Up and down the lane he walked, to the south end at Duluth, then past the crime scene up to Rachel. He walked two blocks to Saint-Christophe, where a girl who looked like Irene had been seen walking with a boy in a checked cap. Irene’s age or younger, according to the witness. But no boy could have had the strength to do this. Or the hatred of women, which was what usually fueled these crimes.
He walked back east along Rachel. One more time down the lane, he thought, and then he’d go to the office and start looking through the results of Marois’s canvass.
Then he stopped to stare at a three-story gray stone building on the north side of the street. It had double doors with etching in the glass. A worm started to crawl through his gut, one he had felt many times before. He stood motionless, hands at his sides, breathing deeply, the way he breathed when he needed to snatch a fleeting thought, hold it, force it into words. When the words came to him, words about the curly haired boy walking Irene through the neighborhood, he ran to his car, shot through the alley, and drove eleven blocks west without touching the brakes.
Jan Albrecht opened the door after three rings, wearing a long gray robe. His eyes were red and his long feet were bare and he was massaging his neck; it seemed more crooked than the day before.
“Sergeant, what’s wrong? It’s not even seven o’clock.”
“Something I need to ask you, Jan. Fast. When Billy goes out, does he ever wear a cap?”
“We all do,” Albrecht said — he pointed to a row of hooks behind him where a couple of fedoras hung at eye level.
“Not a hat,” Max said. “A cap.”
“I think he has one. Yes. A cap with a brim that snaps in the front.”
“What color?”
“I’m not sure. Brown, I think.”
“All brown? Or brown and white.”
“Brown and white, now that you mention it. In a checkered pattern.”
Max took out his Cobra and held it at his side. He looked Albrecht in the eye and said quietly, “Tell me you didn’t know.”
“Know what? I don’t—”
“About the girl. About Billy.”
“What are you saying? That Billy had something to do with that... that horrible thing?”
Max raised the gun and pointed it at Albrecht’s chest. It only had a two-inch barrel so if he was going to use it, he had to be close. “Say you didn’t know, Jan.”
“Of course I didn’t. I don’t. Billy wouldn’t—”
“He would, Jan. He did. Where is he?”
“Asleep.”
“Which room?”
“All the way at the back, behind the kitchen.”
Max lowered the gun and said, “All right. Take off.”
Albrecht swallowed hard. “Why don’t I stay? I can help you.”
“I don’t want help.”
“You want to kill him?”
“Get out of here, Jan. Now.”
“All right. Let me get my shoes.”
“The hell with your shoes. It’s not cold out.”
“Please don’t hurt him,” Albrecht said. “He’s so small.”
So small.
Small like a nine-year-old boy. Small like Irene. Shorter even. His hair had looked almost black the day before when it was wet, but now, asleep in his bed, it was brown and curly.
Max looked around the small room. Billy’s white robe hung on a hook screwed into the closet door. On another hook hung a brown-and-white newsboy’s cap. He stood at the side of the single bed and pressed the muzzle of the Cobra against Billy’s forehead and cocked the hammer. The sound of the rotating chamber woke the little man and he sat up, eyes wild. Max pushed his head back down with the gun.
“Ask me,” he said.
Billy licked his lips. “Ask you what?”
“Ask me what I’m doing here.”
“Okay,” Billy said. “What are you—”
Max drew the gun back and drove his left fist into Billy’s face. Billy’s head snapped back as blood spurted out of his broken nose. “Ask me again,” Max said.
Billy was gasping and swallowing like a landed fish. “I don’t—”
Max grabbed his hair and put the gun back against Billy’s head. “I said, ask me.”
“I’m choking!”
“Are you going to ask me?”
“Yes!” he gulped, blood dribbling over his lips and down his chin. “Please. Tell me why you’re here.”
“For Irene,” Max said. “I’m here for her.”
“Irene who?”
Max ground the gun barrel harder against the bony forehead. “Don’t you dare say that,” he whispered. “Don’t you fucking dare deny her fucking name.”
Billy looked down at his sheets. “The girl across the street?”
“I know this isn’t where you killed her. But it’s where you first saw her. Isn’t it?”
“Me? No.”
“You saying you never saw her? You lie to me, you twisted shit, I’ll kill you.”
“Don’t I have a right to a phone call?”
A small body wedged under a crawl space. An autopsy report that ran to two pages. Broken milk teeth.
“You have the right to get shot in your lying mouth. Now tell me what happened, Billy. You saw her out there on the street?”
Billy’s eyes tried to focus on Max but kept coming back to the gun. “Okay, sure. I saw her. We were neighbors for three weeks.”
“You go for a walk with her?”
“Never!”
“Someone saw you, Billy. Saw you walking with her in your brown-and-white cap. You know where?”
“It wasn’t me!”
“You’re lying again. Like you lied about Eddie Whelan. Spun us a bullshit story about him hanging around to take the heat off yourself. You know he’s dead, don’t you?”
“Whelan?”
“We went to bring him in and he tried to dump his needle and his junk and a nervous cop thought he was pulling a gun and put two rounds into him. Know what it sounded like?”
“No,” Billy said.
Max put his gun against Billy’s pillow, inches from his ear, and fired.
“Jesus!” Billy cried. He tried to get up but Max put his hand on his chest and kept him where he was. Feathers flew up in the air then settled back on the bed and floor.
“She saw you on Rachel,” Max said, “walking with Irene, heading east past Saint-Christophe. You know what’s there, don’t you?”
“What?”
“On the north side of Rachel, between Mentana and Boyer. Number 961.”
“961 Rachel?” Billy said softly. “The Midgets Palace?”
“Say it again.”
“The Midgets Palace.”
“You offered to take her there, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“What kid wouldn’t want to go? All that tiny furniture. Everything cut down to size. What did you say yesterday? They can see how the little-halves live?”
“I didn’t take her there!”
“I’m going to show your lying face to this witness,” Max said, “and she’s going to say, Yes, sergeant, that’s him, that’s the one who walked with her in the checkered cap. And I am going to take you into the basement of headquarters — no, into a dark laneway — and beat you to death the way you beat her. I’m going to break every bone and crack every tooth in your head. Slowly, Billy.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m six feet tall and almost two hundred pounds. Tell me again that I can’t.”
“But the law—”
“You think anyone will care about the law once they find out about you and Irene? They all loved that girl, Billy. The whole city has been following the story, searching for her, praying we’d find her alive. Your only hope is to tell me what happened and do it fast, before I get the urge to pull this trigger again. But not into the pillow. Into your knees. Or maybe that big shlong of yours. Isn’t it big, Billy? You told me yesterday, it’s bigger than other guys.”