Bloody River Blues

afternoon like this, though even Crimmins, who had lived all his life near here, could not recall when. Perhaps the year of the St. Louis Exposition. An era when the town still retained some of its Confederateness. Why, there were even homeless people camped out near swing sets! Crimmins did not approve of homelessness. He thought such people should pick themselvesup and get a job as those in earlier eras would have done.
    “Bootstraps” was a word Peter Crimmins used often.
    He surveyed the park now. Lots of Negroes, prowling slowly on their bicycles or walking in that fast lope of theirs. Puerto Ricans. White teenagers in leather and greasy denim, with their Frisbees and skateboards and guitars. A few professional people. Women jogging while they pushed babies in strollers that had three huge, cushioned wheels.
    And then there were the Chinese.
    While Crimmins disliked Jews and feared Negroes and Puerto Ricans, he loathed the Chinese.
    Crimmins was now looking at four or five Asian families as they picnicked. Crimmins was aware of the tide. Real estate and electronics. Shipping soon.
    And money laundering not long after that.
    A boy on a skateboard snapped past him in a surfer’s crouch. As if drawn by the youngster’s wake, a dark-complected man suddenly stepped up to Crimmins. “Hold up there.”
    Just as suddenly, Joshua was between them, appearing from nowhere, hand inside his jacket.
    “Police, big fellow,” the man said. “Unless you’re feeling yourself up, get your fucking hand out where I can see it.”
    Shields and ID cards appeared.
    “I’m Gianno, Maddox Police. That’s Detective Hagedorn over there.”
    “Maddox,” Crimmins spat out.
    Hagedorn stood nearby. His jacket was unbuttoned. Gianno said, “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    Crimmins nodded to Joshua, who retreated. He stopped fifteen feet away and stood watching the three men.
    “A woman was attacked not long ago.”
    “Someone I know?” Crimmins was concerned.
    “Well, not a friend of yours, that’s for sure. She was apparently reluctant to file a report. We got a notice of the assault from the FBI.”
    Why would an assault be a federal issue? thought Crimmins, reciter of indictments and an expert in federal law. Then he understood. “I see,” he said wearily. “And you think I was behind this attack.”
    “She gave us a statement that the attacker said he worked for you.”
    Crimmins blinked. “Me?”
    Gianno gave him a description of a young man with the birthmark.
    “I don’t know anyone who looks like that. Besides, I wouldn’t threaten anyone.”
    “No.” Gianno laughed. “Of course not.”
    “Where have you been today?” Hagedorn piped up.
    “Home, then I came here.”
    “Had to make some phone calls that nobody could hear, did you?” Gianno nodded toward the public phone.
    Crimmins rubbed his finger and thumb together in irritation; the thumbnail turned white under the pressure. “Are you arresting me?”
    Hagedorn said, “Will you give us a list of all your employees?”
    “I don’t think I have to do that.”
    “We hoped you’d be cooperative,” Gianno said.
    “It would look better,” his partner offered.
    “I don’t really care what anything looks like. I—”
    Gianno said to Hagedorn, “Let’s get out of here. This guy’s no help. We’ll follow up with Pellam—”
    The blond detective wagged a subtle finger and his partner stopped speaking as if he had caught himself at a social blunder. They looked for a moment at Crimmins, who kept his face blank. The two policemen then walked away.
    When the detectives had turned the corner, Crimmins walked along the street, away from the phone booth, motioning Joshua after him. When the bodyguard caught up with him, there was a crown of sweat on Crimmins’s forehead and his face was white. These were not the symptoms of physical exertion.
    “Find me Stettle,” Crimmins growled in a furious whisper. “I don’t care where he is, what he’s doing. I want him now.”
    THE RIVER WAS muddy today.
    The water seemed no more turbulent than on any other day—the wind was brisk but it still hadn’t broken the surface into whitecaps. But some disturbance was churning up clayish mud and staining the wide water from shore to shore.
    John Pellam stretched out in the driver’s seat of the camper and tried Nina’s number once more. Her machine answered and he hung up without leaving a message. They had had a brief conversation earlier