The Steel Kiss

In ten minutes, they spotted the gypsy cab on the Lower East Side, parts of which were growing into hipster and artist enclaves. Not here. Dilapidated commercial buildings ruled, and a number of vacant lots.

In the phone conversation, arranging this meeting, the driver had said, “You’ll see me, white Ford. Dripping wet. Just clean her.” The accent had been a mystery.

Sachs nosed the Torino into a space, avoiding mounds of trash banked at the curb, and they climbed out. The short, swarthy driver, in jeans and a blue Real Madrid soccer shirt, exited his cab and joined them.

“I’m Detective Sachs. This is Officer Pulaski.”

“Hi, hi.” He shook their hands enthusiastically. Some people are nervous meeting the police, some are critical of authority, and some—a few—act like they’re in the presence of rock stars.

Eduardo was going to give White Castle’s Charlotte a run for the money.

“So, I happy to help. Happy.”

“Good. Appreciate it. Tell me about this man.”

“He very tall and very skinny. Weird, don’t you know?”

“Any—”

“Distinguishing characteristics?” he blurted.

“Yes.”

“No, no, couldn’t see much. Hat on. Braves. The team, don’t you know?”

“Yes, we know.” Pulaski was looking around, taking in the empty street. Warehouses, small offices. Nothing residential or retail. He turned back to his notebook, in which he was transcribing whatever the man had to say.

“Sunglasses, he wore too.”

“Hair color?”

“Lighter, I think. But, the hat. You know.”

“And his clothes?”

“Green jacket, yellow-green. Dark pants. And a backpack. Oh, and a bag.”

“Bag?”

“Plastic. Like he bought something and they put it in bag. He look in bag a couple times, I driving him.”

Charlotte had said the same.

“Any logo on the bag?”

“Logo?”

“Store name, picture? Smiley face.”

“Emoji! No.”

“How big was the bag?” Sachs asked.

“Not big. Strawberries.”

“He had strawberries?” Pulaski wondered.

“No, no. I mean about size of package of strawberries. Just thinking that. Or blueberries, or salad dressing or a large can of tomatoes. That big,” Eduardo said, beaming. “Exactly.”

“Any idea what was in it?”

“No. Hear something metal. Click, a click.”

“Did he make any phone calls?”

“No. But he kind of talk to himself. I told you that on phone. I could not hear good. First, I say, ‘What that, sir?’ Thinking he talking to me. But he said, ‘Nothing.’ I meaning, he said something. ‘Nothing’ was what he said. Don’t you know? And then he quiet after that. Just look out window. Wouldn’t look at me. So couldn’t really see scars. You always like scars. Police. Distinguishing things. But didn’t see any.”

Pulaski asked, “Did he have an accent?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“American,” Eduardo answered. He wasn’t being ironic.

“So, you stopped here. This intersection?”

“Yes, yes. I thought you want to see where exactly.”

“We do. He paid with cash?”

“Yes, yes, that’s all we take, don’t you know?”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you still have the money he paid you with?”

“For fingerprints!”

“That’s right.”

“No.” The driver shook his head broadly.

“Where did he go? I understand you waited here and saw him go into one of those buildings.” Pulaski was looking up from the notebook.

“I did, yes. I will tell you.” He pointed up the street. “You can just see it, that one. Beige.” He wrung two syllables out of the color.”

From here they could make out only a sliver of a five-story building; the front was on an adjoining street. It was surrounded by a vacant lot on one side and a half-demolished building on the other.

Eduardo continued, “I remember because I am thinking maybe whoever he was going to see was not home, or not there, and this neighborhood? No cruising medallions so he want to go back to Queens and I could make a second fare. But I saw him go through back door. That’s when I left, don’t you know?”

“We appreciate your help.”

“He a killer?” Eduardo grinned happily.

“He’s wanted in connection with a homicide, yes. If you see him again, if he comes by your office in Queens, call nine one one and give them my name.” She dealt out another of her cards. “Don’t do anything yourself, try to stop him.”

“No, I call you, Officer Detective.”

After he’d left, she and Pulaski started toward the building he’d pointed out. They got no more than a half block when she stopped fast.

“What is it, Amelia?” Pulaski whispered.

She was squinting. “What street is that? That the building faces?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled out his Samsung and loaded a map. “Ridge.” The young officer frowned. “Why’s that familiar?…  Hell.”

Sachs nodded. “Yep. It’s where Todd Williams worked.” She’d learned where the victim’s office was and retraced his steps from the murder site back to here, canvassing for clues. She’d also tried to interview others in the ramshackle building but of the few people who had offices in the structure—only three or four, the rest of the space being empty—no one had seen anything helpful to the investigation.

“They knew each other. The unsub and Williams. Well, this changes everything.”

It wasn’t a robbery or random killing at all.