“Walt, I would say that a full 70 percent of the residents of Philadelphia use the term ‘yo man.’”
I kept my eyes steady with hers. “It was him, and that was also him on the bridge.”
“What bridge?”
“When I met you here in Philadelphia.”
“All right, just for argument’s sake, let’s say it was. Why is this kid following you around?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t think it’s possible that he’s involved with this Toy Diaz group and the recently deceased Shankar DuVall?”
“He was, but I don’t think he is now, and I don’t think he’s a killer. I think he was the cook and the accountant.” She started shaking her head before I could finish. “Look, the drug business is like any other business; if you don’t keep track of your money, you don’t make money.”
“Granted.”
“If you’re running a drug operation, you can’t exactly walk into the office of the nearest CPA. You need somebody good with numbers, somebody you can trust, but somebody under the radar.”
She nodded. “Gladwyne on the Main Line, Ivy League, Phi Beta Kappa, and Rhodes Scholar William Carlisle.”
I refilled my mug and held onto the pot. “But somehow Billy Carlisle became a loose cannon in the Diaz organization somewhere around the same time he became William White Eyes, and I think that happened because of Cady.”
“In the pro bono appeal?”
“Yep.”
She smiled. “You think your daughter had a strong enough moral influence on this guy that it turned him?”
I poured her some more coffee. “You’d be amazed at the influence a woman can have for good or bad.”
She grinned and nodded her head. “Uh huh.”
I set the pot back down. “I don’t think Billy Carlisle was that bad of a guy to begin with. I think he made some bad choices and got involved with some bad people. I think he got reminded of his conscience in his dealings with Cady, and I think she became emblematic of something.”
Vic nodded and looked down at the collection of books I had spread across the counter. “What’s all this shit, anyway?”
“Research. The kid’s a genius. What’s the one thing he figured I’d eventually pick up on and even be drawn to?”
She looked at the books. “Statues?”
“Indians.”
Her eyes widened. “Fuck me.”
“The first note wasn’t Henry. GO BACK TO THE INDIAN was the statue at Logan Circle. I think LOOK WEST, YOU CAN FIGHT CITY HALL means the Indian statues facing west at City Hall.” I turned one of the books and shoved it toward her and pointed at the photograph of a Plains medicine man on horseback, his arm raised above his buffalo headdress. “Dauphin at West Thirty-third Street, east Fairmount Park.”
“Medicine man.”
I nodded. “I’m headed over to the hospital, but I thought I might stop off at City Hall since it’s on the way. The City Hall note came before the medicine man one, and the sequence might be important.”
The wedding cake that is the City Hall of Philadelphia was designed to be the tallest building in the world, but by the time it was finished, the Eiffel Tower and the Washington Monument had surpassed it. On four and a half acres of Penn Square, its domed tower tops out just shy of 550 feet to the top of Willy Penn’s hat. There are 250 other statues that adorn the interior and exterior of the building to keep him company.
We got out of the cab at the west side of the building and walked across the sidewalk with Dog as though we were approaching some fantastic ship that had been docked at the center of the metropolis.
“I hate this building.”
I ignored her and studied the facade. “It’s Second Empire, the same as the Louvre.”
“It’s fruity.”
“This is quite possibly the greatest architectural achievement of the late nineteenth century.”
I allowed my eye to cast over the dormer pediment figures on the west side of the building and walked a little ahead of Vic as she stopped to buy an Italian ice from one of the vendors that populated the area. Dog strained a little at the leash and attempted to be a part of Vic’s transaction, but I gently yanked him back.
It was a beautiful day, and the skies and streets were washed clear with the previous night’s storms. I could feel the humidity, and the air felt like the breath of someone close. I dragged Dog along behind me as I angled a little to the left and stood there, studying the dormer caryatids. Above them were two colossal bronzes at the north corners of the tower, twenty-four to twenty-six feet in height: one was an Indian maiden, the other a brave.
I looked at the more than two hundred vertical feet between the statues and me as Vic came over with two cups of Italian ice. “We don’t have to climb this ugly fucker, do we?”
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.” I took my ice and spooned out a mouthful; it was pina colada, and it was very good. “Is there a tour of the building?”
“Yeah, or at least there used to be.”
I clarified my question. “When?”
“When it used to be my division, it was Monday through Friday at 12:30.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“It’s Philadelphia; nothing’s easy.”
I sidled a little more to the left, continuing to study the massive sculptures. “A woman with a child, and a man with a dog.” I looked down at Dog, who seemed to be taking an inordinate interest in my ice. “You don’t have any notes on you, do you?” He sat in expectation of a treat. I turned back to Vic. “Do you think we’re supposed to figure it out from here?”
She shrugged and continued eating her lemon ice. “That hasn’t been the case so far.”
I went back to ignoring Dog and studied the tower. LOOK WEST, YOU CAN FIGHT CITY HALL. It didn’t make sense that William White Eyes would leave a note in a place where we couldn’t get it. He hadn’t done that before, and I think he was a creature of habit, albeit a creative one. As I finally succumbed and lowered the cup to Dog so that he could lap the remaining syrup at the bottom, I thought I heard somebody say something.
I looked at Vic, who was standing another twelve feet closer to the northwestern corner of the building. “What?”
She stared back at me. “Huh?”
“What’d you just say?”
She looked at me quizzically. “Is your hearing going again?”
I stood there. “Didn’t you just say something?”
“No.”
This time the voice came from directly behind me. I turned and looked at the grizzled man who owned the Italian ice cart-a stocky balding man with a soiled red apron and striped shirt. “Excuse me?”
He smiled and said it a little louder this time. “Medicine Man.”
14
He didn’t know William White Eyes or Billy Carlisle; he just knew that a guy had paid him twenty bucks to keep an eye out for a large man in a cowboy hat with a dog and when he saw him to say “Medicine Man.” He said the guy that had given him the message was tall, skinny, and had been wearing a cap and sunglasses, so he didn’t know what color his hair or eyes might’ve been, but that he was well dressed and had been wearing shiny shoes. He said he always noticed them and that you could tell a lot about a person from their shoes.
He liked my cowboy boots.
He said the guy told him I’d be around yesterday and that he’d tried the two words out on a man that was wearing a cowboy hat but wasn’t so big and didn’t have a dog. He said the man had looked at him funny, and he figured it was the wrong guy. He said the fella with the twenty had given him the message to pass along yesterday afternoon. He studied me for a while and then wanted to know if he was in trouble. I told him no.
He wanted to know if he got another twenty bucks. I told him no to that, too. He wanted to know whether if he came up with anything else, there might be another twenty in it. I told him I was a police officer and that if he hadn’t told me everything, we could continue this conversation at the Roundhouse.