Manhattan Is My Beat (Rune 1)

Outside, leaning on an unmarked police car, Manelli said to her, "About the tape--we've gotta keep it. Sorry. Your boss wants to complain, have him or his lawyer call the corporation counsel. But we gotta. Might be evidence."

"Why? You think the killer watched the movie?" she asked.

The detective said, "He may have picked it up to see if it was worth taking."

"And then shot the TV because it wasn't?"

The detective said, "Maybe."

"That's crazy," Rune said.

"Murder's crazy."

She was remembering the pattern the blood made on Mr. Kelly's chest.

He asked, "Tell me true. How well did you know him?"

Rune didn't answer for a moment. She wiped her eyes and nose with the tail of her shirt-vest. "Not well. He was a customer is all."

"You couldn't tell us anything about him?"

Rune started to say, sure, but then realized that, no, she couldn't. Everything she thought she knew, which was a lot, she'd just made up: the wife who was dead of cancer, the children who'd moved away, a distinguished military career in the Pacific, a job in the garment district, a totally cool retirement party he still talked about ten years later. In the past few years he'd met a group of retirees in the East Village, getting to know them over the months at the A&P or Social Security or one of the shabby drugstores or coffee shops on Avenues A or B. Gradually--he'd have been shy about it--he would've suggested getting together for a game of bridge or a trip to Atlantic City to play the slots or saved their money to hear a rehearsal at the Met.

These were scenes she could picture perfectly. Scenes from movies she'd seen a dozen times.

Only none of it was true.

All she could tell this cop was that Kelly, Robert, deposit: cash, wore suits and ties even in retirement. He liked to laugh. He was polite. He had the courage to eat in restaurants by himself on holidays.

And he was a lot like her.

Rune said to the cop, "Nothing. I don't really know a thing."

The detective handed her one of his cards. "And you really didn't see anything?"

"No."

He accepted this. "All right. You think of something, call me. Sometimes that h

appens. A day or two goes by and people remember things."

When he'd turned away and started up the stairs she said, "Hey."

He paused, looked back.

"You get the asshole that did this, that would be a real good thing, you know?"

"That's why I do what I do." He continued up the stairs.

The Crime Scene cop passed him and walked outside, carrying his metal suitcase. Rune glanced at him, started to walk away, then turned back. He looked at her, then away as he continued to his station wagon.

She called to him, "Oh, one thing. For your information, Mr. Kelly didn't rent dirty movies. For some reason--don't ask me why--he liked movies about cops."

How big a problem was it?

Haarte considered this, walking quickly toward the subway.

The day was plenty cool--nothing like a muggy spring day around the Mississippi River when they'd gotten Gittleman--but he was sweating like crazy. He'd ditched the exterminator coveralls--they were toss-aways, standard procedure after a job--but he was still hot.