Little Deaths(31)

“Devlin’s a good cop but he’s under a lot of pressure on this one. He’s got five kids and he needs this job. He’ll be up for retirement in a few years, and he needs to finish out his thirty with a clean record.”

He swung onto the highway, checked the mirror.

“He had some . . . trouble in the past—but he’s good at his job. He’s focused. He needs a result on this: he’ll get there, but he don’t need bad press.”

Pete fumbled for a cigarette. “So, what, you’re telling me . . . what are you telling me?”

Horowitz sighed. “Charlie Devlin’s an ornery sonofabitch. Can be a real bastard. He’s a tough guy to like—but I owe him.”

He took a hard left and Pete was flung against the door.

“Look, Wonicke. You wanted to speak to him—but it works both ways. I’m not telling you to write anything that isn’t true. Just give him a break. That trouble I mentioned? He needs to wipe the slate clean. I can’t help him, I’m stuck on this goddamn fraud thing. And I won’t be around forever anyway.”

“But I don’t owe him anything.”

“No, you don’t. Not yet. But you sure as hell need him. That’s why you asked for this, right? He’s lead detective on the biggest case I’ve seen in years.”

“It’s just a . . .”

“I know it ain’t that big a story yet. But it will be. You got two dead kids, no witnesses, and a hot broad who’s slept with half of New York. If it ever goes to trial, it’ll be fucking dynamite.”

Pete thought about this.

“You need an in. And Devlin needs you. Or someone like you. You don’t want to work like this, just say the word and I’ll find someone else.”

Pete stared out of the window. Kept his mouth shut.


Horowitz pulled into the parking lot of Tony’s and they got out. As they headed for the entrance, a car pulled in behind them and the driver sounded his horn. Horowitz raised a hand, then turned to Pete. Spoke through his teeth.

“Let me do the talking. Just act like you agree with me. And no fucking swearing.”

They watched Devlin strolling across the parking lot as though it was his own backyard. He reached them, slowly shook Horowitz’s outstretched hand.

“Arthur. Been a long while.” He turned to Pete and frowned.

Horowitz took half a step forward. “This is Pete Wonicke. He’s lead reporter on the Malone case.”

Devlin looked him up and down, stuck out his hand and gripped Pete’s.

“Wonicke? That a Polack name?”

“My grandfather was Polish. I grew up in Iowa.”

“Uh-huh.” He raised an eyebrow at Horowitz, who shrugged and opened his arms.

“Let’s eat, boys.”


They ordered and Horowitz asked, “How’s Kate? And the kids?”

Devlin nodded. “Good, good. John and Mike are in college now. Mikey graduates next year. And Tom’s still playing football. Hoping for a scholarship.”

For a moment he was like any other proud father.

Horowitz laughed. “Jesus. Time goes quick, right?” He turned to Pete. “Last time I saw them, John and Mike were in grade school and Tom—I’m not sure Tom was out of diapers.”

Devlin was taking two photographs out of his wallet.

“That’s the boys. Taken last year. And that’s Kate with the girls at the church picnic.”

Pete craned his neck, caught a glimpse of a woman in a faded shirtdress, two girls dressed identically in pink with neat braids, straight white socks.

Devlin smiled at the figures in the pictures, tucked them carefully away.

Then Horowitz leaned back, sipped his beer, looked at Devlin over the rim of his glass.

“So how’s the case?”

He barked a laugh. “How’s the case? You come out with it just like that, in front of this kid I don’t know from Abe Lincoln?”

“Charlie, Charlie. I told you. Trust me. You need to talk to him.”

“Yeah, you told me.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, then Devlin pointed a thick finger at Pete.

“Okay. Here’s how it’s gonna be. I tell you what goes on the record. Anything else, you assume it ain’t for publication. Got that?”

Pete nodded.

Devlin watched him for a moment longer. Then he leaned back, took a gulp of iced tea. Turned to Horowitz.

“It’s all garbage. The autopsy reports came back with nothing. The mother ain’t talking, the father ain’t talking. She checked on the kids at midnight, fell asleep around four. He was home by midnight, didn’t wake up till she called him the next morning. That’s it. That’s all they’re saying.”

Horowitz waited until their food had arrived and the waitress had left.

“Do you think they’re lying?”

Devlin grunted through a mouthful of fries.

“Someone’s lying. You been to that neighborhood?”

He went on without waiting for an answer.

“When I got assigned to this, I took a good look at the map. I got two missing kids, so I thought I’d try to figure out how to make the search. I saw how close the neighborhood is to the World’s Fair and I set myself up for a long job. Thought I’d be interviewing witnesses and suspects and tourists until we put a man on the moon. Then I drove down there.”