Bergman, a very cool character under the most extreme circumstances, could not conceal his surprise. Nevins returned to the table, his face etched with sadness and dropped with a sigh into his chair, his face troubled.
“An inside joke, Inspector Bergman, between the two of us. It was never said in polite society and I’m sure he never mentioned it to anyone else. Where in heaven’s name did you hear that?”
Bergman’s mind nimbly sought an appropriate answer. “It came up in one of the briefings along with those other names,” he said. “Your name was never mentioned. Maybe Handley jotted it down somewhere, you know, on a list of calls to make or something.”
Nevins paused for a moment then relaxed, accepting the explanation. His sudden change in composure was evanescent.
“ Quid pro quo time,” he said.
“One more thing. It relates directly to the homicide.”
“I hope so. We made a deal.”
“Does the Yellow Door sound familiar?”
Nevins expression changed slightly. He leaned forward in his chair and took a swig from his glass.
“Your turn,” he said firmly.
“Okay. I will depend on you to keep what I’m about to tell you in complete confidence.”
“That was understood,” he nodded.
“He was your friend, sir. You’re going to find the details odious at the very least.”
“I’m prepared for that. Will it bother you if I smoke?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank God.” He took out a pack of unfiltered Camels, tamping the end of a cigarette on the table before lighting it. He drew deeply, leaned back with his eyes closed and exhaled toward the ceiling.
As Bergman described the scene, Nevins leaned forward, took a deep drink, lit one cigarette off the other and his expression became increasingly horrified.
“Oh. Oh, my dear God,” Nevins cried. He was shaking all over. The ash on his cigarette fluttered to the floor. Bergman took it from his hand, crushed it out in an ashtray. “I may be sick to my stomach,” Nevins croaked feebly.
“Maybe it would help to lie down on the sofa.”
“No. I’ll be alright in a minute.” He paused and then added, “How do you do it? Seeing things like that all the time?”
“It goes with the territory. I don’t know how I’d handle it if the victim were a friend.”
Nevins sat up and wiped his face with the wet towel. Tears were streaming down his face which sagged with sorrow.
“Why? Why would anyone do such an abominable thing to Raymond? How could someone hate him that much?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Are there suspects? Do you have any ideas?”
“I was hoping you could help us with that.”
“I can’t imagine Ray being involved in anything that tawdry. Perhaps he was victimized, kidnapped or forced into it.”
“I ran the crime scene with my boss, Mister Nevins. He’s the best there is. I can assure you, Handley knew what he was getting into. Our best guess is that he thought it was a game but whoever killed him went there with murder in mind.”
“Nobody I know who knew him well could possibly be capable of such a thing. He was a lovely young man. He was tough but he never intentionally hurt anyone.”
“ Quid pro quo. Tell me about the Yellow Door.”
“I will, just please tell me how it figures into this.”
“He stopped there on his way home from Cincinnati. Met a woman in one of its private rooms. She got there before him, he arrived about midnight, she left a few minutes later. He waited about fifteen minutes and left the back way. He got home in a cab about one. We are certain that a single person committed the crime. That person got there before Raymond. That person had his keys and set up the scene. That person planned to kill him and robbery was not a factor.”
“Any description of the woman?”
“Not much. Red designer dress, about five-five, five six, depending on the shoes. She was wearing a Dracula mask, the kind that goes down to the shoulders. She didn’t take a cab to Handley’s place, if she went there at all.”
“You think it could have been someone else? I mean, it sounds like…”
“The Yellow Door, Mister Nevins.”
“Please, just help me understand this. Was he tortured? Was he in great pain? Was there a struggle?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. At this point anybody who knew him is suspect.”
“Does that include Edgar and me?”
“You’re sixty-one, born in Haddonfield, N.J. Your dad was a veep at RCA. You’re a graduate of Harvard Law with an MB from the Wharton School. You’re Victor Stembler’s closest confidant, been with the firm for thirty-eight years, a senior partner and member of the Board with an enormous salary and all the accoutrements that go with it.”
“Huh,” said Nevins, sardonically. “You’re certainly thorough. What’s my shoe size?”
“Eleven C, you wear a forty long and your shirt size is sixteen/thirty-five. That was easy, I’m sitting here looking at you.”
Nevins smiled and nodded his head.
“Your point, Inspector,” he said ruefully. “Time to talk about the Yellow Door.”
21
The wolves started to howl at dusk. Charley heard them first. Cody saw his ears go up. The big white dog sat up and his ears turned like a radio antenna searching for a signal. He whined deep in his throat, barely audible.
“It’s okay,” Cody said and Charley looked at him and settled back down in the corner of the office but his ears were still tuned to the sound.
Out in the office Hue was taping the beginning of Bergman’s interview with Nevins.
Then she called. He recognized the number when it appeared on the caller I.D. on his private line. Cody picked up the receiver.
“This is Cody,” he said.
“Hi,” she said. “It’s Amelie Cluett. Remember me?”
“Of course.”
“I think I may have thought of something. Could you stop by?”
“Now?”
“I’m sorry. I know you must be busy…” There was a sense of urgency in her tone.
He was thinking while she spoke. The Wildlife Center was only a few blocks away from her.
In the background he could hear Bergman’s conversation with Nevins on the loudspeaker.
“That’s alright,” he said. “I was just heading up that way. I’ll swing by in a few minutes.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“It’s no problem.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
He grabbed his leather jacket and Charley started to get up.
“Stay, Charley, I’ll be back soon,” he said and the dog looked at him for a moment and whined again and lay back down.
As he walked out of his office he heard the end of Bergman’s conversation.
“His recorder just went dead,” Hue said.
“You heard, Nevins,” Cody said to him, “He said to put away the notebook. Erase what you taped so far.”
“Good call, Cody,” Kate Winters said and smiled.
Cody slipped his leather jacket on.
“Where you headed?” Si asked.
“Seventy-third Street,” Cody said. “The Cluett woman just called me.”
“She didn’t mention the Yellow Door in your Q and A.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You going on tape?’ Hue asked as Cody headed for the door.
“Monitor me and see,” Cody said as he headed for the elevator to the garage. As he left he looked at the clock on the big board.
11:57.
Below it was the real time and date. It was 6:59 p.m., 10/26/08 and they were almost twelve hours into the case and were without any hard evidence except the corpse and had no suspects except an elusive woman in a red dress and a Dracula mask. Cody was getting edgy, the crew could tell.
He checked out one of the town cars and headed to Bowery, took a left to Third and a right to 73 ^ rd.