“You still haven’t told me what this is all about, man,” he said.
He was sitting in the Interrogation Room at the 83rd, at a long table facing a one-way mirror, sometimes called a two-way mirror — stranger and stranger are the ways of the Law. Those cops who called it a one-way mirror did so on the grounds that it only reflected on one side, whereas the other side was a clear pane of glass through which you could observe the person looking into the mirror. One way you looked into it, one way you looked through it — hence a one-way mirror. But there were other cops who called it a two-way mirror because of its double role as looking glass and glass for looking. You could not reasonably expect cops, who couldn’t even agree on the interpretation of Miranda-Escobedo after all these years, to agree on what the hell to call a one-way-two-way mirror. The important thing was that any suspect looking into the mirror, which hung conspicuously on the wall of the otherwise bare-walled Interrogation Room, knew immediately that he was looking into a trick mirror and (nine times out of ten) being photographed through it from the adjacent room. Which is just what was happening to Avery Evans, with his complete knowledge. But, of course, he had nothing to hide. He was convinced the cops had nothing on him. Let them take his picture through their phony mirror, let them run through all the nonsense. In half an hour he’d be back dancing at the old clubhouse.
Ollie — who was running the interrogation, since this was his corral, so to speak, even though it differed only slightly in decrepitude from the squadroom of the 87th — immediately said, “Before we start, let me make sure again that you understand your rights as we explained them to you, and that you’re willing to answer questions without a lawyer here. Is that right?”
“Oh, sure, sure,” Avery said. “I got nothing to hide, man.”
“Okay, then, you want to give me your full name?”
“Avery Moses Evans.”
“Where do you live, Ave?”
“On Ainsley Avenue — 1194 Ainsley, Apartment 32.”
“Live alone?”
“I live with my mother.”
“What’s her name?”
“Eloise Evans.”
“Father living?”
“They’re separated,” Avery said.
“Where were you born, Ave?”
“Right here. This city.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-seven two days before Christmas.”
“Where do you work?”
“I am at present unemployed.”
“Are you a member of the gang called The Ancient Skulls?”
“It’s a club,” Avery said.
“Sure. Are you a member?”
“I’m the president,” Avery said.
“Is Jamie Holder a member?”
“Jamison Holder, that’s right. Good man,” Avery said, and grinned.
“Where were you and Jamie Holder tonight between five and five-thirty P.M.?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Try to remember exactly,” Ollie said.
“Hanging around.”
“Hanging around where?”
“Probably shooting pool.”
“Where would that have been?”
“Ace Billiards. On Kruger Street.”
“Anybody see you and Jamie there at that time?”
“Lots of guys from the Skulls were there.”
“Anybody besides members of your gang?”
“Club.”
“Anybody besides them?”
“I couldn’t say for sure. I don’t make a habit of finding out who’s in a place.”
“Know anybody named Charlie Harrod?” Ollie asked, and tweaked his nose with his thumb and forefinger. This was the signal to begin a flanking attack, Ollie continuing the frontal assault while Carella and Hawes closed in from either side.
“Never heard of him,” Avery said.
“Elizabeth Benjamin?” Hawes asked. “Ever hear of her?”
“Nope.”
“Harrod was a junkie,” Carella said.
“Yeah?” Avery said, and smiled. “I notice you used the past tense, man. Did he kick the habit?”
“Yes, he kicked it,” Hawes said.
“Good for him. We got no junkies in our club. I think you guys already know that. Ask any of the cops up here, they’ll tell you the Skulls are clean.”
“Oh yeah, we know that,” Ollie said.
“It’s a fact, man.”
“But you never heard of Harrod, huh?”
“Nope. All I know is if he kicked the habit, I’m proud of him. Too much junk in this neighborhood. That’s one thing you got to say about the Skulls, we’re doing our share to make this neighborhood a better place to live in.”
“Oh, ain’t we all,” Ollie said, doing his now-famous W. C. Fields imitation, “ain’t we all.”
“And another thing,” Avery said, “it’s the Skulls, and only the Skulls, who’re always negotiating with the other clubs to keep the peace around here. If it wasn’t for us, you guys would have your hands full. There’d be war all the goddamn time. I think you owe us at least a little gratitude for that.”
“Oh, sure we do,” Ollie said.
None of the cops bothered to mention that if there were no street gangs, there would be no wars, and therefore no need for any of the gangs to negotiate for peace. Each of the men questioning Avery knew that today’s gangs were far more dangerous than those existing twenty years ago, mainly because the current version came fully equipped with an ideology. The ideology provided a built-in justification for mayhem. If you’re doing something because it’s helping the neighborhood, why then, you can do any damn thing you like. Moreover, you can do it with a sense of pride.
“Where were you this afternoon, a little before twelve?” Hawes asked.
“Man, you guys sure expect a person to pinpoint his whereabouts, don’t you?”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Hawes said.
“I got nothing to hide,” Avery said. “I was probably down at the clubhouse.”
“Anybody see you there?”
“Oh sure, lots of the guys...”
“Besides members of the gang.”
“Only club members are allowed in the clubhouse.”
“By the clubhouse, do you mean the basement we found you in tonight?” Ollie asked.
“That’s the clubhouse,” Avery said.
The three detectives had moved closer to him, and they now formed a somewhat claustrophobic circle around his chair. They began to interrogate him more rapidly now, firing their questions one after the other, Avery at first turning to look at each of them in turn, and then finally directing all of his answers to Ollie, who stood directly in front of him.
“You got an annex to that clubhouse?” Ollie asked.
“No.”
“Where do you keep your arsenal?” Carella asked.
“We don’t have no arsenal, man. We’re a peace-loving club.”
“No guns?” Hawes asked.
“No knives?” Carella asked.
“No ball bats?” Ollie asked.
“None of that stuff.”
“You wouldn’t keep a stash of guns someplace else, huh?”
“No.”
“Someplace other than the clubhouse?”