ericlustbader.the ninja-第38部分
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
e eyes staring up at him blankly。
'I want to make this very plain to you； Croaker；' the Captain had said。 'The Didion case is a closed book。' He raised his pudgy hands in front of his face； warding off Croaker's expected protests。 'I know； I know； I put you on it myself。 But that was when I thought we could see some quick results。 Everyone from the mayor down was howling for a quick arrest。 Then the media jumped all over it； you know what they can do。' His hands came down； lying flat on his desktop。 Croaker thought they looked like hams ripe for roasting。 'You know as well as I do the kind of people who live at the Actium House。 People like Cardin and Calvin Klein don't like that kind of thing happening where they live。 There was an awful lot of pressure。'
Croaker closed his eyes for a moment； counting slowly； one…Mississippi； two…Mississippi； just as he had done when playing football on the streets of Manhattan's Hell's Kitchen when he was a kid。 It was either that or belt Finnigan on his fat red nose。 His eyes snapped open； they saw the Captain leaning back in his high…backed chair； his hands； fingers interlaced； sitting atop his ample stomach。 Croaker wondered how many whiskies the old man had already downed。 Inadvertently； he glanced at the spot where the lower right…hand drawer was； where the bottle always lay within easy reach。 His gaze swung back to Finnigan's red…veined face。 His eyes seemed even more faded in the soft early morning light filtering through the closed shades。 Outside； the towers of lower Manhattan rose like blocky giants。
'I know all about that pressure； Captain。' His tone revealed none of his hidden emotion。 'I've lived with that ever since I joined the force ten years ago。 What I don't understand is this sudden switch； this about…face。'
'You weren't getting anywhere；' Finnigan said equably。 'I pulled the plug； that's all。'
'Bull！ That's a load of…'
'Don't start this with me； Lieutenant。' Finnigan's eyes blazed and a thin line of spittle glistened on his protruding lower lip。 'I'm in no mood for any of your grandstanding。' He sat up； leaning forward； and now his small eyes seemed mean and bitter and altogether merciless。 'You may enjoy a great reputation with the press。 I allow that because it's good for the department as a whole； the public responds well to one name； one face。 But don't you ever think that that gives you any special privileges in here or out there。' His enormous thumb hooked back over his shoulder； indicating the streets of the city。 'I'm onto your little game and it gets no points with me。 You love that attention； the media play。 You eat it up like a glutton。 But that's okay； that I can handle。 What I won't tolerate is you treating me as if I'm some kind of idiot； some kind of moral defective。' He saw the look on the other's face； jumped on it。 'Yeah； that's right： moral defective。 You been on the force more than long enough to know the reason why some investigation or other gets snuffed。 Someone high up 〃requested〃 it。 Okay？ So now I've spelled it out for you。' His face was red now and the wattles beside his mouth were quivering。 'Believe me； I have thought of getting rid of you so very often； transferring you to some other district。 But you're too valuable to me。 You're good for at least a couple of mayor's citations for me each year。 I don't mind telling you I like that；
it's good for my record。〃 He stood up now； his thick arms straight columns ending in bunched fists pressed so hard against the desktop that they had gone white。 'But I'll be goddamned if I'll ever let you pull a stunt like you did with the Lyman thing。 That was officially chocked and you went after it anyway。 You made me look like a fool to these people here and I'm just lucky that the missioner didn't hear about it。' He lifted a finger as big around as a sausage； shaking it in Croaker's direction。 'You'll take this Tanaka…Okura double murder and I don't want to ever hear that you threw a case back at the precinct boys the way you did last night。' He coughed thickly； wiped at his lips with a grey handkerchief。 'What's the matter？ You got something against slants？ No。 So take it and be happy。 Be happy that you've got a case to run with。'
Croaker turned to leave but； as his fingers grasped the knob； Finnigan said； 'Oh and； Lieutenant； you know how things function around here。 Next time don't make me explain S。O。P。 to you as if you were some rookie just off the streets； okay？'
It was at that point that Croaker had decided to continue with the Didion thing on his own。 Now he knew that he had to do it all on his own。 He could confide in no one at the office and； if he used their resources； which he surely would； he would have to camouflage his intent。 He looked at his watch； then at the dregs of old coffee in the stained plastic cup on his desk。 He was late for the Linnear pick…up but right now he did not much care； his mind was still on the Didion thing。 Finnigan was right in one respect … he had nothing。 But only up to a point。 The girl had friends somewhere； it had just proved to be a bastard unearthing them。 Now he was close to at least one of them。 Matty the Mouth had e up with a lead。 But he needed a name； an address； or it was useless to him。 This was what he was waiting for now； this was why he was so sensitive to being pulled off the case。 It was no good telling Finnigan what he had now； no good at all。 It would be like talking to the wall。 Which was why Croaker always kept his cases to himself； it was part of the reason why he got Finnigan his mayor's citations each year… So it was the one thing Finnigan did not question。 In any case； Finnigan could care less about M。O。； it was results he craved。 Talk about your gluttons； Croaker grunted as he swivelled round in his chair。 Those results gave the whisky a fine race for the captain's undivided attention。
Croaker cursed and got up。 Time to pick up Linnear。
At approximately the same time； Vincent had been at work in the autopsy room。 He had not； of course； been on duty when they had brought Terry's and Eileen's corpses in late last night but he had been called right away … Tallas had thought he should know； she had the soundest judgement of all the associates； he thought。 Consequently he had arrived in time to hear the tail end of the argument between the two precinct patrolmen who had responded to the call； and the detective。 He was a big burly sonofabitch and he was giving them a tongue…lashing。 Vincent had not concerned himself with the noise or the rising tempers。 He had wanted to make certain。 Perhaps it had all been a ghastly mistake … one of the dojo's instructors at Terry's apartment … or 。。。 but it had been Terry and it had been Eileen。 Dead。 It was then dial he had remembered the frozen…line call。 No one there。 Could it have been Terry phoning him？ He turned sadly away。 It did not matter now。
He put them away for the morning； made sure all their clothes and personal effects were properly tagged and bagged for me detectives who would take the case。 Then he had gone home to spend an uneasy night。
It had got to the point where he was content only down in the morgue。 There he could work； logically problem…solving； sleuthing his way through the silent mayhem。 Sometimes it worked and his report led directly to the arrest of the murderer； at other times he was the only one who could be of solace to the families of the dead who rolled past him each day。
They were like massive hieroglyphs； mute monoliths； waiting to have their arcane messages unearthed。 And he the archaeologist of their past。
It was immensely satisfying to him to work here in the dead house； as many physicians called it。 But it was such a misnomer； for here； every day； he and his colleagues were hard at work wresting secrets from death's cold grip。 They hacked at it； bringing it down to size； demystifying it； bit by bit； until much of its horror was dissipated。 What job could claim more importance for the living？
This morning Vincent now stood in the central room； his back to the tiers of stainless…steel doors。 A black man； naked and cool； his head at an angle； lay on a trolley to one side。 He stood staring at the swing 〃doors leading into the autopsy room。 Behind that barrier； he knew； lay his friend； Terry Tanaka； next would be Eileen。 For the first time since ing here； he wondered whether he really wanted to push through those doors。 It seemed； all at once； one death too many and he did not feel the same inside any more。 He knew that he wanted to return to Japan。 But he felt that to be impossible now； as if he had contracted some dread disease in the West； in the city； in New York； and now； transformed inwardly as well as outwardly； he felt as if the culture shock would be the death of him。
Yet； deep inside； he perhaps understood that his only salvation now was to go on。 Death had returned to him as it had as a child； a solid wall too high for him to climb over。 He knew that he must tear that wall down or go mad and his only path lay within the bright； tidy room inside。 There death could be quietly dissected； the wall pulled down one brick at a time until； at last； and he would understand what had done this to his friends。 For； he found； he wanted des
