“Were you dumping in sewers at night?”
“I’m not saying a thing about that.”
“I’m not asking for the record; I just want to get a handle on things. I’m not working for the cops, you know. Just Irma. Just trying to find out if there was something fishy about Jack’s death.”
“Christ, Cooperman, I don’t know you and I don’t owe you! Hell, you could be wearing a wire for all I know. I think we’re getting close to the end of this.”
“Okay, I’m nearly through. Wasn’t it very convenient that there should be a doctor on hand at the time of the accident?”
“Dr. Carswell comes in maybe once a week. Nothin’ strange about that. Mr. Caine wasn’t there, just Webster, the yard manager.”
“Funny he wasn’t called as a witness.”
“If you say its funny, then I guess it’s funny.”
“Okay, what about the dumping? Off the record.”
“We haul all kinds of stuff to local dumps. That’s it.”
“What about the stuff that doesn’t get to the dumps.”
“Okay, you better finish your beer,” he said. And I knew I wasn’t going to get any more out of him just then. He wasn’t visibly sweating, but he wiped his forehead with a neat white handkerchief just the same. I thought truckers carried red bandanas. I was obviously out of date about a lot of things.
I thanked him for his help. Even knowing that there was more where that came from, I could see he was scared. I didn’t blame him. In his place, I’d be scared to death. O’Mara watched me move closer to the bottom of my glass in silence. I’m a slow drinker, so the silence was considerable. At last, as I hoped, he filled it. A witness who is trying to say nothing is often undone by a long pause in the conversation. “Look, Mr. Cooperman, I’m not a hard guy to get along with. I’m just lookin’ out for my end.”
“I understand, Brian. Don’t give it a thought. We won’t be able to bring Jack back from the dead, will we?”
“There’s a lot of money tied up in that business over at Kinross,” he said. “It’s a sweet line of work from their point of view: all profit and no risks.”
“What do you mean ‘no risks’?”
“Well, for one thing, who’d believe somebody like Jack or me when there’s Mr. Caine and Dr. Carswell on the other side. And for another thing,” he said, taking the last of his beer down an open throat, “and for another thing, Kinross and the city are in bed together on this waste-disposal business.”
“What?”
“You heard me. It’s no secret. Kinross gets rid of the city’s unwanted waste the same as it does for industry. If the city calls the cops on Kinross, it’ll be calling the cops on itself. And you and me know the people downtown aren’t that stupid.”
What O’Mara said enlarged the picture I’d been working on. If City Hall was involved, I was creeping into a bigger rats’ nest than I’d imagined. I tried not to let O’Mara see how worried he’d made me. Why can’t cases get simpler instead of always getting more complicated?
There was a slight commotion in the kitchen after a door slammed. For a minute, I thought Dora had stepped out for a walk, but I heard her voice alternating with a deeper one.
“That’ll be Rory,” O’Mara said. “He’s my boy, just home from practice.” I looked up, and, in a second or two, Rory came into the living-room. He was a tall, skinny kid with dark hair dyed darker. Black was his theme colour. It was in his tight trousers, his shirt and his windbreaker. All of this was set off against his pale, unlined face. He saw me as an obstacle sitting in the chair opposite the TV set, frowned and sent a glance in his father’s direction, but it didn’t land anywhere.
“What’s all this?” he said with another look at me. His voice had a slight Mersey twang in it. Were the Beatles still a major influence today? “Dad, is it your birthday or something?”
“It’s a friend of Jack Dowden, Rory. This here is Mr. Cooperman. We’ll be finished in a minute.”
“Glad to meet you, Rory,” I said, holding out my hand, half-getting out of my seat. Rory didn’t see it.
“It’s getting on time for ‘People’s Court,’ Dad.”
“You got a set upstairs.”
“Ah, come on! I like it in colour. Give us a break!” I moved from half-way out of the chair to fully upright. Rory was bigger than me by three inches. I thought, maybe he’ll have back trouble in middle age. I made my way to the front door, thanking O’Mara for his help. Dora came to see me off the property too. Rory turned the TV set on and I heard the familiar theme music.
“Mr. Cooperman,” O’Mara called after me, “don’t get me in shit with the company, you hear? I got responsibilities?”
“You didn’t tell me anything. You never said a word.”
I heard the door close behind me, and I made my way along the sidewalk to the driveway and down to the car. I wondered what it was that Rory was practising. I couldn’t come up with an image that was foul enough.
NINE
The information I’d just heard from Brian O’Mara had nearly knocked me over onto the checkerboard coffee-table, scattering the artificial flowers. I had built a career on staying well away from City Hall. City Hall was nothing but bad news to me ever since the time I found the deputy mayor in the undignified position of filling his pockets from the public purse. You can bet that the city was full of thanks to Benny Cooperman for pointing out the guilty party. City council never did get around to voting the money for a monument to be erected to my memory, although there were a few aldermen who wished the occasion for a wreath at least would come quick. They say that the ancient Greeks used to kill the messenger who brought bad news. The elected officials of Grantham were still in favour of that treatment where I was concerned. My mother says I’m just sensitive to criticism.
The idea of walking into City Hall asking questions of the appropriate party about the disposal of the city’s waste and the politics that guided the designated contractor, namely Kinross Disposals, filled me with cowardice. I just wanted to go back to Irma Dowden and tell her to forget the whole thing. Maybe I should have done that, but I didn’t. I called Martha Tracy instead.
“M’yes? Who is this?”
“Martha, it’s me.”
“Cooperman, is that you?”
“At your service.”
“Listen, Cooperman, whenever you say you’re at my service, you are trying to get some service out of me. Don’t argue, I know you too well.”
“Martha-”
“I’ve billeted friends of yours-friends who up and leave without saying thanks or even goodbye. You spent a few nights here when the posse was out looking for you and I’ve been called at all hours of the day and night to get you out of trouble. What is it this time?”
“Martha, you are my one true friend in all the world?”
“Sounds serious. You want me to put up a whole hockey team this time? Benny, one day you’ll go too far!”
“Martha! Please!”
“Oh, God, I hate to hear you whine, Cooperman. You are one of the great whiners. You should get a medal.”
“I only want information tonight. Honest, Martha. No billets, no meetings with distinguished forwards or defencemen. Just my undying gratitude.”
“Cooperman, your gratitude will last the night. Your needs will die when you do and your habits don’t lead me to think you’re going to outlive the flower of your generation.”
“I’ll take my thanks beyond the grave, Martha. There’s a crown on high with your name on it.”
“In pawn, I’ll bet and you’ve got the ticket. What is it this time?” She was beginning to unwind. Martha really knew how to use the telephone. With her, it was an art.
“Who is it down at City Hall,” I asked, “who is in charge of handling the city’s waste? You know, garbage, stuff like that?”
“Cooperman, you’re transparent and manipulative. Why don’t you pick up some beer and a pizza-hold the anchovies-and get your little bottom over here? We can settle all this under one roof,” she said, and added archly, “unless the girlfriend has a prior claim.”