Chapter 13
"Come on in," Elaine said. "She's already here. Pam, this is Mr.
Scudder, Matthew Scudder. Matt, I'd like you to meet Pam."
She had been sitting on the couch and she arose at our approach, a slender woman, about five-three, with short dark hair and intensely blue eyes. She was wearing a dark gray skirt and a pale blue angora sweater.
Lipstick, eye shadow. High-heeled shoes. I sensed she'd chosen her outfit for our meeting, and that she wasn't sure she'd made the right choices.
Elaine, looking cool and competent in slacks and a silk blouse, said, "Sit down, Matt. Take the chair."
She joined Pam on the couch and said, "I just finished telling Pam that I got her here under false pretenses. She's not going to meet Debra Winger."
"I asked who the star was gonna be," Pam said, "and she said Debra Winger, and I'm like, wow, Debra Winger is gonna do a movie of the week? I didn't think she would do TV." She shrugged. "But I guess there's not gonna be a movie, so what difference does it make who the star is?"
"But the thousand dollars is real," Elaine said.
"Yeah, well, that's good," Pam said, "because I can use the money.
But I didn't come for the money."
"I know that, dear."
"Not just for the money."
I had the money, a thousand for her and the twelve hundred I owed Elaine and some walking-around money for myself, three thousand dollars total from my safe-deposit box.
"She said you're a detective," Pam said.
"That's right."
"And you're going after those guys. I talked a lot with the cops, I must of talked with three, four different cops—"
"When was that?"
"Right after it happened."
"And that was—?"
"Oh, I didn't realize you didn't know. It was in July, this past July."
"And you reported it to the police?"
"Jesus," she said. "What choice did I have? I had to go to the hospital, didn't I? The doctors are like, wow, who did this to you, and what am I gonna say, I slipped? I cut myself? So they called the police, naturally. I mean, even if I didn't say anything, they would of called the police."
I propped open my notebook. I said, "Pam, I don't think I got your last name."
"I didn't give it. Well, no reason not to, is there? It's Cassidy."
"And how old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
"You were twenty-three when the incident took place?"
"No, twenty-four. My birthday's the end of May."
"And what sort of work do you do, Pam?"
"Receptionist. I'm out of work at the moment, that's why I said I could use the money. I guess anybody could always use a thousand dollars, but especially now, being out of work."
"Where do you live?"
"Twenty-seventh between Third and Lex."
"Is that where you were living at the time of the incident?"
"Incident," she said, as if trying out the word. "Oh, yeah, I been there for almost three years now. Ever since I came to New York."
"Where did you come from?"
"Canton, Ohio. If you ever heard of it I can guess what for. The Pro Football Hall of Fame."
"I almost went for a visit once," I said. "I was in Massillon on business."
"Massillon! Oh, sure, I used to go there all the time. I knew a ton of people in Massillon."
"Well, I probably never met any of them," I said. "What's the address on Twenty-seventh Street, Pam?"
"One fifty-one."
"That's a nice block," Elaine said.
"Yeah, I like it okay. The only thing, it's silly, but the neighborhood doesn't have a name. It's west of Kips Bay, it's below Murray Hill, it's above Gramercy, and of course it's way east of Chelsea.
Some people started calling it Curry Hill, you know, because of all the Indian restaurants."
"You're single, Pam?" A nod. "You live alone?"
"Except for my dog. He's just a little dog but a lot of people won't break into a place if there's a dog, no matter what size he is. They're just scared of dogs, period."
"Would you like to tell me what happened, Pam?"
"The incident, you mean."
"Right."
"Yeah," she said. "I guess. That's what we're here for, right?"
* * *
IT was on a summery evening in the middle of the week. She was two blocks from her house, standing on the corner of Park and Twenty-sixth waiting for the light to change, and this truck pulled up and this guy called her over wanting directions to some place, she couldn't catch the name.
He got out of the truck, explaining that maybe he had the name of the place wrong, that it was on the invoice, and she went around with him to the rear of the truck. He opened the back of the truck, and there was another man inside, and they both had knives. They made her get in the back of the truck with the second man, and the driver got back in the truck and drove off.
AT this point I interrupted her, wanting to know why she had been so obliging about getting in the truck.
Had there been people around? Had anyone witnessed the abduction?
"I'm a little hazy on the details," she said.
"That's all right."
"It happened so quick."
Elaine said, "Pam, could I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"You're in the game, aren't you, dear?"
I thought, Jesus, how did I miss that?
"I don't know what you mean," Pam said.
"You were working that night, weren't you?"
"How did you know?"
Elaine took the girl's hand. "It's all right," she said. "Nobody's going to hurt you, nobody's here to judge you. It's all right."
"But how did you—"
"Well, it's a popular stroll, isn't it, that stretch of Park Avenue South? But I guess I knew earlier. Honey, I was never on the pavement, but I've been in the game myself for almost twenty years."
"No!"
"Honestly. Right in this apartment, which I bought when it went co-op. I've learned to call them clients instead of tricks, and when I'm around squares I sometimes say I'm an art historian, and I've been real smart about saving my pennies over the years, but I'm in the life the same as you, dear. So you can tell it to us the way it really happened."
"God," she said. "Actually, you know something? It's a relief.
Because I didn't want to come here and tell you a story, you know? But I didn't think I had any choice."
"Because you thought we'd disapprove of you?"
"I guess. And because of what I told the cops."
"The cops didn't know you were hooking?" I asked.
"No."
"They never even brought it up? With the pickup taking place right on the stroll?"
"They were Queens cops," she said.
"Why would Queens cops catch the case?"
"Because of where I wound up. I was in Elmhurst General Hospital, that's in Queens, so that's where the cops were from. What do they know about Park Avenue South?"
"Why did you wind up at Elmhurst General? Never mind, you'll get to that. Why don't you start over from the beginning?"
"Sure," she said.
IT was a summery evening in the middle of the week. She was two blocks from her house, standing on the corner of Park and Twenty-sixth waiting for someone to hit on her, and this truck pulled up and a guy motioned for her to come over. She walked around and got in on the passenger side and he drove a block or two and turned on one of the side streets and parked at a hydrant.
She thought it would be a quick blow-job while he sat behind the wheel, twenty or twenty-five for maybe five minutes. The guys in cars almost always wanted head and they wanted to be done right there in their cars. Sometimes they wanted it while the car was moving, which seemed crazy to her, but go figure. The johns who came around on foot would generally spring for a hotel room, and the Elton at Twenty-sixth and Park was reasonable and convenient for that. There was always her apartment, but she
almost never took anybody back there unless she was desperate, because she didn't believe it was safe.
Besides, who wanted to trick in the bed you slept in?
She never saw the guy in the back until the truck was parked.