Dark Maze

Sergeant Walsh and said, “Easy in, easy out.”
    Walsh nodded. “That’s the way it is these days, hey? These freaking kids, they walk up and down around here robbin’ stores like they got the right to help themselves to whatever they want. Like they think they’re all freaking Congressmen or something.”
    I laughed. “But I don’t think it’s robbery.”
    “How come? You looked in the till already?”
    “No. Just a guess.”
    Walsh stared at my clothes and said, “You look too good to be working SCUM patrol tonight.”
    “I’m not, exactly.”
    “Exactly how does it happen you’re here and guessing about goings-on in this godforsaken neighborhood?”
    I took the sergeant by the elbow and steered him closer to the front door, out of respect for the screaming widow. I did not bother telling him that it happens I live only a few blocks away. I am the only New York cop I know who lives in a crime-ridden neighborhood of New York City, which was not a distinction that I cared to discuss just then with the likes of Sergeant Walsh. Instead, I briefly told him that I was investigating two linked homicides, which had led me to the bodega to question the owner about a possible suspect. I also told him that Inspector Neglio and the mayor were especially interested in any progress I might make.
    Walsh whistled appreciatively. “So, your suspect went and whacked another guy, and now you really got yourself a serial case?”
    “It looks that way.”
    “So how do you want the cleanup assigned?”
    “I’ll put in a call to Central Homicide, so you don’t have to bother your own PDU.”
    “That’s okay by me.” Walsh looked back over his shoulder at the widow. “You think she’s approachable yet?“
    “Give her a minute,” I said. “Then have a couple of your good men pry her off and get her to a hospital.”
    I left Walsh and stepped outside into a sudden flood of harsh television lights. They beamed in on me since I was so far the only cop around without a uniform.
    Cameras were restricted to the street, behind a wall of blue uniforms and sawhorses that had been set up along the curb. Reporters barked questions that I decided not to hear. I covered my eyes against the glare of the lights and looked for Luis. I spotted him back behind the line of cameras and waved him over.
    Luis walked self-importantly through a trail of kleigs to my side. We stood in front of the bodega window. Finally, I turned to look at it, knowing what I was to see.
    There, in neatly brushed calcimine paint, was the picture of a sprawled man with a gaping hole in his throat. And despite the simple, blunt lines, there was an essential fear in the wounded man’s eyes.
    “Who painted this?” I asked.
    “I guess the usual guy.”
    “The funny-looking old guy in the beret?“
    “Yeah, him.”
    I touched a stroke of the calcimine paint. It was still tacky. “Did you see him do this?”
    “I seen him maybe an hour ago, hanging around here like he does. You know, painting.”
    “And he was with somebody, right?”
    “No, man. He was alone. He’s always alone.”
    “You know where he lives?”
    Luis’ eyes grew big. “Hey, that old geek, he iced Benito?“
    “I don’t know, but I want to talk to him.” I pointed to Picasso’s latest work. “What do you make of this, Luis?“
    “Looks spooked to me, man. Don’t look like the usual shit he paints, you know? Chickens and pigs and shit like that’s his usual thing.”
    “Have you been hanging out at the video store all night?“
    “Yeah, pretty much. We drank some beer over there in the park,” Luis said, pointing across the avenue, “but the girls they don’t like it there. So we hang out at the V-store with them. You know.”
    “Who went into Benito’s store, say in the last hour or two?”
    “Oh, I don’t know, lots of people.”
    “Did you see the funny old guy in the beret go in there?“
    “Yeah, but he come back out with Benito. Then Benito he goes back in, then the old geek he starts painting on the window—real fast.”
    “Then what?”
    “Then he goes away.”
    “Did he come back?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “Who went in after he went?”
    Luis thought for a second. “I don’t know, really. Maybe ten different people, you know?”
    “Who was the last person you saw go in?”
    Luis thought. “I don’t know, Hock. I was just hanging out on the corner and I wasn’t really paying much attention, you know? People I might of seen going