Manhattan Is My Beat

was still in the hospital.”
    “I see. Can I ask why you called her?”
    Because somebody’s got to find the killer, and the cops couldn’t care less. But she told Dixon, “Just to see how she’s doing. Why?”
    Dixon paused for a moment. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her face. Assessing her. He said, “Ms. Edelman was killed an hour ago.”
    “What?” she gasped. “No!”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “What happened?”
    Dixon continued. “She was walking past a construction site. A scaffolding collapsed. It might have been an accident but, of course, we don’t think so.”
    “Oh, no …”
    “Has anyone threatened you? Or have you noticed anything suspicious since the killing on Tenth Street?”
    “No.” She looked down for a moment, uneasy, then back to the marshal.
    Dixon examined her face closely. His expression gave away nothing. He said, “For your sake, for a lot of people’s sake, I need you to tell me what your involvement with this whole thing is.”
    “There’s no—”
    “This’s real serious, miss. It might’ve seemed like a game at first. But it isn’t. Now, I can have you put into protective custody and we’ll sort it out later…. I really don’t think you’d like to spend a week in Women’s Detention? Now, what’s the story?”
    There was something about his voice that sounded as if he was really concerned. Sure, he was threatening her in a way but that just seemed to be his style. It probably went with the job. And she felt that he was really worried that she might end up like Kelly or Susan Edelman.
    So she told him a few things. About the movie, the stolen bank loot, about the connection between Mr. Kelly and the robbery. Nothing about Symington. Nothing about churches or suitcases. Nothing about Amanda LeClerc.
    Dixon nodded slowly and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The only thing that seemed to interest him was the old robbery.
    Why’d he lift his eyebrow at that? she wondered.
    Dixon asked, “Where do you live?”
    She gave him the address.
    “Phone number?”
    “No phone. You can call here, the video store, leave a message.”
    Dixon thought for a moment. “I don’t think you’re in danger.”
    “I didn’t see anything, I really didn’t. Just this green car. That’s all I remember. No faces, no license plates. There’s no
reason
to kill me.”
    This seemed to amuse him. “Well, that’s not really the issue, miss. The reason you’re not dead is that somebody doesn’t want you dead. Not yet. If they did, you’d be gone. If I were you, though, I’d forget about this bank robbery money. Maybe that’s what was behind Mr. Kelly’s shooting. You’re probably safe for now but if you keep poking around … who knows what could happen?”
    “I was just—”
    Suddenly his face softened and he smiled. “You’re a pretty woman. You’re smart. You’re tough, I can see that. I just wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
    Rune said, “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Though she was really only thinking two things: That Dixon wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. And that he was a hell of a lot cuter than she’d thought at first.

     
    “What was that all about? Did that guy have a
badge?
“ Stephanie sounded breathless.
    Rune walked behind the counter at Washington Square Video, joining Stephanie at the register. She answered, “He was a U.S. marshal….” Then she shook her head. “The other witness—to Mr. Kelly’s murder?— she was killed.”
    “No!”
    “It might’ve been an accident. Maybe not.” Rune stared at the monitor. There was no movie in the VCR and she was looking at silent snow. “Probably not,” she whispered.
    “Are you, uhm, safe?” Stephanie asked.
    “He thinks so.”
    “
Thinks?
“
    “But there’s one thing funny.”
    “What?”
    “He was a U.S. marshal?”
    “You said that.”
    “Why would he be involved in a murder of somebody in the East Village?”
    “What do you mean?”
    Rune was thinking. “I saw this movie on Dillinger. You know John Dillinger?”
    “Not personally.”
    “Ha. He robbed banks. Which is, like, a federal offense—so it wasn’t the
city
cops who were after him. It was the G-men.”
    “G-men?”
    “Federal agents. You know,
government
men. Like the FBI. Like U.S. Marshals.”
    “Oh, wait, you’re not thinking he’s investigating that bank robbery you were telling me about. The one fifty years ago?”
    Rune shrugged. “He didn’t say anything but