I said, "We've found Eddie. You've got to come right now. Get dressed."
Timmy said, "No, first you're supposed to say, 'Holy smoke, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.'"
"Eddie Storrs is threatening suicide. Mark Deslonde may be in trouble. Hurry up. Move."
They moved.
A ladder was being raised up the right side of Deslonde's building from the narrow yard that separated it from an old second-empire Victorian house. Eddie Storrs still sat motionless on the window ledge in front.
Billy Blount stood in the shadows of the autumn foliage and gazed up at him. Up the street a second ambulance moved quietly into position behind the first.
Phil had arrived. He was arguing plaintively with a uniformed police captain now on the scene who was not allowing anyone to approach the yard with the ladder except "family members."
I said, "He's Deslonde's best friend," and looked at Bowman, who saw what I meant.
Bowman said to the captain, "He's the guy in the apartment's boyfriend, Lou. It's up to you."
"Family members only," the captain said blandly. He turned and walked away.
Phil started to lunge, and I stepped between them. Timmy and I wrestled Phil back into a yard across from Deslonde's building. He collapsed onto the ground and sat there, flushed, teeth clenched, his chest heaving.
Timmy stayed with Phil, and I walked back into the street where Bowman was standing. He said,
"I make it a practice never to argue with a captain," and looked away.
I said, "That's not the way it happened. You were petty, and callous."
He looked back at me with hard eyes. "You people are going to make an incident out of this, aren't you? Blow it out of proportion."
I said, "I think so, yes."
"I'll deal with you later, Strachey. For a man who's broken as many laws as you have in the past week, you're acting pretty goddamned pushy with me. I want you to know I've just about come to the end of my rope with you."
"Do you want your defendant in the Kleckner case alive or dead?"
"Alive," he said. "It's expensive for the taxpayers but it's tidier on my record."
"Fine," I said. "I'll bring him down for you in return for an apology to Phil Jerrold, the guy you just fucked over in a particularly vicious manner."
He snorted and shook his head in disbelief. He turned toward the spot where Billy Blount was standing under a tree and gazing up at the man on the ledge. "Hey, come over here! You Blount!"
Billy Blount walked into the middle of the street to where we stood.
I said, "Don't do what he says."
Bowman said, "Billy, you and I have got to go in there and say something soothing to your friend there. It might take awhile, so let's just relax and go up and sit on the stairs for a time and let the fellow hear the sound of your voice. Let him get used to it. Then we'll see what we can make happen. You got me?"
I said, "Don't go. Not until the sergeant here has offered an apology for his homophobic cruelty toward a friend of ours-a friend of Mark's."
In the side yard a patrolman with a tool kit strapped to his back was moving up the ladder.
"Come on, Billy, we've got to get that troubled lad safely onto terra firma. Let's go, kid."
Bowman moved toward the building. Blount stood still.
Bowman turned around, glowering. He said, "You're both under arrest."
We looked at him.
He said, "You, William Blount, for suspicion of murder. You, Donald Strachey, for aiding a fugitive from justice. I'm obliged to remind you that you have a right to remain silent, you have a right to-"
"Bi-l-l-leeee!" The voice sliced through the night. The crowd froze. The man on the ladder stopped and listened.
This time the figure raised one arm from the window frame. "Bi-l-l-l-eeeee!" The crowd gasped, and someone behind us said, "Oh, God."
Blount yelled, "I'll be right up, Eddie! Hang on! "I'll be up!"
Blount trotted across the street, up the brick walkway, and into the building. A minute later two arms were wrapped from behind around the figure on the ledge. The figure began to turn as if on a pinwheel, and then it doubled up and disappeared through the window.
We charged into the building and up the stairs. Blount and Storrs were sitting beside a blue gym bag on the floor of the fourth-floor landing, their backs against the wall under the window.
Blount was holding Storrs's hand. They hardly seemed to notice us banging on Mark Deslonde's locked door.
There was no response from inside the apartment. Two firemen bounded up the stairs with axes; Bowman and I and three patrolmen stood back. I could hear the radio blasting away inside. Disco 101-the Three Degrees' "Jump the Gun." After three well-placed blows the door splintered and fell away.
The living room was empty. The face of the man on the ladder was visible through the window.
We moved into the bedroom and found no one. A second set of stereo speakers carried the roar of the music into the room where we stood. Bowman said, "Somebody shut that goddamn thing off!"
The bathroom door opened. Mark Deslonde stepped out in his nylon briefs and stared at us with the most astonished look I'd ever seen on a face.
I said, "Jesus! Are you all right? Where the fuck have you been?"
"I've been trimming my beard. What is this? What the hell is going on?"
"Trimming your beard? For an hour? For a fucking hour?"
Deslonde shrugged, tilted his head, and grinned.
24
"You've got a lot of nerve coming in here, Strachey. Because we're such nice guys, the DA and I decided during the excitement last night not to go to the trouble of prosecuting you and your pal Blount, and now you waltz in here like you owned the goddamn city of Albany and start badgering me and asking for favors. I've run into some pretty deluded perverts over the years, but, Jesus' mother, you take the cake, Strachey, you surely do."
I said, "What a crock. You owe me a big one, and you know it. I just want to borrow the thing overnight. You'll have it back first thing Sunday morning. By noon, anyway. Or one."
He shifted in his chair and caused the holes and nodules on his face to move around. "I'd have to know your intended use for the device," he said. "That thing is worth a lot of money, and if it got damaged in any way, they'd make a note of it and take it out of my pension when that holy day comes, and that pension is already so piss-paltry the wife and myself will probably end up in some trailer parked by a meter on Central Avenue. Now, what the hell are you gonna do with it?"
"I can tell you this much, Ned. The device will be used in a manner your department will approve of entirely. I'm talking about law enforcement. It will be used to collect evidence against a felon. I plan to provide the DA with another warm criminal body for Judge Feeney to pounce on and gobble up. And if you'd like, I'd be happy to mention your name in connection with the apprehension of this disgusting public menace."
He cringed. "You can skip the last part."
An hour later, before I had lunch with Timmy at his apartment, I phoned Sewickley Oaks.
"This is Jay Tarbell, calling for Stu Blount. Mr. Blount's son William has been located, as you may know, and Mr. Blount wishes now to proceed with the boy's treatment. He would appreciate your picking up the boy late tonight, and I'd like to discuss the arrangements-the boy is rather distraught, I'm afraid, and might put up some resistance. I'm sure, though, that your staff can come prepared for any eventuality."
"Oh-I see. Well, Dr. Thurston has stepped out, but I know the doctor thought perhaps Mr.
Blount might have changed his mind. I mean, considering what happened last night-we saw the TV reports, and we thought-"
"Not at all, not at all. The boy is no longer under suspicion of murder, of course, but, sad to say, young William is still queer as a three-dollar bill, so to speak, ahem. And you do have Judge Feeney's order in hand, do you not?"