City Dark(19)

The case had won Joe statewide acclaim in legal circles, and on top of that Joe had persuaded the judge to confine Hathorne to a psychiatric hospital rather than release him on intensive probation. The confinement was reviewable every twelve months, and Joe had just scored again by keeping him confined for at least another twelve.

“Who’s your doctor again?” Craig asked, referring to the principal state psychologist who supervised Hathorne’s treatment at the St. Lawrence Psychiatric Center in upstate New York.

“Gabe Seigel.”

“Oh, good. He’s a ballbuster. So you’ll tell the victims?” By that, Craig meant Hathorne’s victims, now adult males, a few of whom had worked with Joe and testified at the trial.

“Of course. This week.”

“Excellent. How’s the city?” Craig ran the bureau from Albany.

“Hot.”

“Someday you’ll learn. Nice and cool up here.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“How are you otherwise?”

“Well . . .” Joe trailed off, sighed, and gave Craig his news.

“Oh, shit,” he said after Joe had finished. Craig knew Joe’s backstory and most of the details of his post-divorce life, including Halle. He didn’t understand Joe the way Halle did, but he was a friend, and Joe trusted him with details he didn’t easily share. “Man, I’m sorry about that.”

“Thanks. I’m stuck with cremating her, I guess. And my brother resurfaced and wants to help.”

“Oh, wow. Where’s he now?”

“He’s been back in Staten Island for a year or two. He actually brought money for the cremation instead of asking for it. That was a surprise.”

“I hope you took it.”

“I did, yeah.”

“Will you do a service?”

“Shit, no.”

“Yeah, I get that. Still, there are arrangements and stuff. Take some time off.”

“You just gave me time off. I didn’t use it well. Anyway, I’m fine. I’m meeting with a Brooklyn ADA this afternoon. That’s about it.”

“KCDA is involved? Do they have a suspect?”

“No, but I guess their office is involved early. I doubt it goes anywhere. She was lost, Craig. Homeless, they think.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Joe said, again uneasy and anxious. “Thanks for the good news on Hathorne, though.”

“It’s your good news. This is why I brought you back, Joe. You’re a winner.”





CHAPTER 17


Wednesday, July 13, 1977

West Seventy-Ninth Street and the Hudson River

Upper West Side, Manhattan

10:23 p.m.

“You know who’s out here, right?” Robbie said, his voice purposely hushed. It had been maybe forty-five minutes since their mother had walked away, but it seemed like hours. The stillness was like lead; the heat of the night pressed on them.

“No one’s out there. Shut up.”

“Son of Sam,” Robbie said, as if evoking a deity at a forbidden ritual.

“Stop.”

“He’s out here somewhere,” Robbie said, looking over his left shoulder toward Seventy-Ninth Street. Whenever they moved, their sweat-soaked shirts made squishing sounds against the vinyl. Joe felt his heart pounding.

“The papers say he looks for guys and girls together,” Joe said, not sure about the word “couples” but not wanting to use it, in any event. “Like, kissing and stuff.”

“He looks for people in cars,” Robbie said. “Like us. Just sitting here.” The air in the station wagon was impossibly heavy, the open windows making no difference. Not even insects made a sound. Every now and then a car would enter the traffic circle, its headlights washing over them, tires spitting gravel into the darkness. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“But . . . Mom.”

“She would have come back by now.”

“She’ll come back.”

“Maybe not tonight, though.” Even in the dimness, Joe could make out the sweat over Robbie’s upper lip.

“Then what? What are we supposed to do?”

“We’re supposed to go to Uncle Mike’s,” Robbie said, definitively, as if relating gospel. “Mom too.”

“Then let’s wait! We can’t leave the car. That’s what she said.”

“She’s gone.” The certainty in Robbie’s voice was black and terrible. “We can’t wait any longer. If they tow the car, Uncle Mike will help us get it back. Right now we can’t just sit here.”

“Nooo,” Joe said, aware he was whining like a baby. He didn’t care. He folded his arms over his stomach and pulled his legs up. It was a fetal position he couldn’t describe as such, but it was as natural as breathing.

“We’re going,” his brother said, opening the door and grabbing Joe’s right arm. “Come on.”

“We don’t know where to go!” Joe cried, the yellow glow of the dome light flooding his vision. His arm being pulled from his body felt like his insides being torn open. Outside the car, he stiffened with the chunk of the LTD’s heavy door as Robbie shut it. “The boat place,” he said, his eyes adjusting. “It’s that way, right?”