“I’d make a drawing of you, Perez, but I draw faces, not assholes.”
Perez’s arm snapped back, ready to let me have it, but O’Connell grabbed him. “Easy there, Pretzel. Rocky here didn’t mean no harm, did you, Rocky?”
Rocky?
“It was a joke,” I said to Perez.
“Pendejo,” said Perez.
I was ready to call him a fool too, plus a few other choice names, but Terri told everyone to relax. Then she looked up at me, a smile ticking at the corners of her lips. “Rocky?” she said. “Hmmm…don’t know about that.”
21
Terri had half the department going through Missing Persons and within a few hours they’d come up with three viable candidates for the Hudson Pier Jane Doe. After that, it didn’t take long to match the dental records to a nineteen-year-old runaway named Carolyn Spivack, who had priors for possession and prostitution.
An hour later we were in the basement of a housing project on West Twentieth: dung-colored walls, cracked linoleum tiles, flickering fluorescent lights. It was a teen shelter for runaways, unwed mothers, and junkies, and the last-known address for Carolyn Spivack. Terri had asked me along in case there was a drawing to be made.
We knew what we were looking for, but didn’t expect to find it so quickly.
“I can’t believe it,” said Maurice Reed, the guy who ran the shelter. “Carolyn had totally straightened herself out.” He eased himself into a hard-backed chair. “She just wanted to help others who had been in her position. She’d been working here for eight months. She was…a beautiful human being.”
It was Reed who had reported her missing, his name on the missing persons report, though that did not clear him of suspicion. It was a well-known fact that killers often reported their crimes, particularly when they were close to the victim.
“Do her parents know?” he asked.
“Her parents are on their way from Cincinnati to claim the body,” said Terri.
Reed blinked a few times, and swallowed. It looked to me as if he was fighting tears.
“How did Carolyn come to the shelter?” Terri asked.
“Like most. She sort of just washed up, you know, broke and broken, at our door.” He sighed. “Nicky brought her in.”
“Nicky?”
“A former street hustler, but he’s cool now. He’ll be here in a little while if you want to talk to him.”
Terri didn’t soft-pedal her next question: “There were track marks on her arm. You know about that?”
“They had to be old ones. Carolyn was clean. I’m sure of it. She was here every day. I managed to get her on staff with a small salary I wheedled out of social services. She had to go for drug testing every week. I’m telling you, she was clean.” He exhaled a deep sigh. “Carolyn was great with people, particularly the girls who’d gone through the same stuff she had.”
A dozen micro-expressions-all of them sad-passed across the man’s face.
“You know where she lived?” Terri asked.
“I wouldn’t know that.”
“You said she was here every day,” said Terri. “And she never told you where she lived?”
Reed’s facial muscles went from sad to scared, mouth open, eyes wary, and I started to sketch him.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s just…what I do. I’m a sketch artist.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t think I could have-”
“No one said anything about you being a suspect, Mr. Reed. It’s what Rodriguez does to keep his hands busy.”
It worked. Reed got nervous.
“Now that I think about it,” he said. “She must have been at the Alfred Court, over on Sixteenth, between Eighth and Ninth. It’s the last of its kind, a rooming house. Pretty funky, but it serves its purpose.”
“You sound like you know it pretty well, Mr. Reed.”
“Well, we put some of the runaways up there; the state pays for it.”
“You ever been inside Carolyn’s room?”
Reed’s eyelids flickered and he looked away. “No.”
He was lying. But I’d pretty much surmised what was going on the minute we’d stepped into the shelter and met Reed, and I was sure Terri had too. It fit the profile. What we had been looking for that had made Carolyn Spivack a target. I roughed in a bit more of his face, though he kept looking down or turning away.
“It’s easy enough to check on that, Mr. Reed.” Terri needed to hear him say it, and I knew what was coming when she reached into her tote. She brought out a CS photo of the victim-a close-up of the young woman’s destroyed face-and held it in front of Reed.
“Jesus Christ!” Reed gasped and looked away. “Why the hell are you showing me that?”
“Mr. Reed.” Terri kept the photo right in front of him. “I need to know about your relationship to the victim. I need to know it now or I will assume you are hiding something.”
“No way. You have it all wrong. You don’t know what you’re saying.” He caught his breath and there were tears in his eyes. “Carolyn and I-we were-she was living with me.”
“So you were a couple.”
“It just sort of…happened, you know, after she came here.”
Terri lowered the photo. “Go on.”
Reed cadged a peek at my drawing and frowned. “I was so afraid she’d slipped up, gone back on drugs. Why she’d disappeared, I mean. I never thought…”
“Why didn’t you say you were a couple in the first place?”
“This is a city job, and with me being in charge, and…Carolyn was a lot younger.”
I took Reed to be about forty. Carolyn Spivack had been nineteen.
“So you kept your relationship a secret,” I said. “Here, at the center, I mean?”
“Well, we didn’t advertise, and folks here, they got their own stuff to deal with.”
“But you could have been seen together.”
“Well, sure.”
“Where? I mean, outside of the shelter.”
“We liked to take long walks, along the Hudson mostly. We’d just head west and follow the footpath either downtown or up. Didn’t matter. We talked a lot, about why she’d left home. She was trying to come to terms with her journey, you know, running away from home, the drugs, and what had happened to her.”
A perfect opportunity to be seen, I thought, the footpath along the river always crowded with walkers, runners, and tourists.
“That’s where she was found,” Terri said. “Down by the river. Just where the two of you would take your walks. Quite a coincidence, Mr. Reed.”
“It was where we liked to walk. That’s all.”
I watched Reed’s face closely to see if he was controlling his expression, modulating it, as Ekman calls it. Acting, as I call it. But he didn’t seem to be. His words and expressions were in sync.
“You have any idea what she was doing there?” Terri asked.
Reed pinched the ridge of his nose. “She used to go there to talk to the kids who sold themselves along the waterfront, offer to help them get clean. She didn’t want them to suffer like she had.”
“She was dressed like a hooker,” said Terri.
“Oh, please, my niece, who’s seven, wears tank tops and short shorts. She wants to look like Beyoncé.” He shook his head.
I stopped sketching, was about to close my pad, but Reed asked to see it.
“What are you going to do with it?”
Terri waited, holding the moment. “We’ll just…keep it on file.”
We hung around till Nicky showed up. He turned out to be a pale skinny kid with blue-black hair and gold hoops through his lower lip. He wasn’t big and didn’t look strong, and his face registered genuine shock and sadness when he heard about Carolyn. He told us he’d spent a couple of years prostituting himself after his father threw him out of the house because he was gay.