ericlustbader.the ninja-第31章

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there　three；　four　times　a　year。
　Never　met　anyone　there　like　you。'
　'I　imagine　that's　a　pliment。'
　Tomkin　shrugged。　'Take　it　any　way　you　like。'　He　leaned　forward；　depressed　a　hidden　stud；　and　a　small　desk　swivelled　out　on　his　side；　plete　with　a　miniature　gooseneck　lamp。　Behind　the　desk　was　an　accordion　partment　built　into　the　seat。　Tomkin　dipped　a　hand　into　this；　extracted　a　sheet　of　paper。　It　was　folded　once　across　its　width。　He　handed　it　to　Nicholas。　'Here；'　he　said；　'what　do　you　make　of　this？'
　It　was　a　sheet　of　Japanese　rice　paper；　very　fine。　Nicholas　unfolded　it　carefully。　On　it　was　a　symbol；　brushed　on　the　centre　with　black　ink。　There　were　nine'small　diamonds　surrounding　a　large　circle　like　satellites　about　a　sun。　Inside　the　centre　circle　was　the　Japanese　ideogram　for　tymuso；　the　beggar…ascetic。
　'Well？'　Tomkin　demanded。　'Do　you　know　what　it　is？'
　'Tell　me　how　you　got　this。'　Nicholas　lifted　his　gaze　from　the　crest；　saw　that　those　cold　blue　eyes　were　clouded　with　a　kind　of　held…in　anxiety。
　'It　came　in　the　pouch。'　And　when　he　saw　Nicholas　looking　at　him　unprehendingly；　he　added；　somewhat　irritably；　'The　pouch　from　Japan。　Each　of　our　foreign　offices　has　a　daily　pouch　for　important　messages；　when　phones　are　inconvenient　or　insufficient　for　relaying　data。　At　first　I　thought　it　was　some　kind　of　a　joke　but　now　。。。〃　He　shrugged。　'Tell　me　what　it　is。'
　'It's　a　crest；'　Nicholas　said　simply。　He　handed　the　sheet　back　to　Tomkin；　but　he　would　not　take　it　so　Nicholas　slid　it　onto　the　desk。　'A　crest　for　a　ninja　ryu　…　a　school。'　He　took　a　deep　breath；　weighing　his　next　words　carefully；　but　before　he　could　open　his　mouth　Tomkin　was　hammering　at　the　smoked…glass　partition。　Blue…suit　turned　his　head　and　a　part　of　the　glass　opened。　'Frank；　I　want　to　go　to　the　tower。'
　'But；　Mr　Tomkin　…'
　'Now；　Frank。'
　Frank　nodded；　closed　the　partition。　Nicholas　could　see　him　talking　to　the　driver。　The　limo　turned　at　the　next　corner；　heading　east。　When　they　came　to　Park　Avenue　South；　they　made　a　left；　headed　north。
　Next　to　Nicholas；　Tomkin　eyed　the　folded　rice　paper　as　if　something　inside　it　had　e　to　startling　life。
　Detective　Lieutenant　Croaker　was　not　happy　as　he　left　Captain　Finnigan's　office　early　that　morning。　In　point　of　fact　he　was　on　the　verge　of　boiling　over。　He　strode　down　the　fluorescent…lighted　corridor；　crowded　with　officers　and　clerks；　in　long　athletic　strides。
　'Hey；　Lew；　wait　till　I　…'　But　Croaker　had　already　brushed　past　the　sergeant　without　noticing　him　and　the　man　shrugged；　turned　away。　Croaker　could　be　like　that　sometimes　and　it　was　best　then　to　stay　out　of　his　way。
　Reaching　his　frosted…glass…fronted　office；　Croaker　swung　in　and　pounded　his　fists　against　the　laminated　Formica　desktop。　Many　was　the　time　he　had　tried　to　burn　holes　in　the　thing　with　the　end　of　his　cigarette。　To　no　avail。　That　was　modern　science　for　you。
　He　crashed　down　into　the　dark　green　swivel　chair。　He　stared　fixedly　at　the　frosted…glass　partition　but　what　he　was　really　seeing　was　Finnigan's　fat　mick　face；　those　soft　dewy　blue　eyes　staring　up　at　him　blankly。
　'I　want　to　make　this　very　plain　to　you；　Croaker；'　the　Captain　had　said。　'The　Didion　case　is　a　closed　book。'　He　raised　his　pudgy　hands　in　front　of　his　face；　warding　off　Croaker's　expected　protests。　'I　know；　I　know；　I　put　you　on　it　myself。　But　that　was　when　I　thought　we　could　see　some　quick　results。　Everyone　from　the　mayor　down　was　howling　for　a　quick　arrest。　Then　the　media　jumped　all　over　it；　you　know　what　they　can　do。'　His　hands　came　down；　lying　flat　on　his　desktop。　Croaker　thought　they　looked　like　hams　ripe　for　roasting。　'You　know　as　well　as　I　do　the　kind　of　people　who　live　at　the　Actium　House。　People　like　Cardin　and　Calvin　Klein　don't　like　that　kind　of　thing　happening　where　they　live。　There　was　an　awful　lot　of　pressure。'
　Croaker　closed　his　eyes　for　a　moment；　counting　slowly；　one…Mississippi；　two…Mississippi；　just　as　he　had　done　when　playing　football　on　the　streets　of　Manhattan's　Hell's　Kitchen　when　he　was　a　kid。　It　was　either　that　or　belt　Finnigan　on　his　fat　red　nose。　His　eyes　snapped　open；　they　saw　the　Captain　leaning　back　in　his　high…backed　chair；　his　hands；　fingers　interlaced；　sitting　atop　his　ample　stomach。　Croaker　wondered　how　many　whiskies　the　old　man　had　already　downed。　Inadvertently；　he　glanced　at　the　spot　where　the　lower　right…hand　drawer　was；　where　the　bottle　always　lay　within　easy　reach。　His　gaze　swung　back　to　Finnigan's　red…veined　face。　His　eyes　seemed　even　more　faded　in　the　soft　early　morning　light　filtering　through　the　closed　shades。　Outside；　the　towers　of　lower　Manhattan　rose　like　blocky　giants。
　'I　know　all　about　that　pressure；　Captain。'　His　tone　revealed　none　of　his　hidden　emotion。　'I've　lived　with　that　ever　since　I　joined　the　force　ten　years　ago。　What　I　don't　understand　is　this　sudden　switch；　this　about…face。'
　'You　weren't　getting　anywhere；'　Finnigan　said　equably。　'I　pulled　the　plug；　that's　all。'
　'Bull！　That's　a　load　of…'
　'Don't　start　this　with　me；　Lieutenant。'　Finnigan's　eyes　blazed　and　a　thin　line　of　spittle　glistened　on　his　protruding　lower　lip。　'I'm　in　no　mood　for　any　of　your　grandstanding。'　He　sat　up；　leaning　forward；　and　now　his　small　eyes　seemed　mean　and　bitter　and　altogether　merciless。　'You　may　enjoy　a　great　reputation　with　the　press。　I　allow　that　because　it's　good　for　the　department　as　a　whole；　the　public　responds　well　to　one　name；　one　face。　But　don't　you　ever　think　that　that　gives　you　any　special　privileges　in　here　or　out　there。'　His　enormous　thumb　hooked　back　over　his　shoulder；　indicating　the　streets　of　the　city。　'I'm　onto　your　little　game　and　it　gets　no　points　with　me。　You　love　that　attention；　the　media　play。　You　eat　it　up　like　a　glutton。　But　that's　okay；　that　I　can　handle。　What　I　won't　tolerate　is　you　treating　me　as　if　I'm　some　kind　of　idiot；　some　kind　of　moral　defective。'　He　saw　the　look　on　the　other's　face；　jumped　on　it。　'Yeah；　that's　right：　moral　defective。　You　been　on　the　force　more　than　long　enough　to　know　the　reason　why　some　investigation　or　other　gets　snuffed。　Someone　high　up　〃requested〃　it。　Okay？　So　now　I've　spelled　it　out　for　you。'　His　face　was　red　now　and　the　wattles　beside　his　mouth　were　quivering。　'Believe　me；　I　have　thought　of　getting　rid　of　you　so　very　often；　transferring　you　to　some　other　district。　But　you're　too　valuable　to　me。　You're　good　for　at　least　a　couple　of　mayor's　citations　for　me　each　year。　I　don't　mind　telling　you　I　like　that；
　it's　good　for　my　record。〃　He　stood　up　now；　his　thick　arms　straight　columns　ending　in　bunched　fists　pressed　so　hard　against　the　desktop　that　they　had　gone　white。　'But　I'll　be　goddamned　if　I'll　ever　let　you　pull　a　stunt　like　you　did　with　the　Lyman　thing。　That　was　officially　chocked　and　you　went　after　it　anyway。　You　made　me　look　like　a　fool　to　these　people　here　and　I'm　just　lucky　that　the　missioner　didn't　hear　about　it。'　He　lifted　a　finger　as　big　around　as　a　sausage；　shaking　it　in　Croaker's　direction。　'You'll　take　this　Tanaka…Okura　double　murder　and　I　don't　want　to　ever　hear　that　you　threw　a　case　back　at　the　precinct　boys　the　way　you　did　last　night。'　He　coughed　thickly；　wiped　at　his　lips　with　a　grey　handkerchief。　'What's　the　matter？　You　got　something　against　slants？　No。　So　take　it　and　be　happy。　Be　happy　that　you've　got　a　case　to　run　with。'
　Croaker　turned　to　leave　but；　as　his　fingers　grasped　the　knob；　Finnigan　said；　'Oh　and；　Lieutenant；　you　know　how　things　function　around　here。　Next　time　don't　make　me　explain　S。O。P。　to　you　as　if　you　were　some　rookie　just　off　the　streets；　okay？'
　It　was　at　that　point　that　Croaker　had　decided　to　continue　with　the　Didion　thing　on　his　own。　Now　he　knew　that　he　had　to　do　it　all　on　his　own。　He　could　confide　in　no　one　at　the　office　and；　if　he　used　their　resources；　which　he　surely　would；　he　would　have　to　camouflage　his　intent。　He　looked　at　his　watch；　then　at　the　dregs　of　old　coffee　in　the　stained　plastic　cup　on　his　desk。　He　was　late　for　the　Linnear　pick…up　but　right　now　he　did　not　much　care；　his　mind　was　still　on　the　Didion　thing。　Finnigan　was　right　in　one　respect　…　he　had　nothing。　But　only　up　to　a　point。　The　girl　had　friends　somewhere；　it　had　just　proved　to　be　a　bastard　unearthing　them。　Now　he　was　close　to　at　least　one　of　them。　Matty　the　Mouth　had　e　up　with　a　lead。　But　he　needed　a　name；　an　address；　or　it　was　useless　to　him。　This　was　what　he　was　waiting　for　now；　this　was　why　he　was　so　sensitive　to　being　pulled　off　the　case。　It　was　no　good　telling　Finnigan　what　he　had　now；　no　good　at　all。　It　would　be　like　talking　to　the　wall。　Which　was　why　Croaker　always　kept　his　cases　to　himself；　it　was　part　of　the　reason　why　he　got　Finnigan　his　mayor's　citations　each　year…　So　it　was　the　one　thing　Finnigan　did　not　question。　In　any　case；　Finnigan　could　care　less　about　M。O。；　it　was　results　he　craved。　Talk　about　your　gluttons；　Croaker　grunted　as　he　swivelled　round　in　his　chair。　Those　results　gave　the　whisky　a　fine　race　for　the　captain's　undivided　attention。
　Croaker　cursed　and　got　up。　Time　to　pick　up　Linnear。
　At　approximately　the　same　time；　Vincent　had　been　at　work　in　the　autopsy　room。　He　had　not；　of　course；　been　on　duty　when　they　had　brought　Terry's　and　Eileen's　corpses　in　late　last　night　but　he　had　been　called　right　away　…　Tallas　had　thought　he　should　know；　she　had　the　soundest　judgement　of　all　the　associates；　he　thought。　Consequently　he　had　arrived　in　time　to　hear　the　tail　end　of　the　argument　between　the　two　precinct　patrolmen　who　had　responded　to　the　call；　and　the　detective。　He　was　a　big　burly　sonofabitch　and　he　was　giving　them　a　tongue…lashing。　Vincent　had　not　concerned　himself　with　the　noise　or　the　rising　tempers。　He　had　wanted　to　make　certain。　Perhaps　it　had　all　been　a　ghastly　mistake　…　one　of　the　dojo's　instructors　at　Terry's　apartment　…　or　。。。　but　it　had　been　Terry　and　it　had　been　Eileen。　Dead。　It　was　then　　　　dial　he　had　remembered　the　frozen…line　call。　No　one　there。　Could　it　have　been　Terry　phoning　him？　He　turned　sadly　away。　It　did　not　matter　now。
　He　put　them　away　for　the　morning；　made　sure　all　their　clothes　and　personal　effects　were　properly　tagged　and　bagged　for　me　detectives　who　would　take　the　case。　Then　he　had　gone　home　to　spend　an　uneasy　night。
　It　had　got　to　the　point　where　he　was　content　only　down　in　the　morgue。　There　he　could　work；　logically　problem…solving；　sleuthing　his　way　through　the　silent　mayhem。　Sometimes　it　worked　and　his　report　led　directly　to　the　arrest　of　the　murderer；　at　other　times　he　was　the　only　one　who　could　be　of　solace　to　the　families　of　the　dead　who　rolled　past　him　each　day。
　They　were　like　massive　hieroglyphs；　mute　monoliths；　waiting　to　have　their　arcane　messages　unearthed。　And　he　the　archaeologist　of　their　past。
　It　was　immensely　satisfying　to　him　to　work　here　in　the　dead　house；　as　many　physicians　called　it。　But　it　was　such　a　misnomer；　for　here；　every　day；　he　and　his　colleagues　were　hard　at　work　wresting　secrets　from　death's　cold　grip。　They　hacked　at　it；　bringing　it　down　to　size；　demystifying　it；　bit　by　bit；　until　much　of　its　horror　was　dissipated。　What　job　could　claim　more　importance　for　the　living？
　This　morning　Vincent　now　stood　in　the　central　room；　his　back　to　the　tiers　of　stainless…steel　doors。　A　black　man；　naked　and　cool；　his　head　at　an　angle；　lay　on　a　trolley　to　one　side。　He　stood　staring　at　the　swing　〃doors　leading　into　the　autopsy　r