"My name's Frederickson," I said as I took out my P.B.A. courtesy card and laid it next to his elbow. "I'm a private investigator working out of New York. I'd like to talk to you about a case you were involved in."
O'Connell examined my card like a cop looking for evidence of forgery; finally he nodded his approval. "I've heard of you, Frederickson." The Irish brogue had acquired a heavy Brooklyn accent. "Don't you have a brother on the force?"
"Garth," I said. There was nothing the matter with O'Connell's mind. "May I ask you some questions, Mr. O'Connell?"
"You want a beer, Frederickson?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Get it yourself, if you don't mind. My goddamned feet are killing me. Bunions."
I helped myself to a beer and returned to the bar. The beer was warm.
"Don't think too much of private cops?" O'Connell said, staring at me hard. "Some of them have been known to interfere with the work of duly appointed police officers."
"You check with Bardeen," I said, invoking the name of Garth's precinct commander. "He'll tell you I always cooperate with the police." I cleared my throat, swallowed some warm beer. "I'd like to talk to you about a man named Victor Rafferty."
That struck a chord. He grunted and spun around on his stool to face me. "What's up?"
"Frankly, I was hoping you might be able to tell me. I've been hired to investigate Rafferty's background. I know you were involved with him, at least for a few hours."
"Craziest few hours I've ever spent in my life!" O'Connell said with feeling, his eyes coming alive,
"Those are the hours I'm interested in. I can see they stick in your mind."
He nodded his gray head slowly. "And that's for sure."
"You were in Roosevelt Hospital with Rafferty. Do you know why he was taken there?"
O'Connell shrugged. "I suppose he was sick."
"With what?"
He seemed slightly embarrassed. "I haven't got the slightest idea. As far as I was concerned, it was a routine bit of business. I just happened to be the closest cop to the restaurant when Rafferty had his accident. Somebody pulled me in off the street."
"Do you remember the name of this restaurant?"
"Uh, Cakewalk. Jack's Cakewalk, I think. I'm pretty sure it was near West Thirty-fourth. Anyway, I walked in and found this guy lying on the floor, out cold."
"Had anybody inside the restaurant seen what happened?" "A waiter. Must have been ninety if he was a day. It was hard to understand him because he didn't have any teeth, and he'd left his bridge home that day." O'Connell shook his head in admiration. "Tough old son-of-a-bitch. Still working. He'll probably live forever."
I hoped he'd made ninety-five. "Do you remember his name?"
"No, but I do remember that he told a weird story. Didn't make a bit of sense. He kept on babbling about Rafferty throwing food."
"Throwing food?"
"Yeah. Throwing food. I told you it didn't make sense. The ambulance boys were just loading Rafferty in when I got a call from the precinct house. The chief told me in no uncertain terms that I was to stay with Rafferty and make sure they locked him up good when we got to Roosevelt."
"He was on a Missing Persons list, right?"
"I guess so."
"The police don't usually go around locking up missing persons, do they?"
"No. I was curious too, but I had my orders. I got in the ambulance and went with Rafferty to the hospital. I made sure they took him up to the security ward on the fourth floor."
"How secure was security?" I asked.
He thought about it for a moment. "Roosevelt isn't really set up for that kind of thing. Security? I'd say maximum inside the room, minimum outside. There weren't any gates in the corridors, no bars on the windows. But the room was bolted from the outside, and the door was absolutely solid, flush to the wall on the inside."
"Was Rafferty admitted by a particular doctor?"
"No. I think they had their orders too. They just wheeled him in and locked us both up."
A feisty old man with a moustache and wearing red Bermuda shorts three sizes too big for him came over, cue stick in hand, and tried to entice O'Connell back to the table. O'Connell promised him a game later, and he tottered away.
"Too many old guys here," O'Connell said quietly. "Nice guys, but…" He let the sentence trail away.
I tried to keep his mind from wandering off. "What were your instructions, besides keeping an eye on him?"
He removed a handkerchief from his pocket, slowly and methodically wiped up a puddle of beer. "That was it," he said when he'd finished. "I was just told to keep him on ice until this guy got there to relieve me."
"Was this man coming from Washington?"
"Yeah. They told me that."
"Was his name Lippitt?"
O'Connell was clearly impressed. "Yeah! Hey, how'd you know that?"
"Oh, I've been talking to some other people. How did Rafferty get away?"
O'Connell flushed angrily. The memory still bothered him. "Somebody let him out."
"Then you must have seen who it was."
"No," O'Connell said defiantly. His eyes glinted. "Those bastards wanted to be so goddamned secretive, well, they paid the price! Nobody told me Rafferty was a hypnotist."
Nobody had told me, either. "What makes you say that?"
"Because he put me to sleep, that's why!" He'd begun to tremble. O'Connell settled himself and addressed his beer can. "I was told to shoot him in the legs if he tried to escape. Whatever he'd done was that serious. Naturally, I pulled my gun on him when he woke up; I wanted to show him right away who was in charge. But when I saw he wasn't going to give me any trouble, I kind of relaxed. That was my one big mistake."
I got us two more beers. "How did Rafferty react when he first woke up, Mr. O'Connell?"
He shook his head. "Cool, he was. No more concerned than if he was waking up from a nap in his own bed. Pretty strange."
"He wasn't hurt?"
"Not that I could tell. He just woke up, looked me over, then started to get out of bed. I stopped him pretty damn quick when I pulled my gun on him, but he didn't give me any arguments. He said it was obviously a mistake that would be cleared up." O'Connell paused, frowned as he looked at the memory. "He didn't even seem surprised to find himself in a locked hospital room with a cop. That's when I started thinking that they'd locked me up with some kind of nut."
We sat in silence for a time while O'Connell ran a finger around the rim of his beer can. "What happened then?" I prompted.
"He just started talking. He was a good talker."
"You mean, he was just making conversation?"
"That's right. Came on like a real nice guy." O'Connell's lip curled contemptuously. "That's what I thought at the time. Now I can see what he was up to. He started talking about how tired I must be, like he was reading my mind. He was right. I was just starting in on a second tour of duty, and probably looked like hell. He suggested I sleep. I didn't intend to do any cooping on that job, but all of a sudden I couldn't keep my eyes open. Dropped right off. You see what I mean about his being a hypnotist?"
"Yeah." It was an interesting thought; I remembered Rafferty's black, brooding hawk eyes. But he hadn't hypnotized the door open. "And Rafferty was gone when you woke up?"
"Like a big bird," he said with some bitterness. "He'd locked me in."
"You're absolutely sure there was no way he could get out of that room by himself?"
"Absolutely. There wasn't even a hinge on the inside, and no way to jimmy that outside bolt. Somebody had to let him out."