Bronx Requiem(63)

“Who?”

“A high-ranking correction officer. A female captain. She gave me her cell number.”

“Did you call her?”

“Yes, but she refused to talk to me. Especially on the phone. She also refused to let the social services lady act as a go-between. She didn’t want to have contact with anyone connected to Eastern.”

“Is there any way we can convince her to talk to you?”

“No need. I offered you.”

Beck shot Walter a surprised look. “And she agreed?”

“She figured there would be zero chance you’d talk to anybody in the department.”

“That’s for sure.”

“She agreed to meet you at the Mobil station in Ellenville at five-fifteen. Said her name was Rita, but I have no idea if it’s her real name.”

Beck looked at his watch. 4:05.

“Perfect. Just enough time to get my truck.”

Walter leaned back in his seat and said, “If you don’t mind, James, I’m going to rest my eyes.”

“Go right ahead.”

Beck drove in silence toward M & T Auto Sales thinking about Walter’s polite euphemism. Resting his eyes. As if he’d been in there reading all day. Within a minute, Walter had fallen asleep.

Beck left Walter napping in the Mercury while he paid the balance he owed on the truck, signed the rest of the paperwork, and collected the Ranger. When he returned, truck keys in hand, Walter was sitting behind the wheel, awake and waiting. Beck leaned into the open driver’s-side window and said, “Hey, Walter, you know if you want to head back to Brooklyn now, it’s fine with me.”

“No. I want to hear what the lady CO says to you.”

“All right. I’ll meet with her, then we’ll have some dinner, and you can head back.”

“Fine.”

“As we enter town, you’ll see a church on the right. You park there. I’ll go to the Mobil station and hear what she has to say.”

“All right.”

“How will I know who she is?”

“Her friend says she’s a blonde.”

Beck gave a short nod. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

Beck kept an eye on his rearview mirror until Walter pulled in to the church parking lot. He continued on to the Mobil station at the edge of town, pulling in at 5:15 P.M. exactly. There was a single row of two pumps with nozzles for cars on each side. A typical convenience store anchored the station.

A bleached blonde stood at one of the pumps filling up a Subaru Forester that hadn’t been washed in a long time. Beck figured her for about two hundred pounds packed into a pair of slacks and the white shirt worn by high-ranking correction officers. Everything about her seemed round, especially her head and face.

Beck didn’t know the location of the gas cap on the Ranger. He pulled up to the other side of the pump the woman was using and saw he’d guessed correctly. He knew the truck had a full tank, but he still went through the motions of putting the fuel nozzle into the filler neck.

Beck decided she had set this up pretty well. Even if someone saw them talking, it would look like two people filling up their gas tanks shooting the shit.

Rita watched the man on the other side of the pump carefully. He almost looked like a local. Sturdy. Ordinary clothes. Maybe hands that were too clean for a workingman, but at least he didn’t pull up in an expensive car wearing clothes with a bunch of logos.

Beck turned to face the woman laid back against the truck, and said, “Is your name Rita?”

“Is yours Beck?”

She had a voice that sounded like she had been chain-smoking and shouting for decades.

Beck nodded and waited.

“I hear you want to know about Paco Johnson.”

“Yes. Did you know he was murdered?”

She said, “As of a few hours ago.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“You served time with him?”

Beck nodded. “At Clinton and Eastern.”

“You’re the one who got his conviction overturned.”

“Because I didn’t commit a crime.”

Rita smirked. “I never met a con who did.”

Beck said, “You have now.”

The woman looked at the digital readout of her pump. She seemed to be looking to turn it off at some dollar number, but then decided to keep going until her tank filled.

“Answer me one question. If I tell you what I know, what are you going to do with the information?”

He gave Rita the same answer he’d given Walter. “I’m going to do the right thing.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to do the right thing.”

Beck watched her hover between leaving and talking to him.

“This is crazy, talking to an ex-con about this.”

“About what? You haven’t told me anything.”

The gas pump shut off as Rita’s tank reached full. She hesitated. Looked up, looked at Beck. He didn’t want a full tank to be the thing that tipped her into leaving.

“Leaving now won’t accomplish anything.”

Rita had her hand on the fuel nozzle, but didn’t pull it out.

Beck said, “I’m guessing there’s something going on in that prison you can’t tell the bosses about. Maybe you don’t have enough information, or enough proof, or if you try to do something about it, you’re going to get jammed up. Even with your rank I’m betting it won’t be easy going up against the men’s club that runs the place.’