‘Sir?’
‘Starting with November of 1952.’
‘Yes, sir.’
We chatted about the diaper business in general until the list came, and then he handed it to me and I began checking off the names. There were a hell of a lot of names on it. For the month of December, I found a listing for Alice Dreiser. The address given was the one we’d checked in the Bronx.
‘Here she is,’ I said. ‘Can you get her records?’
The vice-president looked at the name. ‘Certainly, just a moment.’ He buzzed his secretary again, told her what he wanted, and she brought the yellow file cards in a few minutes later. The cards told me that Alice Dreiser had continued the diaper service through February. She’d been late on her February payment, and had cancelled service in March. She’d had the diapers delivered for the first week in March but had not paid for them. She did not notify the company that she was moving. She had not returned the diapers they’d sent her that first week in March. The company did not know where she was.
‘If you find her,’ the vice-president told me, ‘I’d like to know. She owes us money.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ I said.
The reports on the Dreisers were waiting for me back at the precinct. George had found a couple who claimed to be Carl’s aunt and uncle. They knew he was married. They gave Alice’s maiden name as Grant. They said she lived somewhere on Walton Avenue in the Bronx, or at least had lived there when Carl first met her, they hadn’t seen either her or Carl for months. Yes, they knew the Dreisers had had a daughter. They’d received an announcement card. They had never seen the baby.
Pat and I looked up the Grants on Walton Avenue, found a listing for Peter Grant, and went there together.
A bald man in his undershirt, his suspenders hanging over his trousers, opened the door.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Police officers,’ I said. ‘We’d like to ask a few questions.’
‘What about? Let me see your badges.’
Pat and I flashed our buzzers and the bald man studied them.
‘What kind of questions do you want to ask?’
‘Are you Peter Grant?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. What’s this all about?’
‘May we come in?’
‘Sure, come on in.’ We followed him into the apartment, and he motioned us to chairs in the small living room. ‘Now, what is it?’ he asked.
‘Your daughter is Alice Dreiser?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Do you know where she lives?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, mister,’ Pat said. ‘You know where your daughter lives.’
‘I don’t,’ Grant snapped, ‘and I don’t give a damn, either.’
‘Why? What’s wrong, mister?’
‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. It’s none of your business, anyway.’
‘Her daughter had her neck broken,’ I said. ‘It is our business.’
‘I don’t give a...’ he started to say. He stopped then and looked straight ahead of him, his brows pulled together into a tight frown. ‘I’m sorry. I still don’t know where she lives.’
‘Did you know she was married?’
‘To that sailor. Yes, I knew.’
‘And you knew she had a daughter?’
‘Don’t make me laugh,’ Grant said.
‘What’s funny, mister?’ Pat said.
‘Did I know she had a daughter? Why the hell do you think she married the sailor? Don’t make me laugh!’
‘When was your daughter married, Mr. Grant?’
‘Last September.’ He saw the look on my face, and added, ‘Go ahead, you count it. The kid was born in November.’
‘Have you seen her since the marriage?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever seen the baby?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have a picture of your daughter?’
‘I think so. Is she in trouble? Do you think she did it?’
‘We don’t know who did it yet.’
‘Maybe she did,’ Grant said softly. ‘She just maybe did. I’ll get you the picture.’
He came back in a few minutes with a picture of a plain girl wearing a cap and gown. She had light eyes and straight hair, and her face was intently serious.
‘She favors her mother,’ Grant said, ‘God rest her soul.’
‘Your wife is dead?’
‘Yes. That picture was taken when Alice graduated high school. She graduated in June and married the sailor in September. She’s... she’s only just nineteen now, you know.’
‘May we have this?’
He hesitated and said, ‘It’s the only one I’ve got. She... she didn’t take many pictures. She wasn’t a very... pretty kid.’
‘We’ll return it.’
‘All right,’ he said. His eyes began to blink. ‘She... If she’s in trouble, you’ll... you’ll let me know, won’t you?’
‘We’ll let you know.’
‘Kids... kids make mistakes sometimes.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘Let me know.’
We had copies of the photo made, and then we staked out every church in the neighbourhood in which the baby was found. Pat and I covered the Church of the Holy Mother, because we figured the suspect was most likely to come back there.
We didn’t talk much. There is something about a church of any denomination that makes a man think rather than talk. Pat and I knocked off at about seven every night, and the night boys took over then. We were back on the job at seven in the morning, every morning.
It was a week before she came in.
She was a thin girl, with the body of a child and a pinched, tired face. She stopped at the font in the rear of the church, dipped her hand in the holy water, and crossed herself. Then she walked to the altar, stopped before an idol of the Virgin Mary, lighted a candle, and knelt before it.
‘That’s her,’ I said.
‘Let’s go,’ Pat answered.
‘Not here. Outside.’
Pat’s eyes locked with mine for an instant. ‘Sure,’ he said.
She knelt before the idol for a long time, and then got to her feet slowly, drying her eyes. She walked up the aisle, stopped at the font, crossed herself, and then walked outside.
We followed her out, catching up with her at the corner. I pulled up on one side of her and Pat on the other.
‘Mrs. Dreiser?’ I asked.
She stopped walking. ‘Yes?’
I showed my buzzer. ‘Police officers,’ I said. ‘We’d like to ask some questions.’
She stared at my face for a long time. She drew a trembling breath then, and said, ‘I killed her. I... Carl was dead, you see. I... I guess that was it. It wasn’t right — his getting killed, I mean. And she was crying.’ She nodded blankly. ‘Yes, that was it. She just cried all the time, not knowing that I was crying inside. You don’t know how I cried inside. Carl... he was all I had. I... I couldn’t stand it anymore. I told her to shut up and when she didn’t I... I...’
‘Come on now, ma’m,’ I said.
‘I brought her to the church.’ She nodded, remembering it all now. ‘She was innocent, you know. So I brought her to the church. Did you find her there?’
‘Yes, ma’m,’ I said. ‘That’s where we found her.’
She seemed pleased. A small smile covered her mouth and she said, ‘I’m glad you found her.’
She told the story again to the lieutenant. Pat and I checked out and on the way to the subway, I asked him, ‘Do you still want to pull the switch, Pat?’
He didn’t answer.
Hot
I wore moccasins, which were against Navy regulations, and the heat of the deck plates scorched up through the thin soles of the shoes, blistering my feet. I sat aft on the fantail, looking out over the heat of Guantanamo Bay, watching the guys from one of the other ships diving over the side and into the water. The water looked cool and clear, and the guys from the other can seemed to be enjoying it. They didn’t seem to be afraid of any barracuda. They seemed to be ordinary guys taking an ordinary swim in the drink.