"The man who sent you to the hospital," Brown said.
"Oh, him," Ruiz said. "What about him?
He's in jail, ain' he?”
“No, he's not in jail," Carella said.
"Take it easy, fellas," Meyer said.
"There's no need to jump all over the man this way.”
Playing Good Cop to all these big mean Bad Cops, all of them glaring at him as if to say, "Keep out of this, we know how to handle punks.”
Ruiz nodded to him in silent gratitude.
"You were spotted uptown, cruising in your limo," Carella said, expanding on the truth a bit in that Carmen Sanchez had not positively identified the driver of the limo that seemed to be casing the building on several occasions, "in the vicinity of ten-sixty-five Ainsley Avenue, are you familiar with that neighborhood?”
"I hardly ever go up there," Ruiz said. "You mus' be mistaken.”
"But you do go up there sometimes, huh?" Brown said.
"Very rarely," Ruiz said, savoring the word rarely as if it were a word he rarely used. "Very rarely," he said again, rolling it around his tongue like sweet wine.
"Were you up there on January seventh?”
Hawes asked.
"When was that?”
"Monday, the seventh. Were you up there in your nice long limo?”
"No.”
"Around twelve, twelve-thirty," Carella said. "Looking for Tilly?”
"Tilly's still in jail, ain' he?”
The same line again, or a reasonable facsimile of it. The same bandito grin.
Ruiz was very handsome, and he knew it. Thick black macho hair and mustache, grin like a gay caballero. Even with the broken nose, he was handsome. Maybe even handsomer than he'd been before Tilly rearranged it for him.
"No, he's not in jail," Carella said again, both of them circling the same old mulberry bush.
"He got out in October," Hawes said.
"When'd you come back from Puerto Rico?”
Brown asked.
"I don't remember.”
"Guido says you started working for him again in October, November sometime.”
"If Guido says so, then it mus' be,”
Ruiz said, and shrugged, and smiled innocently at his good old pal Detective Meyer.
"The man's clean," Meyer said, "why are you giving him all this bullshit?”
"Gracias, amigo," Ruiz said.
"De nada," Meyer said, and patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Why'd you come back here?" Carella asked.
"Because you knew Tilly was out?”
"I thought he wass still in," Ruiz insisted.
"Because you wanted to pay him back?" Hawes asked.
"Get him for what he did to you?”
"Shaming you that way ...”
"Little guy like that breaking your nose and your arms ...”
"Big macho guy like you ...”
"I don' know what you mean," Ruiz said, and again looked soulfully at Meyer.
"He doesn't know what you guys mean,”
Meyer said. "And neither do I. What if he was up there last Monday ...?was "Thass right," Ruiz said. "What if I wass?”
"Does that mean he killed Tilly?”
"No," Ruiz said, shaking his head, "it don' mean I killed him. How could it mean that? I di'n even know he wass dead. I thought he wass still in jail.”
"If you thought he was still in jail, why'd you shoot him?" Carella said.
"I di'n shoot nobody.”
"Try this on for size," Hawes said, and suddenly tossed a tagged .32-31liber pistol on the desk. The gun landed with a solid thunk, slid across the desk toward Ruiz, and skidded to a stop, leaving a grayish-white residue behind it.
Ruiz looked at it as if an abandoned bastard had suddenly returned home.
"What's that?" he asked pleasantly.
"What do you think it is?" Brown asked.
"It looks like a gun.”
"Yes, it is a gun," Brown said.
"Mmm," Ruiz said, looking at the gun in wonder and amazement.
"It's a thirty-two-caliber Hi-Standard Sentinel," Hawes said.
"Mmm," Ruiz said again.
"Ever see that gun before?" Carella asked.
"Does the man look like someone who'd - be familiar with guns?" Meyer asked testily.
"Ever see it?”
"No, wait a minute," Meyer said. "I asked you a question, Steve. Does this man ...?was "I never seen that gun in my life," Ruiz said.
"Thank you," Meyer said.
"De nada," Ruiz said.
"We found that gun at the murder scene,”
Carella said, pointing to it. "Ten-sixty-five Ainsley Avenue, where Tilly was shot and killed.”
"Right there at the scene," Brown said.
"Tilly hanging from the ceiling, a bullet hole in his head," Hawes said.
Painting the picture for him. Broad brush strokes.
Ruiz merely shrugged and looked at Meyer as if he didn't have the faintest idea what any of these people were talking about.
"Okay, let's go," Carella said.
"Go?" Ruiz said. "Go where?”
"Take some fingerprints," Carella said.
"What for?”
"Because we lifted some good prints from that gun, and we want to check yours against them.”
He was lying. The gun had been covered with ashes, was still covered with ashes, and they hadn't retrieved a single good print from it.
"I don't have to let you do that," Ruiz said.
"Take my fingerprints.”
"Yes, you do," Carella said, "read your Miranda. Let's go.”
"Anyway, how ...?was Ruiz said, and stopped short.
"How what?" Brown said.
"Nothing.”
"What were you about to say? How what?”
"There's ashes all over it," Ruiz said.
"How could there be fingerprints?”
"There were fingerprints," Carella said, lying again.
"And how do you know those are ashes?" Brown said.
"Well, you can see they're ashes," Ruiz said.
"No, it just looks like some gray shit all over the gun, how do you know it's ashes?”
"I just figured ...”
"Yeah, what'd you figure?”
"It just looks like ashes, that's all," Ruiz said, and shrugged, and turned to Meyer. "Don' it look like ashes to you?" he said.
"Of course," Meyer said, and smiled encouragingly.
"Hass to be ashes," Ruiz said, more confidently now.
"But how'd you know right off it was ashes?”
Brown said, closing in.
"Well, you said you found the gun at the scene, ain' that what you said?”
"Yeah?”
"So I figured there could be ashes down there, am I right?" he said, turning to Meyer, smiling again. "In a basement, am I right? There could be ashes. Depending on what kind of ...”
"Who said we found it in a basement?" Meyer asked.
He was no longer smiling.
"Well, you ...”
"Who said the word basement?”
Ruiz looked at Meyer as if his own mother had just stabbed him in the heart. He turned to the other detectives. None of them was smiling, either. The entire squadroom had gone utterly still.
"Well, you said ...”
He was trying hard to remember what they'd said.
Hadn't they said they'd found the gun at the murder scene? Down there in the basement? Tilly hanging from the ceiling? He was sure that's what they'd said.
But- "You want a lawyer?" Carella asked.
"Should I get a lawyer?" Ruiz asked Meyer.
Meyer wasn't permitted to advise him, but he nodded discreetly.
The clock on the squadroom wall read ten minutes to eleven.
Outside, it was beginning to snow again.
The world was white.
They had slept the morning away, and had made love again before rising, and now-at a little past noon-they came out into a fairyland of crystal peaks and minarets, spun-sugar towers and domes.
In a city not particularly famous for its cleanliness, there was now a thick carpet of white that disguised and obscured. There was, too, a stillness that created a false sense of serenity.