Murder in Greenwich Village Page 18

  “They didn’t get much out of him,” she said.

  “I don’t think there was much to get. The guy stumbled over a body. We should thank him for reporting it before the rats got to him.”

  “So Farrar was shot with a small-caliber gun,” Smithson said, “and Fellows says he didn’t see anything.”

  “He reported it several hours after the shooting.”

  “Doesn’t mean he didn’t see it and wait.”

  Smithson was right, Jane thought. Fellows could have been around, hunched up in the shadows. He could have heard the shot even if he didn’t see anything, and then waited, maybe trying to decide whether to report it or forget about it.

  “We should look for him,” she said without enthusiasm. The prospect of another hike in the tunnels left her cold.

  “You get your kicks down there?” Smithson asked.

  She gave him a look and said nothing.

  “You’re right, Jane,” McElroy said. “That’s your next step. You may want a change of clothes, and we’ll get you a guide from the TA.” He turned to MacHovec. “You dig up anything?”

  “Two overlaps between Farrar and Curtis Morgan.”

  “Good work. Take the paperwork and get busy.”

  “Why don’t you let me call Farrar’s supervisors while you folks enjoy yourselves in the tunnels?” MacHovec said when they were at their desks.

  Jane pulled out an old pair of sneakers and socks that she kept in a drawer for emergencies and left the office. Next case, she thought, maybe I’ll get to take a trip on a cruise ship. Back in the office, Smithson was pulling a T-shirt over his head. He, too, came prepared. His shirt and jacket hung over the back of his chair, the tie neatly folded on his desk. He looked down at his pants as though wishing them a fond farewell.

  Annie came by with the name of a TA worker and where they could find him. “What’s it like down there?” she asked.

  “Hell with rats,” Jane said.

  Annie shivered. “Sorry I asked.”

  “We may as well take the subway,” Smithson said grimly. His mood had changed. The case had turned sour. Maybe rats weren’t his thing.

  28

  “YEAH, CATTY FELLOWS,” Carl Hidalgo, their TA contact, said when they arrived. “He gets rousted a lot. Nice guy except that he stinks. Don’t seem to be crazy. Don’t fight you, kinda docile. You wanna see where he found the body?”

  They said they did, and followed Hidalgo to the front of the platform and descended the stairs. It was a fairly long walk, and they did it without saying much. When they got to the crime scene, it was taped off, an unlighted triangular area a few feet from the tracks. Hidalgo flashed his light around the ground. Rusty bloodstains were still visible, though hard to see. The area was clean of debris, possibly not the way it had been found.

  “I heard they found a coffee cup around here,” Hidalgo said. “Maybe they got some DNA off of it.”

  And maybe it came from some other homeless guy, Jane thought. Whoever the killer was, he wasn’t stupid.

  “Yeah,” Smithson said, and Jane knew he was thinking what she was.

  “How far is the next station?” Jane asked.

  “This is, like, halfway,” Hidalgo said. “Catty coulda gone either way. Maybe he went back, because that’s where his friends are.”

  A train approached and they moved toward the wall, although they were safely away from the tracks. There was no conversation until it roared past.

  “What friends?” Smithson asked. “Where do they hang out?”

  “There’s, like, four or five of ’em. Sometimes they’re on the street, sometimes down here, ’specially in the winter. It’s getting warm out now so they stay aboveground more.”

  “Show us where they stay,” Smithson said.

  “We gotta go back.” He said it as though it might be negotiable.

  “Let’s go.”

  The place where they often found Catty Fellows was between the crime scene and the station they had come from. It was another small alcove that could accommodate one man, maybe two if they were small. No full-size human being could stretch out; he would have to sit with his knees up, his back against the wall. But the area was dry, unlike some others they had passed.

  “You show the cops this place?” Smithson asked.

  “I didn’t, but someone else did. I know they came here. See how clean it is? They musta taken all his junk.”

  “What kinda junk?”

  “He coulda left garbage, like that cup I told you about. Maybe some rags. No food, though. Catty wouldn’t leave food.”

  It would be eaten by the rats if he did. “You know where we can find him on the street?” Jane asked as they started back to the station.

  “Just up the stairs and down the block. You won’t find ’em all together when it’s daylight. They scatter like roaches.”

  Thanks for the graphic description, she thought.

  They walked in silence, mounted the stairs to the platform, and thanked Hidalgo for his help. Then, brushing off their clothes, they went up to the street.

  The sunlight was blinding. Jane pulled sunglasses out of her bag and put them on as she fought off a sneeze. “I see a guy down the block on this side,” she said to Smithson, who was facing her. “He’s sitting against a building. Looks pretty gross.”

  “Can’t be any worse than what we’ve just been through.”

  “That your first time?”

  “And my last. I think I’d rather freeze my ass on the streets than spend the night down there.”

  They walked slowly down the street. The man propped against the building had long filthy hair, a straggly beard, and the expected layers of disintegrating clothes. On either side of him stood a couple of fat shopping bags that probably held his worldly possessions, most of them worthless except to him. His head hung over as though he were half-asleep. One hand grasped a Styrofoam cup that stood on the sidewalk. As Jane and Smithson approached, the man lifted the cup for a donation. Smithson dropped a couple of quarters in it.

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you, ma’am. God bless you.”

  “You the guy they call Catty?” Jane asked.

  “Nah. Catty’s gone.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I saw him yesterday. Maybe it wasn’t yesterday, maybe the day before. Said he was going to Brooklyn. He’s got a place there.”

  “You know where?”

  “Just over the river. Stanley can tell you.”

  “Where’s Stanley?”

  The man leaned forward, and for a moment Jane was afraid he might topple over. He pointed his glazed eyes farther down the block. “He’s usually down there, other side of the street. Tell him Rocky sent you.”

  “Thanks, Rocky.” Jane put a dollar in the cup and they walked away to Rocky’s blessings.

  “You see anyone?” Smithson asked.

  “No. Let’s keep walking. He could be taking his constitutional.”

  “What’s constitutional about sitting on the sidewalk?”

  “I’m not in the mood for politics. Keep your eyes open.”

  They walked two blocks, turned around, and came back on the other side of the street. Smithson said he was hungry, so they found a coffee shop and had lunch. That killed half an hour. Jane called McElroy and kept him posted.

  “Keep at it.”

  That was the name of the game.

  They resumed their walk but found no Stanley. They started looking inside places where he might be picking up food. Still no luck.

  “What’s that?” Smithson said, shading his eyes. “Down there?”

  A man who might be their guy or might just be a sloppy dresser had just emerged from a store. He stood on the sidewalk as though deciding which way to go. Finally, he turned away from them and started walking.

  “Let’s get him,” Jane said, and they started to run.

  Traffic at the corner was heavy and they had to wait for it to go by.

  “We’re
gonna lose him,” Smithson said, edging forward.

  The light changed and the usual three cars went through the red before the fourth one stopped. They pushed through the pedestrians and down the street. Their target was still visible, walking slowly, eating something, Jane thought. As they caught up with him, they slowed, still behind him, Smithson walking to the man’s left, Jane to the right. The man had a backpack that looked new and stuffed to capacity, torn faded jeans, two or three shirts, disintegrating sneakers, filthy hair, and a smell.

  Jane moved forward to the man’s side. “Stanley?”

  He stopped cold. “Who wants to know?”

  “I do. Rocky sent me to find you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m looking for Catty Fellows. Rocky said you’d know where he is.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “He didn’t do anything. I have to find him.”

  “You wanna buy me lunch?”

  “Sure.”

  Stanley suddenly became aware that Smithson was standing to his left. His eyes showed his fear. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m with her. We need to talk to Catty.”

  “You’re cops, right?”

  “We’re cops,” Jane said, “but we’re not after Catty. We just need some information from him.”

  “About the body he found?”

  “Right.”

  “Who was the dead guy?”

  “We’re trying to find out. You want lunch, Stanley? You can have a great lunch. Just tell us where to find Catty.”

  He considered his options. He wasn’t as thin as the last guy they had talked to, but he could use some calories, not to mention a bath. “First station over the East River on the A train. Catty likes the A train. That’ll put you in downtown Brooklyn, near Borough Hall. High Street I think is the station.”

  “Where do we find him when we get off the train?”

  Stanley looked around, up at the sky, down at the street, as though taking a measure. “It’s nice weather. He’ll be on the street near the station. Catty likes to stay near stations. Makes him feel less stressed.”

  I should try that myself, Jane thought. “You’re sure about this, Stanley?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “You send us on a wild goose chase, we’ll find you, man,” Smithson said.

  Stanley turned away from him. “You taking me to lunch?”

  “Will a ten buy you a good one?”

  “Ten dollars?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Yeah, a real good one.”

  Jane took a ten out of her wallet and handed it over.

  Stanley stared at it. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll remember you.” He stuffed the ten in his jeans pocket and walked away.

  29

  THEY FOUND CATTY Fellows walking around near the High Street–Brooklyn Bridge station, holding a Styrofoam cup that jingled when he shook it. When Smithson said his name, Catty tried to run, but Smithson had a good grip on his arm.

  “What you want?” Catty said. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “You found a body yesterday.”

  “I already talked to the police.”

  “We’re police too,” Smithson said, showing his shield. “We have a few questions.”

  “Shit.”

  “Let’s go somewhere and sit down,” Jane said.

  “I’m not going to no station house.”

  “All right. Let’s stay here.” She didn’t want to take him into a restaurant and she didn’t want him sitting in a radio car. He was probably crawling with lice. “When did you find the body, Catty?”

  “I don’t wear no watch.”

  “Was it morning? Afternoon?”

  “I was gettin’ hungry. It must’ve been, like, late afternoon. Time to eat something.”

  “You see the guy who shot him?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Was he still alive when you saw him?”

  “He was deader’n dead. I looked at him and I knew. And there was blood all around.”

  “What were doing over there, Catty?” Smithson said. “That’s not where you usually sleep.”

  “I was . . .”

  Smithson waited. Then, “You were what?”

  “Takin’ a walk.”

  “That where you do your walking? Along the tracks?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Catty,” Jane said, “we’re just trying to find out when this murder happened and who did it.”

  “I didn’t do it.” His voice rose. “I’m no killer.”

  “We know that. But maybe you saw a little more than you told us about.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” he said glumly.

  “Maybe you saw two men walk by the place where you sleep.”

  Catty said nothing.

  “Maybe you heard a shot fired.”

  “You can’t hear a shot when a train goes by.”

  “That’s right. I forgot about that. If you wait for a train, you can shoot and no one would hear you.”

  “You got it.”

  “So maybe you saw a guy with a gun but you didn’t hear anything except a train.”

  “I didn’t see it. I found the body later.”

  “Detective Smithson and I just can’t figure out why you walked over to the place where the body was. It’s way down the tracks from the station where you and Rocky and Stanley hang out.”

  They had talked about it on the way over. Catty had his favorite sleeping place, which they had seen, but the crime scene was farther down the line from the station where he and his pals congregated. What had motivated him to walk toward a station he wasn’t known to use? Maybe he had seen something and kept it to himself. The cops who had interviewed him yesterday saw him merely as the person who reported finding a body, and they had little reason to think he was the killer, especially when they learned that an alarm was out for Charley Farrar. But the geography of the situation indicated a different scenario to Jane and Smithson.

  “I told you,” Catty said impatiently, “I was takin’ a walk.”

  “You know what, Catty?” Jane said. “I think you saw a guy with a gun. I think maybe you saw him use it.”

  “I didn’t see him shoot. I didn’t.”

  “But you saw the man with the gun, didn’t you?”

  Catty thought about it. “Maybe I did.”

  “There’s no maybe. You saw him, right?”

  “Yeah, I saw him.”

  “OK. How ’bout you tell us exactly what you saw? Everything.”

  “What if I tell you something a little different than what I told the other cops?”

  “You weren’t under oath, Catty,” Smithson said in a cajoling tone. “Maybe when you talked to them, you forgot to mention a few things.”

  “Yeah. That could be.”

  “From the beginning,” Jane said.

  “Let’s see. I’m resting in my usual spot, OK?”

  “Fine.”

  “ ’Cause I had, like, a bad night, you know?”

  “OK,” Jane said.

  “And the way I sit, they come from behind me so they don’t see me but I see them go by.”

  “I got it.”

  “And there’s two white guys, not young guys, older, and big.” He raised his right hand to indicate a six-footer. “And the guy in the back, he’s holdin’ a gun in the back of the other one.”

  “What were they wearing?”

  “Shit, it was dark down there. I don’t check out their clothes, and I couldn’t see them anyway. It was just pants and shirts, maybe one had a jacket.”

  She had wondered if one was wearing a uniform. “What else do you remember?”

  “The guy behind, he got one hand on the arm of the guy in front, like he’s makin’ sure he don’t run away. And the other hand got the gun.”

  “Did they say anything?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “They just walked by?”

  “Yeah. I watched ’em go, but it’s dark
down there. I couldn’t see much.”

  “Did you hear the shot, Catty?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “A train come by. Then another. Maybe I heard something when the second one come by.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Maybe like a bang.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t hear a gunshot when a train was going by.”

  “Yeah, I said that, didn’t I?” He screwed up his face. “But I think maybe I heard a bang, even with the train.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Nothin’!” He seemed shocked at the question. “I ain’t goin’ after no dude with a gun. You think I’m crazy?”

  “I think you’re very sane, Catty, and I want to hear your whole story, so keep going. What did you do after the train went by and you heard a bang?”

  “I froze. I just sat there. I was scared.”

  “Did you go to see what happened?”

  “No, ma’am. I said to myself, ‘You get yourself outta here or you could be next.’ He could be comin’ back and he’d see me for sure. So I got up and I went back to my station.”

  “Did you hang around to see if the man with the gun would come back?”

  Catty smiled. “Yeah, I did. But he didn’t show up. I waited a long while, maybe an hour, but no one came up outta the tracks. So I figured he just kept walkin’ to the next station. See, then if somebody saw him comin’ in at my station, they’d never see him again. They wouldn’t see him once with the other guy and then once by himself.”

  “Good thinking,” Smithson said. “You’re a smart guy.”

  “Yeah.” He said it with no pleasure. He knew the game Smithson was playing.

  “So then what?” Jane asked.

  “So then I went back down there to see what happened.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I just kept walkin’ till I came to the body. I gotta tell you, it was pretty bad to look at. Half his head was blown away. There was lotsa blood.”

  “Did you touch him?”

  “Who, me?”

  “You’re the guy that found him,” Smithson said. “You move him at all? Put your hands in his pockets? Take something?”