Cold Blue Midnight

Then he remembered the eighteen-year-old girl who'd killed both her parents. She'd weighed more than three hundred pounds. She'd told Mitch's partner that the only pleasure she'd ever had in her life was from a box of chocolates. 'People don't love me but food does,' she'd said.

Maybe he was looking at one of those people now. Who felt happy (and devoutly miserable) only when they ate.

She sat down across from him and said, 'I could probably dig up the receipt if I had to.'

'Receipt?'

'For the parking tickets.'

'I guess I don't know what you're talking about, Miss.'

'All those overdue parking tickets I ran up. That's why you're here, isn't it? Did the computer screw up and forget to mark me Paid?'

He decided to risk it. 'I'm here because I think you may know something about a murder.'

'I see.'

'Do you? A man named Eric Brooks?'

'No, I don't know anything about a murder and I've never heard of a man named Eric Brooks.'

'You were seen with him.'

'I was? By whom?'

'By a bartender named Ferguson.'

'I don't know a bartender named Ferguson.'

'He seems to know you.'

All he could think of was a lizard striking at prey, the way her hand lashed out and snatched a macaroon from the package. It was in her mouth and swallowed, in moments. Then she had another one. She was so cute. So slim. But there was something off-puttingalmost inhumanabout the way she'd grabbed that cookie.

Then she took a third one. And held the package out to him. 'I'm being rude, sorry. Would you like one?'

'No, thanks.'

She indicated all the half-eaten packages and boxes. 'I was expecting the blizzard to last several days.' She shrugged, trying to be casual. Smiled. 'Guess I stocked up a little too much, didn't I?'

'I guess so.'

'I mean, I don't usually eat like this.'

'Be my guest.'

'You wouldn't mind if I had a piece of candy?'

'Not at all.'

It was then he noticed that her hands had begun to twitch and her eyes fill with tears. 'I really fucking resent this, you know.'

'Resent what?'

'You coming here and accusing me of something I don't know anything about.'

'I'm simply doing my job.'

'Right. Doing your job. You're accusing me of lying is what you're doing.'

'I'm not accusing you of anything.'

This time she was rewarded with two Double Fudge Whammies for her lizard-quickness.

She talked while her mouth was still full. It should have been funny. But it was sad.

'I'm sorry I said the ''f" word.'

'I've been known to use it myself.'

'I've really never heard of Eric Brooks.'

'I see.'

'You still don't believe me, huh?'

'No, I'm afraid I don't.'

'Do you enjoy this?'

'Asking questions, you mean?'

'Bullying people. That's what you're doing, you know. Bullying me.' She took another Double Fudge Whammie. The package rattled with her ferocity.

'You know what I think I should do?' Mitch said.

'What?'

'I think I should leave my card and let you think about it for a while.'

'Think about what?'

'About telling me the truth.'

'I am telling you the truth.'

'Just think about it for a while, and if you change your mind then give me a call.'

'Eric Brooks is a name I'd never heard before you knocked on my door.'

Mitch stood up. The tiny apartment suddenly felt oppressive. All the years of this place, all the lives, crowding in on him ghost-like. He wanted cold dirty city air. Wanted it desperately.

He took his wallet from inside his tweed sport jacket. The white business card he extracted, he set on the edge of the couch, right on top of a potato chip bag.

'You're a very nice-looking young woman.'

'Are you coming on to me?'

'No, I'm just trying to tell you that you shouldn't put all that junk into your system.'

'You must be a part-time minister at night.'

He'd seen them before like this. So terrified of their situation that they became hard and angry. They wanted somebody to help them avoid their fate. But there was no escape from their fate. They knew something the police needed to know and eventually they'd be forced to tell it.

He walked over to the door.

'My home number's on the card, too.'

'Fine. But I won't be needing it. I won't be calling.'

'Just in case.'

This time she extracted the Double Fudge Whammie with almost tender care. Held in such a wayalmost like a priest holding the Communion hostthat told him she wanted him to leave so she could get busy with the rest of the food.

'I'll be talking to you,' Mitch said.

'No, you won't.'

Mitch looked at her a long momentshe really did have a perfect little face, the kind of innocent eroticism that middle-aged men found so devastatingand then opened the door and let himself out.

He had not gotten ten feet down the dark narrow hallway before he heard her break out in sobs.

She was the one, all right.

***

Jill spent two hours that morning with her attorney. It seemed more like ten hours.

Deborah's well-tailored tweed suit and white silk scarf gave her an elegance that belied her scrappy personality. She was almost belligerent in the way she questioned Jill sometimes, almost as if Jill were a hostile witness.

They went through Eric's initial phone call. 'Think carefully. Did he mention anybody who was with him in the office then?'

'I don't think so.'

'"Don't think so" isn't good enough, Jill. Think.'

'No, I'm sure he didn't mention anybody.'

'How about when you arrived there? Close your eyes and think back. You're walking in the lobby door. What do you see?'

Jill described what she'd seen.

'All right. You see the elevators. How many are there in that building?'

'Three.'

'All lined up?'

'Yes.'

'Now: do you see any of the doors opening?'

Jill thought a moment. 'Yes.'

'Which one?'

'The one in the middle.'

'Is anybody getting off that particular car?'

'No.'

'You're sure?'

'Yes.'

'You get on the car and you go up to Eric's office?'

'Right.'

'Does that car stop at any other floor first?'

'No.'

'You said that pretty fast. Think a moment.'

'It didn't stop at any other floor. I'm sure.'

'All right, the car stops on Eric's floor and the doors open and' Deborah's intercom buzzed.

Jill opened her eyes to the nice new office, all glass and chrome and gray carpeting and dove-gray couches and matching chairs.

Deborah said, 'Yes?'

'There's a call for Jill. He says it's urgent.'

'Thank you.' Deborah nodded to the phone console on her desk.

Jill picked up.

Mitch said, 'I found her.'

'Really!'

'Really. Her name's Cini.'

'God, I can't believe it.'

'That's the good news.'

'There's bad news?'

'I'm afraid so. She doesn't want to cooperate. She won't admit anything.'

'But why?'

'I'm not sure.'

'God, what can we do?'

'If I don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll run back out there and talk to her.'

'You're sure she's the right one?'

'You know that list of bar names I had where Eric hung out at various times? I found this bartender in number twenty-six who remembered seeing him in there the night he was murdered. He also happened to know who the girl was, this Cini. He thought she was maybe a Northwestern student and he was right. We lucked out.'

'Now if we can just get her to talk…'

'She'll talk. Eventually.'

'I can't wait to tell Deborah.'