Near the top of the page is a picture of a sidewalk in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Candles have been set out and lit in front of a makeshift shrine, an attempt to mark and protest one more pointless street killing in the neighborhood.
Beneath the picture is a story with the headline HIP-HOP FEUD CLAIMS ANOTHER VICTIM.
The name of the vic is right there in the first paragraph, staring up at both of us-Manny Rodriguez.
Chapter 56. Tom
I AM QUICKLY learning that misery does love company. And let’s hope two lawyers without a chance in hell are better than one.
When Kate and I pull into the lot behind East Hampton High School, all that’s left of the sudden November dusk is a violet smudge in a desolate sky. We park behind the gym and wait, doing our best to ignore the awkward reunion feeling of sitting next to each other in pretty much the exact spot where we met almost twenty years before.
“It’s like déjà vu all over again,” I finally say, and regret it immediately.
“Still quoting Yogi,” says Kate.
“Only when it’s absolutely appropriate.”
A parade of students, all looking ridiculously young, pushes through the rear doors of the gym, and each drives off in one of the cars or SUVs parked or idling in the lot.
“Where’s our girl?” Kate asks.
“Don’t know. Our luck, she has the flu.”
“Our luck, she was run over by a semi this morning.”
At six thirty, when only a couple of cars are left, Lisa Feifer-Eric’s kid sister-steps through the door into the chilly air. Like her brother, Lisa is thin and graceful, the star on the girls’ state-championship lacrosse team. She moves across the empty lot with the relaxed shuffle of a spent athlete.
As she drops her gym bag on the roof of her old Jeep and unlocks the door, Kate and I get out of our car.
“We can’t waste time feeling sorry for ourselves about Rodriguez.” Kate had told me that first thing in the morning when she walked into the office. By then she had already read through my interviews with Dante and thought there were several areas worth pursuing. “It’s not our job to find out who actually killed Feifer, Walco, Rochie, and Walker. But it would sure help if we could steer the jury somewhere else. We’ve definitely got to find out more about the deceased.”
“You mean, dig up dirt on the dead?”
“If that’s how you want to put it,” Kate said, “that’s fine with me. Feifer, Walco, and Rochie were my friends too. But now our only loyalty is to Dante. So we have to dig, unmercifully, and see where it leads. And if it pisses certain people off, so be it.”
“Certain people are already pissed off.”
“So be it.”
I know Kate’s right, and I like the concept of unmerciful action on our part, but when Lisa Feifer turns around and sees us coming toward her, she looks at us as if we’re muggers, or worse.
“Hi there, Lisa,” says Kate, in a voice that manages to sound natural. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”
“About what?”
“Eric,” says Kate. “You know that we’re representing Dante Halleyville.”
“How messed up is that? You were his babysitter. Now you’re defending the guy who put a bullet between his eyes.”
“If we thought there was any chance Dante killed your brother, or Rochie, or Walco, we wouldn’t be doing this.”
“Bullshit.”
“And if you know anything dangerous that Eric might have been involved in you’ve got to tell us. If you don’t, Lisa, you’re just helping his real murderer get away with it.”
“No, that’s what you’re doing,” says Lisa, pushing past us and getting into her car. If we hadn’t jumped back, she probably would have run us over as she tore out of the lot.
“So be it,” I say.
“Very good.” Kate nods. “You’re a fast learner.”
Chapter 57. Tom
DIGGING FOR DIRT on your old pals in a town like Montauk is a lot easier said than done though.
Walco’s father slams the door in our face. Rochie’s brother grabs a shotgun and gives us thirty seconds to get off his property. And Feifer’s mom, a sweet woman who volunteers three days a week at the Montauk Public Library, unleashes a stream of curses foul and vicious enough to earn the approval of Dante’s most hardened fellow inmates over at Riverhead.
We get the same obscene kiss-off from Feifer, Walco, and Rochie’s old friends and coworkers. Even ex-girlfriends, whose hearts had been stomped on by the victims, become ferociously protective of their memory at the sight of us.
Dante thinks being represented by locals is helping him, but right now it’s a hindrance, because to townies our decision has made the whole thing personal. Just acknowledging Kate or me on the street is viewed as giving aid and comfort to the enemy.
Being treated like a pariah is harder on me than it is on Kate. She hasn’t lived here for years, and working at Walmark, Reid and Blundell has thickened her skin.
But the lack of progress frays her nerves, and after a week and little to show for our efforts, my cramped dormer office has lost its charm. Same goes for the absurdly loud creaking stairs leading to the chiropractor next door. I, on the other hand, kind of like having Kate around. It gives me confidence. Makes the whole thing feel real.
Another visitor to the chiropractor and Kate yells out, “This is like working in a theme-park haunted house.”
“I’ll get you coffee,” I say.
It’s a half-hour round trip to the nearest deli whose owners are unlikely to poison us, so I’ve brought my antique Mr. Coffee from home. But even the time-honored combination of caffeine and desperation doesn’t seem to be working anymore.
“We need to find an outsider,” Kate finally says. “Somebody who grew up here but never fit in.”
“You mean, other than the two of us?”
“Somebody has to be willing to talk to us, Tom. C’mon, think. Who’s our Deep Throat?”
I think about her question for a bit. “How about Sean?” I finally say.
“He was a friend of all three of those guys. Plus he’s a lifeguard, for God’s sake. I was thinking of a little more of an outcast.”
“He’s not a social pariah, Kate. But he’s got the guts to go against the flow. People talk to Sean. He could have heard something.”
“You think you’d have better luck talking to him alone?”
I shake my head. “Actually, I think you’d have a better chance, me being his uncle and everything. Plus, he probably has a crush on you.”
Kate screws up her face. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. Why wouldn’t he?”
Chapter 58. Kate
L.I. SOUNDS, WHERE Tom’s nephew Sean has been working since the lifeguard chairs came down, is one of the few stores still open in East Hampton, and it’s not clear why to me.
At nine that night, there are exactly two people in the brightly lit, narrow space. Sean is up front by the register, as his one potential customer browses the aisles. Sean’s a good-looking kid with long blond hair. Actually, he looks more like Tom than Jeff.
I glance around the store. Sounds will always have a special place in my heart. Until they built the mall in Bridgehampton, it was the only record store for thirty miles. With posters of Hendrix, Dylan, and Lennon up on the walls and a staff of zealots preaching about the eternal difference between Good and Awful music, it felt as serious as stepping into a church.
Sean smiles in welcome as I step into the light. He puts on a spacey CD I don’t recognize.
The other customer, a tall, skinny guy with wire-rimmed glasses, glances at me then looks away. Nothing changes. He’s pushing fifty but has the self-conscious slouch of an eighteen-year-old. The guy is working the back of the alphabet, so I start on the other end and move happily from AC/DC to the Clash to Fleetwood Mac.