“I’ll do that, if I can get some help,” said Dunbar.
“I’ll come along, if I can wear a disguise,” said Hrcany.
“Wear your Nixon mask,” said Karp. “Mike, you go with the uptown squad, too. It’s good training. Guys, be gentle with him, he’s a mere child.”
“What’s the other thing?” asked V.T.
“Yeah, that’s the hard one. We’ve got to bring Louis to trial, which means we’ve got to destroy this Ganser syndrome bullshit. Which means knocking off Werner.”
“Can you do that?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, V.T. I figure the only way to get the kind of information we need on Werner is to get somebody on the inside, to present somebody as a patient with Ganser syndrome. Get a line on the internal politics of the forensic staff. I can’t believe every psychiatrist in Bellevue is as whacked out as Werner.”
“So somebody has to pose as a crazed criminal and be locked up in Bellevue, and be examined by Werner,” V.T. mused.
“Exactly,” said Karp, “but who?”
“Yeah, somebody would have to be crazy to pull a trick like that.” Guma laughed. Then he realized that everybody else in the room was silent and looking at him expectantly.
“Uh-uh, guys. No way. No fucking way. I mean, I’ll help out and all, but I draw the line there. No way am I going to get locked up with a bunch of loonies. Sor-ree …”
“What’s the matter, Goom, afraid they won’t let you out?” said Hrcany.
“Up yours, blondie! You’re so fuckin’ wise, you do it! Sorry, Butch, that’s it, that’s final.”
Ten minutes later Guma was sitting in a wheelchair, dressed in a Bellevue robe and pajamas. V.T. was preparing to push Guma down to the locked wards.
“I don’t believe I’m doing this,” said Guma. “I can’t believe you had it all set up, the paperwork and everything. What if I’da said no?”
“We had faith in you, Mad Dog,” said V.T. “Now start acting crazy, we’re rolling.”
Kaplan and Hrcany were standing outside Louis’s apartment. Nobody gave them any trouble. Two white men in suits walking together in that neighborhood could be only cops.
Hrcany knocked on the door. It opened three inches on a chain and a blast of high-volume Funkadelics washed over the two men.
“Hi, DeVonne,” said Hrcany. “Can we come in?”
“Who you?”
“What? Didn’t Louis tell you? We got the money. All of it.”
“What money?” said DeVonne suspiciously. Louis usually left her pretty explicit instructions about what he wanted her to do. He hadn’t said anything about white guys and money. On the other hand Louis was sounding flaky on the phone recently, jabbering about plans and lots in a way that she couldn’t follow. DeVonne liked simple orders. But maybe he forgot. Also, DeVonne was running short of cash. Elvis had cleaned out the cash box, and she was afraid to sell Louis’s stuff. He could be back any time. Something didn’t happen in a couple of weeks, she was going to have to go back to work.
“The money from the deal. Hey, baby, let’s not stand out in the hall so all the neighbors can hear Louis’s business. C’mon, let us in.”
DeVonne shrugged, closed the door, slipped the chain, and the two men entered. DeVonne walked across the living room and sat on the couch. She was wearing a floor-length, patterned orange lounging robe, loose and cut to the thigh. She crossed her legs and lit a cigarette with a large silver lighter.
“You all better not be shittin’ me. What kinda deal.”
“Smack. You know. Louis moved some shit for us. His end is ten grand. Here it is, OK?”
Hrcany held out a thick wad of bills wrapped in a rubber band. DeVonnne saw Ben Franklin’s picture on top. Her eyes widened and she reached out for the wad.
“Uh-uh, baby. First you got to sign this receipt. I don’t give nobody ten grand in cash without a receipt.” Hrcany held out a piece of paper and a ballpoint. DeVonne took it and signed it on the glass coffee table.
Hrcany picked it up: “Received September 10, 1973, $10,000, signed, DeVonne Carter,” he read. “Real good, DeVonne. OK, here’s your cash.” He tossed the roll to DeVonne, who pulled off the rubber band and riffled through the bills. Her mouth opened in shock when she discovered that the hundred dollar bill covered a hundred ones.
“Yeah, baby, next time you want to count the money before you give the man a receipt.”
“Hey! Goddam, what you doin’?” yelled DeVonne as Hrcany and Kaplan started for the door. Hrcany turned.
“Well, we thought we’d go make a copy of this receipt and give it to Louis, so he’ll know his ten grand is safe and sound.”
“What you mean? They ain’t no ten grand here. This here’s nothin’ but a couple hunred.”
“Yeah, well that will be sort of hard to explain to Louis when he gets out. On the other hand …”
“What?” DeVonne was frightened. She saw the best scene she ever had going up in smoke, or worse. She didn’t want to think about how she was going to cover ten grand. DeVonne was not used to thinking on her feet.
“On the other hand,” said Hrcany, waving the receipt, “we could have a little party. Maybe I could forget this, huh?”
DeVonne sighed with both relief and resignation. She was once again on familiar ground. She stood up and walked slowly over to Hrcany, smiling and exaggerating the roll of her wide hips.
“Make sure you do, honey,” she said, toying with the belt of her robe. As she waggled toward the bedroom she flashed a standard sultry look over her shoulder. They saw the robe drop as she passed from view.
“It worked,” said Hrcany in a low voice. “Let’s get busy.”
“Christ, Roland, what are we supposed to do now?”
“Oh, well, I’ll toss this room and the kitchen, and you go in there and amuse DeVonne.”
“Me? Why me? I don’t get this whole scene, the song-and-dance about the money … why didn’t we just identify ourselves and ask if we could look around?”
“Good idea, Kaplan. You think DeVonne is going to let a couple of ADAs nose around? She’s dumb, but not that dumb. Also, we’re not looking for evidence. We’re looking for stuff we can use to beat Elvis over the head. We definitely don’t want anybody to know we searched up here. It would screw up the case something fierce. Catch my drift?”
“Shit. But what should I do in …?” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the bedroom.
“Oh God! Kaplan, use your glands. Go! I got to get started. Oh, yeah, sooner or later she’s going to use the can. See what you can find in the bedroom. Otherwise we’ll have to figure out some way of waltzing her out here.”
“You could tell her you can fuck only on a kitchen table,” said Kaplan sourly.
“Hey, now you’re thinking!” said Hrcany, and began pulling books from the shelves.
Dunbar was sitting on the crummy green couch in Vera Higgs’s apartment, watching “Gilligan’s Island.” Her child was in his accustomed place in front of the TV. Vera Higgs was pretending Dunbar didn’t exist. The last thing she had said to him, nearly two hours ago, was: “Pres say, the lawyer tol’ him, if you keep botherin’ me, he gonna get a coat order. He say it harassment. So you can sit there all night Mister PO-lice, I ain’ saying nothin’ I ain’ tol’ you a hunnerd times already.”
And she was as good as her word. Dunbar would have left a long time ago, but he had agreed to meet Kaplan and Hrcany in the Bronx, on the slim chance they would turn up something important.
There was a knock on the door, and Dunbar got up and opened it. Hrcany and Kaplan stood in the doorway. Hrcany beaming, Kaplan looking glum and a little sick.
“You got something?” asked the detective.
“Yeah, we do. A Grand Jury subpoena and some other stuff. Where is she?”
Dunbar motioned to the woman on the couch. Hrcany went over to her. She glanced at him without interest and then turned back to the TV. Hrcany held the subpoena between her eyes and the glowing screen.