“And so Cathy left the playground and went and sat on a bench outside the fence and that’s where she ran into you, right?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s the closest she ever came to you?”
“Yes.”
“So she was never in the tunnel with you, Jay?”
“No.”
“Okay, where did Cathy go after she left the bench where you saw her sitting?”
“She went back to the playground.”
“Why would she do that if she’d left it because some creep had scared her.”
“Maybe he was gone, the … creep.”
“What did you do after she left?”
“I went to the playground. There’s a little hill that looks down on the playground. I sat there.”
“On the ground?”
“Yes.”
“How long did you sit there?”
“Few hours, I guess.”
“That’s a long time.”
“I wanted to see him. I told you that.”
“The man who’d scared Cathy.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted to spot this guy.”
“Yes.”
“Why, Jay?”
“So I’d know who he was.”
“Why would you want to know that?”
“So I could watch him.”
“Watch him,” Cohen repeated. “Watch this guy.”
“Yes.”
“The fact is, you’ve been seen hanging around the playground quite a few times, right, Jay?”
“I need to keep an eye on the children.”
Cohen had heard this before, but now he thought of a way of turning Smalls’ answer back toward him, pressing it toward his guilt like the tip of a blade. “An eye on the children. You keep a protective eye on the children in the playground?”
Smalls looked at Cohen warily, like a man who’d suddenly felt an invisible noose tighten around his throat. “I know you don’t believe me.”
“Well, you have to admit, it’s a little hard to swallow, Jay. I mean, you got this guy hanging around Dubarry Playground. He’s creepy enough so that he scared Cathy Lake. But the thing is, nobody but you has ever
mentioned this guy. Why do you think that is, Jay? Don’t you think that if a lone man were hanging around the playground, someone besides you would notice him? Think about it. You got all those mothers who sit there, watching their kids on the swings and monkey bars. Don’t you think one of those mothers would have noticed some creepy guy in the playground?”
“I guess.”
“But no one did, Jay. No one noticed this guy you think maybe scared Cathy. But there was a guy people did notice. That guy was you, Jay. Several mothers identified you. We showed them pictures, and they picked you out as a guy they’d seen in the playground.”
“I never go in the playground.”
“That’s right, you don’t. But you hang around it, don’t you? You sit on that hill and you watch the children, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do that, Jay? Why do you hang around that playground?”
“I told you. Because they’re all in danger.”
“Yes, they are in danger, Jay,” Cohen said. “They’re in danger of you.”
“No, not me.” Smalls shook his head firmly. His voice took on a strangely inconsolable tone. “I wanted to save her.”
“Cathy Lake?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s say that’s true, Jay. You wanted to save Cathy. Cathy in particular, right?”
“Yes.”
“But why Cathy Lake in particular? You must have seen other little girls in the park all the time. But you noticed Cathy, didn’t you, Jay? You noticed her in particular.
And you knew that if you noticed her, someone else might notice her too.”
“Someone did,” Smalls said in a pinched voice.
“This other man that no one else noticed,” Cohen said, recalling the many hours he and Pierce had wasted trying to find anyone else who’d seen a man in the playground, a man who’d “noticed” Cathy Lake. “We tried to find this guy, you know. We asked everyone we could find. The cops who patrol the park and the playground. The people who bring their children there. No one noticed anyone but you hanging around the playground, Jay.”
“Cathy noticed him. She was scared of him.”
“Okay, let’s talk about the day Cathy was murdered. You saw her that day too, didn’t you?”
“She was running away. It was raining, and she just ran by.”
“But you saw her, right?”
“I told you I did.”
“And you recognized her as the little girl you’d seen. Before.”
“Yes.”
“What was she wearing that day?”
“A dress. Red.”
“Was she wearing a cap?”
“No.”
“A scarf?”
“No.”
“Did you notice anything else about her?”
“She had a bandage on her hand.”
Cohen leaned back slightly. “All that from a glimpse?” His tone was mildly accusatory. “That’s a lot to notice, Jay. I’ll bet you noticed that she was wearing something around her neck. You said she wasn’t wearing a scarf, so you must have been close enough to see her throat, right? So, was she wearing a locket?”
“No.”
“But if she were running, it would be flopping around, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, we know Cathy was wearing a locket that day. We know she wore it on the outside of her dress, not tucked in. And we know that someone took it from her.”
“Not me. I never saw a locket.”
“How could you not have seen it if you saw everything else?”
“I don’t know.”
“You saw it, didn’t you, Jay?”
Smalls curled back in his chair and dropped his hands into his lap. “No, I didn’t. I never saw a locket.”
Cohen nodded. “Okay, let’s go on. It starts to rain. You left the alley beside Clairmont Towers and headed for your pipe, right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s raining real hard. Everybody’s rushing to get out of the rain, right?”
“Yes.”
“You know it’s possible that Cathy just wanted to get out of the rain too. I mean, she was at a schoolmate’s birthday party that afternoon. We know that when she left the party she was supposed to wait for her mother in the building lobby. But Cathy didn’t do that. Instead, she left the building and went over to the park entrance. What we don’t know is why she went into the park, or what happened to her after that. So let’s say it starts to rain, okay? Cathy starts looking for a place to get out of the rain, and maybe she spots the tunnel and she figures she can go in there and wait for the rain to stop.” He leaned forward. “So, did Cathy come into your tunnel, Jay?”
“No.”
“But it was raining. She needed to get out of the rain. It’s a logical place for her to have gone, don’t you think?”
“She never came into the tunnel.”
“Okay, Cathy was just walking along, then, let’s say that. She was just walking along, not paying any attention to things around her. Not even the rain. You know how kids are, right, Jay? It’s not always easy to get their attention, is it?”
Smalls gave no answer, but Cohen noticed a subtle flinch in his lusterless eyes, as if he’d just been jabbed with a needle.
“Jay, have you ever tried to get a kid’s attention?”
Smalls said nothing.
“I mean, you have an interest in kids, right? Hanging around playgrounds, that sort of thing. Don’t you ever want to talk to a kid?”
“I don’t talk to them,” Smalls said.
“But you want to, don’t you? You want to … get close to a kid.”
Something in Smalls appeared to collapse slightly, like a man who’d suddenly recognized his own pathetic hollowness.
“I know how you could get a kid’s attention, Jay,” Cohen said. “You could throw a ball. Near a kid, I mean. We found a few rubber balls in all that stuff you had in the tunnel. You could just toss one of those balls over near a kid and ask the kid real nice to bring it back to you. Have you ever used that trick, Jay? Did you use it on Cathy? Did that happen, Jay? When Cathy came down the path, did you toss a ball at her, and did she notice it, and did she bring it back to you?”
“No.”
“Think now, Jay. Think of this little girl running
down the path. The girl in the red dress. The one you’d watched before. You see her coming down the path, and so, to get her attention, you throw a ball.”
“I didn’t throw a ball,” Smalls said fiercely.
“That’s what happened, isn’t it?” Cohen asked evenly, his eyes leveled on Smalls. “You saw Cathy and you … got her attention.”
“No,” Smalls answered sharply.
“And after you got her attention, you did something to her, didn’t you, Jay?”
“No.”
“Did you want that locket, Jay?”
“No.”
“A pretty silver locket to go with the rubber balls and the toys?”
“I never saw a locket.”
“Then what did you want from Cathy?”
“I didn’t want anything.”
“But you got scared, didn’t you? Cathy wouldn’t let you have her locket. Or whatever it was you wanted. She resisted you. And you got scared when she fought back. And so you killed her.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And after that you took the locket.”
“I didn’t take anything!”
“What was it, a souvenir? Is it because a guy who kills a little girl maybe wants a little souvenir?”
Smalls stared at Cohen in silence, clearly disturbed by what he’d just heard, studying Cohen intently, as if trying to see into his brain, determine exactly what information it contained.
But why was Smalls disturbed, Cohen wondered as he studied Inmate 1407. Was it because the accusation was absurd? Or was it because in a scattershot of dreadful charges, he had hit upon a truth?
8:18
P.M.
, Police Headquarters, Sixth Floor Lounge
“You break that bastard yet?” Blunt asked as he lowered himself onto the worn brown sofa.
Pierce shook his head.
Blunt lit a cigar and tossed the match on the linoleum. “I heard you got till morning or he walks.”
“That’s right.”
Blunt pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his face. “They bake us in this fucking place.” He stared about, seeking relief, then said, “A little kid, for Christ’s sake.”
“Anna Lake’s daughter,” Pierce said, and suddenly he was at Anna Lake’s door as it opened to his knock, standing, oddly stricken, by the terrible question in her eyes:
Is my daughter dead?
9:34
P.M.
, September 1, 545 Obermeyer Street
He’d known that he would soon give her the answer she dreaded, and after that, nothing would ever be the same.
“Are you Anna Lake?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the badge. “My name’s Pierce. Jack Pierce. This is my partner, Norman Cohen.”
Cohen nodded but didn’t speak.
“May we come in, Mrs. Lake?” Pierce asked.
“Miss,” she said. “I’m not married.” She drew open the door. “Have you found her?”
“We found a little girl,” Pierce told her softly. “She was in the park. We’re not sure it’s your daughter.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“I’m afraid we couldn’t do that,” Pierce said.
Anna Lake’s face tightened. “Is my daughter dead?”
“We don’t know if the girl we found is your daughter,” Pierce said. “That’s why we’re here. To find out.”
With no further word, Anna led them into the living room. “Please, sit down,” she said, indicating a dark blue sofa.
Pierce sat but Cohen walked to the window and peered out into the chill autumn darkness. Anna Lake sat opposite Pierce, her eyes fixed steadily upon him.
“The little girl we found, she was wearing a red dress,” Pierce told her. “You said that Cathy was wearing a red dress.”
“Yes.”
“Did she have a bandage on her right hand?”
Anna Lake’s face grew very still. “Oh, God.” She stopped as if by a wall of pain. “It’s her, then.”
Pierce expected her to sink her face into her hands the way Jenny had when he’d told her about Debra. But instead Anna remained upright, her face eerily still.
“We need a positive identification, Miss Lake,” Pierce said after a moment.
“Yes,” Anna Lake replied. “Of course.” She rose and walked into an adjoining room, closing the door softly behind her. When she returned, she was wearing a black wool coat. “All right. I’m ready.”
Outside the morgue, Pierce opened the car door. Anna Lake got out, and as she did so, her eyes touched him—or at least that was how it felt—not that they settled upon him, he thought, but that they touched him, like fingertips.
“This way, please,” he said, directing her toward two wide metal doors.
“I’ll stay here,” Cohen told him, avoiding the morgue as he had since returning from the war, the cold air inside it, the stainless-steel refrigerators, knowing that the good thing he sought would never be found there.
Pierced nodded, then motioned Anna forward.
She followed him into the morgue, moving briskly, like someone determined to get the next step over with.
“Down here.” Pierce led her along a brightly lit corridor to where the ME had already placed the small body on a gurney and draped it with a sheet. He stepped over to the gurney. “Are you ready, Miss Lake?”
She nodded stiffly, her eyes leveled on the covered profile.
Pierce drew back the sheet.
Anna shuddered, as if hit by a small jolt of electricity. Then she stepped closer to the gurney and pressed her hand against the dead child’s cheek. “Cathy,” she said softly. “Cathy.” She bent forward and lifted her daughter into her arms.
Watching her, Pierce recalled how his wife had cradled a picture of Debra for days, even sleeping with it through long, tearful nights. Then he thought of Costa, who had caused Jenny such pain, then of the nameless vagrant who’d been found lurking near the duck pond only yards from the body of Cathy Lake, a man who lived like an animal, by means of animal cunning, passive in arrest but predatory, a vagrant in a crudely painted cave littered with smashed toys, peering out at the path that wound among the trees.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Anna Lake’s brown eyes lifted toward him. “What will you do with her now?”
“There’ll be an autopsy. Then she can be released to you.”
“I want to bury her quickly,” Anna said. “I don’t want her … like this.”