The sweater and shirt pockets were empty. Then MacGregor searched the pants pockets and found more than fourteen dollars in change. Panhandling profits, he speculated as he gave the change to Smith before resuming the search.

Benny was wearing another pair of pants under his outer pair and those pockets produced the stash—$189.00 in cash, two welfare checks, and a wallet containing Benny’s Department of Social Services ID card. MacGregor gave it all to Smith, who logged it into his memo book before handing the checks to McKenna.

Both checks were for $382.00. One was made out to Benny Foster and the other to Kerri Brannigan. McKenna returned the checks to Smith, examined the ID card, and saw that Maureen had been correct right up to Benny’s date of birth. He gave it back to Smith, then watched as MacGregor tried to turn Benny over. The body was frozen solid and Smith had to help because Benny’s arms were stretched straight out. They struggled to lift the body three feet off the ground before they were able to turn it over and place it back on the sidewalk.

The only thing MacGregor found in Benny’s back pockets was a squashed half-roll of toilet paper. Finished, he stood up and looked to McKenna.

McKenna bent over the body, looking for a wound or mark, but found nothing. Lifting up Benny’s sweater, McKenna saw no postmortem lividity, leading him to conclude that Benny’s blood was frozen solid. He knocked on Benny’s back and found it was like knocking on a hollow log. Benny’s skin was frozen rock-hard, and the knock echoed in Benny’s chest.

There was nothing to indicate a time of death to McKenna. With MacGregor’s help, he turned over the body again and repeated the process, looking for wounds. Finding none, he placed his face close to Benny’s and smelled a strong odor of alcohol. McKenna tried to pry Benny’s mouth open, but couldn’t. It was frozen shut.

Finished, McKenna stood and the sergeant gave a signal to the ambulance attendants. They lifted the frozen body onto a stretcher, covered it with a blanket, and carried it to the ambulance. McKenna followed them halfway down and saw that Heidi and her cameraman were filming. Another news van had arrived and the camera crew was setting up.

Having nothing to say yet, McKenna turned and rejoined Maureen at the bank. Ready to talk to Kerri? he asked.

Sure. Maureen took a Citibank card from her purse and opened the bank door while Kerri watched them, cowering behind her garbage cans in her hideout. Once they were inside, Maureen asked, Do you remember me, Kerri?

Kerri didn’t answer, so Maureen got down on her knees in front of the counter. I’m going to move these cans so I can see you, she said, but Kerri still didn’t answer. When Maureen pulled the cans out of the way, Kerri pushed herself closer to the wall. She was shaking, looking at Maureen, then up at McKenna.

Kerri, do you remember me now? Maureen asked again, softly.

Kerri stared at Maureen blankly through her half-closed eyes. Then McKenna saw a flicker of recognition cross her face. Detective Kaplowitz? Kerri asked.

It was the voice of a child, soft and afraid.

That’s right. Maureen Kaplowitz. Remember I took you to court last year when Benny beat you up?

I remember now. That was a long time ago. You bought me some food in the restaurant, Kerri said, thinking hard. From her accent, McKenna knew she was from someplace down South.

That’s right. Are you hungry now, Kerri?

Kerri nodded, then focused on McKenna.

This is my friend Brian, Kerri. He’s a nice man, Maureen said. If you’d say hello to him, we’ll go get some breakfast. Okay?

Okay. Hello, Brian.

That was easy enough, McKenna thought. He got down on his knees so he could look Kerri in the eye, but she avoided his gaze. Hello, Kerri, he said, trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible. I’m pleased to meet you.

Me too, Kerri murmured.

Kerri, did Benny beat you up again? McKenna asked.

When Kerri didn’t answer, McKenna tried another tack. Can we talk about it while we eat? he asked.

Kerri nodded, but McKenna saw it wasn’t going to be easy. What about Benny? she asked.

Benny had to go to the hospital.

He’s mad at me, you know. He doesn’t want me to talk to anyone.

Don’t worry about him now, Kerri, Maureen said. He can’t hurt you anymore.

Kerri didn’t look convinced. He will, you know, she said after a minute. He’ll do it when nobody’s looking.

He won’t do it anymore, Kerri, Maureen said. Benny’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.

McKenna watched as this information registered with Kerri. He saw first sadness on her face, then joy followed by confusion. What’s going to happen to me? Kerri asked.

That’s one of the things we’re going to have to talk about, McKenna said. Can I help you up?

Okay, Brian, Kerri said, holding up her arms like a baby wanting to be picked up. McKenna grabbed her arms and helped her to stand, surprised that she seemed smaller and even more pitiful when she stood than when she was hiding under the counter. Then Kerri remembered her blanket. She reached under the counter and smiled as she folded it.

Ready? McKenna asked.

Kerri nodded and followed the two detectives outside, stopping for a moment to place her blanket in the laundry cart. Then confusion overtook her again. What about all our stuff? she asked Maureen.

It’s all yours now, Kerri, Maureen answered.

All mine? Really? Kerri was ecstatic at her good fortune.

Yes, all yours. The police are going to bring it to the station house to see what you have, but I’ll make sure they bring everything back to you, okay?

Kerri was very happy with the arrangement until McKenna said, We’ll even give you a list of everything you have. Then her face showed pure bewilderment.

Kerri doesn’t want a list, Maureen said. She doesn’t like to read.

You mean she can’t read, McKenna thought. This poor lost soul can’t read and has no place to go, but it should be better for her today than it was yesterday. Probably the worst thing that ever happened in her life is dead.

McKenna asked the sergeant to have the laundry cart brought to the station house, then stopped at Heidi’s van and found her shivering in the front seat. She rolled down her window and he said, I’ll give you a statement in front of the station house in an hour or two.

Why not now? Heidi asked.

Got a few things to think over before I tell you anything. That’s how long it’ll take me.

The guy did freeze to death, right?

I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy, McKenna said.

Heidi’s displeasure showed on her face. That’s going to take more than two hours, isn’t it?

Much more. The body has to thaw out.

This puts me in a spot, you know. If this guy didn’t freeze to death, then there’s really no news story here.

Then I’d wait a bit on this one if I were you, he suggested. If you must, you can say it looks like he froze to death, but you should add that you might be wrong.

Heidi didn’t like that idea, either. Then a thought struck her. It isn’t a murder, is it? she asked in a sly tone, catching McKenna by surprise.

No, I think he just died of natural causes.

Then I’ll see you later. As soon as you hear from the medical examiner, you’ll talk to me before you talk to any other reporters, right?

We have a deal, don’t we?

Glad to hear you remember. Who’s the girl? Heidi asked, pointing to Kerri.

Let’s leave her out of this for now. She’s pretty fragile and she’s going to be taking a little trip to the hospital after breakfast.

Heidi took a good look at Kerri and obviously agreed with McKenna’s assessment. She just shrugged her shoulders and rolled her window back up.

4

With Kerri between McKenna and Maureen, the three walked across Second Avenue to a diner. The waitress didn’t look happy with having Kerri for a customer, but she took their breakfast order anyway. As soon as the waitress left, McKenna got down to business.

Can you tell us why Benny beat you?

Kerri looked to Maureen before answering. Maureen smiled encouragement and placed her hand on top of Kerri’s. Because I talked to a man, Kerri whispered. He don’t want me talking to no one.

Who was the man? McKenna asked.

I don’t know. We was working the copy store and the man talked to me.

Working? What kind of work?

You know. Just working.

Panhandling? Maureen asked.

Yeah, I guess so.

Where’s the copy store? McKenna asked.

Kerri pointed west, toward the back of the restaurant. One block that way and one block down.

Second Avenue and East Thirtieth Street?

I don’t know.

That’s it, Maureen volunteered. Tower Copy. It’s recessed into the building, so there’s an overhang out front. The homeless are always there because it’s out of the wind and rain. Soon as the place closes, they set up camp.

Okay. Tell me about the man, McKenna said.

Kerri squinted her eyes as she tried to remember. He was just a man. He asked me if I wanted someplace to stay and I told him I stayed with Benny. Then Benny came back and…

Where was Benny?

He went around the corner to pee.

Okay. Benny came back. What then?

The man told Benny he should get me off the street. Benny got mad and told him to shut up, but the man didn’t. He said that Benny was a worthless bum. Then he put ten dollars in my cup and told me I should leave Benny.

So Benny beat you up over that?

Yeah. He kicked me a little there, then told me he was going to Citibank. But we didn’t go there, yet. We walked around a while. He hit me a lot and made me cry.

What time did you and Benny get to the Citibank? McKenna asked.

I don’t know. Late. We always get there late, when there’s not too many people.

How did you get into the bank?

I’m smart, Kerri answered proudly. Someone always lets me in with one of those cards. I just tell them I’m real cold and I’m just going to stay for a little while. Sometimes they give me money from the machine, too.

And then you let Benny in, after they leave, right?

Right.

But not last night. Kerri, how come Benny was sleeping outside when you were in the bank? McKenna asked.

Kerri’s smile vanished and she looked to Maureen. It’s all right, Kerri. You can tell him, Maureen said.

Because he was being mean to me, Kerri said. I made believe I was asleep when he tried to come in.

But you weren’t asleep?

No. I was fooling him. Suddenly, Kerri was enjoying the little joke she had played on Benny.

For a moment, McKenna thought it strange that Maureen also found it funny, and then he figured it out. If Benny hadn’t beaten Kerri, she wouldn’t have locked him out of the bank and he’d still be alive. Maureen caught McKenna staring at her, made an effort to take the smile off her face, and nodded at him to continue.

What time was it when you were pretending to sleep? he asked Kerri.

I don’t know.

Did you see Benny lie down outside?

No. He was talking to another man when I really fell asleep. They were drinking together outside.

Do you know this other man?

No, but Benny must. He don’t drink with just anybody.

What were they drinking?

I don’t know. Some kind of alcohol. The man had a bottle and he gave Benny some in his cup.

What happened to the man?

I don’t know. Kerri was getting bored with the questioning and was having a hard time concentrating.

Would you know him if you saw him again?

I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.

McKenna wanted to pursue that line of questioning, but the waitress came with their breakfast orders and Kerri was no longer in the mood for talking. McKenna and Maureen just picked at their food, while Kerri attacked hers with enthusiasm but very little in the way of table manners as she devoured her order. Maureen gave Kerri her half-finished plate, and Kerri polished that one off too.

You want more? McKenna asked.

Not now. I’m full, Kerri stated.

Kerri, did Benny always use his own cup? Maureen asked. It was her first question and gave McKenna an indication that his partner had something on her mind.

Sure, always, Kerri answered. He didn’t want to get nobody else’s germs. He was real careful about germs.

Where’s his cup now? McKenna asked.

I don’t know. I guess he put it away. He’s real neat, you know.

What does his cup look like?

It’s white with some kind of writing on it.

What kind of writing? he asked.

Kerri’s face went blank. She showed her displeasure at the question by ignoring it and turning to Maureen.

Kerri. This might be important, Maureen said softly. What kind of writing did Benny’s cup have?

Kerri’s brows furrowed as she concentrated. I don’t know, but it was red-colored. Maybe it said his name.

That’s probably it, McKenna agreed, which caused Kerri to smile. Thanks, Kerri. You’ve been a big help. Is it okay if we talk about you now? he asked.

I guess, Kerri said, noncommittally.

How come you stayed with Benny?

Kerri looked surprised. Because he’s my man. He takes care of me most of the time.

But he beats you.

Everybody beats me. He ain’t no different.

Where are you from, Kerri?

Down South.

What state?

It was a hard question for Kerri. Is Mississippi a state, or is it just a river?

It’s both, McKenna said.

That’s where I’m from.

How long have you been in New York?

I don’t know. A long time.

How long have you been with Benny?

A long time.

How did you get here?

I hitchhiked.

Do you have any family in Mississippi?

My mother, I think. I know she moved, but maybe she’s still in Mississippi.

Did you go to school in Mississippi?

When I was little, but it was too hard for me.

I’ll bet it was, McKenna thought as he watched Kerri grimace while she remembered. Then she said, I don’t like to talk about school.

Okay, McKenna said. Let’s talk about something different. How old are you, Kerri?

Old. I was born in 1968.

Yeah, that’s real old, McKenna thought. Twenty-eight long and miserable years old. You’re a big girl now. I want to thank you for answering our questions, he said.

Kerri preened at the compliment, but had more important things on her mind. I have to go to the bathroom.

Maureen pointed out the rest rooms in the rear of the restaurant. Well, what do you think? she asked McKenna as soon as Kerri left.

I think your pal Benny deserved to freeze, but I’m not sure that’s what happened to him. He looked too relaxed lying out there, not all huddled up the way a person lies when they’re cold. Maybe he just drank till he passed out, then froze, but he sounds too sharp for that.

He was, Maureen agreed. Benny drank, but he was on the street a long time and he was very careful. He would never drink enough to pass out and take a chance on getting robbed. Not when he had all that money on him.

Then my bet is he died of natural causes. Maybe a heart attack.

Hope you’re right, Maureen said. It’ll get the cops off the hook.

What’s your feeling on it?

I’ve got a feeling he was murdered, Maureen said.

It was a leap of faith that surprised McKenna, but only for a moment. He had found no marks on Benny’s body, but it was common knowledge in the detective bureau that Maureen’s feelings were never to be disregarded. Of the 2,400 NYPD detectives, she was one of the ninety-nine who had been recognized and promoted to detective first grade, a promotion that never came easy and took more than dedication and hard work to achieve. It required the indefinable insight on their cases that intangible crime writers call a hunch. McKenna knew that Maureen’s brain generated a prodigious number of hunches, a fair share of which turned out to be correct. Poison? he asked, trying not to sound