Wilderness

Tinkham nodded. "You want to write?" he said.

Diamond said, "Yes."

Tinkham squatted down again beside the woman. "Female," he said.

"Black, age"-he shrugged-"twenty to thirty, white slacks, yellow halter top, black sling-strap high-heel shoe (one), one shoe missing, gold hoop earrings." Diamond said, "You sure there's two?"

"You want to turn her head and look?" Tinkham said.

Diamond said "No" and continued to write in his notebook.

"Large gold ring on index finger of right hand, picture of a queen on it." Diamond said, "What?"

"Picture of a queen," Tinkham said. "How the fuck do I know who it is.

You know?" He looked at Newman.

Newman leaned closer. You get used to anything. The woman's hand was sprawled out away from her body and Newman could look at the ring without seeing the shattered skull.

"Nefertiti," he said.

Diamond looked at him. Tinkham said, "Or at least not often."

"It's the King Tut craze," Newman said.

Diamond said, "Never mind."

"Victim is prostrate on left side, appears to have been shot several times in right rear quarter of head. No evidence of rape or sexual abuse. No sign of struggle. No bruises or abrasions on visible parts of body, neck, right arm. Face obscured by blood and disfigured by apparent gunshot wound."

Newman realized he'd been hearing the siren for a time without noticing. Then a blue Massachusetts State Police car pulled in beside the Smithfield cruiser. Behind it, another Smithfield cruiser.

"Inside of right arm shows marks of probable hypodermic injections," Tinkham said.

Two big troopers got out of the Massachusetts State Police car. They wore campaign hats and black boots. Their faces glistened with the closeness of their shaves. Their uniform shirts were pressed with military creases. Their gunbelts glowed with polish. Their hair barely showed under the hats. The sideburns were trimmed short. One was black.

The white trooper said to Diamond, "Touch anything?"

Diamond shook his head.

The black trooper looked down at the woman. "Black," he said. "What the hell she doing out here?" Tinkham said, "I don't know. She don't live around here, though."

The black trooper looked at Tinkham for ten seconds, then he said, "No shit?"

Tinkham's face reddened. "Maybe she was selling watermelon," he said.

The black trooper smiled. Once. A smile that came on and went off. He looked down at the woman. "Junkie," he said.

The white trooper said, "Tracks?"

The black trooper nodded. "All up and down her right arm." The white trooper said to Newman, "You see the shooting?" "Yes," Newman said.

"Could you identify the killer?" "Yes," Newman said. "I'm sure I could."

CHAPTER 2.

It's like the Army, Newman thought. You go in one end of the process and it starts taking you along and you get numb and after a while you come out the other end. Honorable discharge. Or whatever. He sat at a gray metal table in the homicide squad room at state police headquarters on Commonwealth Avenue and looked at the pictures of criminals in large albums. He was still in warm-up pants and a white T-shirt that said Adidas across the front. He wore yellow Nike training shoes with a blue swoosh. The sweat that had been so lubricant two hours earlier had stiffened and chilled. He was hungry.

At 8:47 in the evening he saw the man. Profile and full face, staring at him. Hair slicked back, deep eye sockets. Adolph Karl, male, Caucasian, dob 7/15/30, aka Addie Kaye.

"This is him," Newman said.

A state police detective named Bobby Croft swung his feet down off the top of his desk and walked over. He looked at Karl's picture.

"Him?" Croft said. "Adolph Karl? Son of a bitch. You sure?"

Newman said, "Yes. That's him. I'm sure."

Croft walked to the end of the squad room opened the frosted glass half-door that said Lieutenant Vincent on it, and poked his head inside.

"Hey, Murray," he said. "Come have a look."

Lieutenant Vincent came out, round-faced and graceful, with a bald head and blue-rimmed glasses. He walked down to the table where Newman sat and looked over Newman's shoulder at the mug book.

"Show him," Croft said.

Newman pointed to the picture of Adolph Karl. "Him," he said.

Vincent raised his eyebrows and looked at Croft. He said to Newman, "You're sure?" "I'm sure," Newman said.

Vincent smiled. "Why don't you have Adolph brought in, Bobby. We can put him in a show-up and just double check. We wouldn't want Adolph's civil rights compromised."

Croft nodded and went out of the squad room Newman said, "You know this Karl, Lieutenant?" Vincent said, "Yes. He's bad man. Prostitution, narcotics, loan sharking, extortion. He's important enough to have most of his assaults done for him now. I'm a little surprised. Must have been personal. Anybody with him in the car?"

"There must have been," Newman said. "He got in the passenger's side when the car drove off."

"And he did it himself." Vincent sucked on his bottom lip. "You want some coffee?"

Newman nodded.

Vincent said to a uniformed trooper, "Charlie, get us a cup of coffee will you? Cream and sugar?" Newman said, "Black."

Vincent went back to his office.

The trooper brought the coffee. "You want more," he said, "out that door and turn right." Newman said, "Thanks."

He drank the coffee and three more cups. He read the morning paper. He looked at the policemen coming and going. He stared at the fluorescent lights. At a quarter to twelve Croft came into the squad room "Let's take a look, Mr. Newman."

The show-up room was dark. Three men stood on a small lighted stage.

One of them was Adolph Karl. He was wearing a dark blue polyester leisure suit with light blue piping, and a light blue polyester shirt with dark blue trim. His hair was black and combed tightly against his skull. It looked wet. His eyes were deep in the eye sockets. His ears stuck out. He swallowed once and his big Adam's apple moved.

Newman knew that Karl couldn't see him in the dark, but he felt scared.

Six hours earlier Newman had seen Karl shoot the back of a woman's head off.

"Recognize the murderer among those men?" Croft said.

"On the end in the blue leisure suit. That's him."

Croft said, "You're sure?"

Newman nodded, then realized Croft couldn't see him in the dark. "Yes," he said. "I'm sure."

"No doubts? You could swear to it in court?"

"Yes."

"All right," Croft said. He stressed the second word.

They went out of the show-up room and back to Croft's desk. Lieutenant Vincent came out of his office. Croft nodded at him. Three times.

Vincent smiled. "Very good," he said. "His lawyer with him?"

Croft said, "Yeah, but we got the son of a bitch, Murray. Lawyer or no lawyer." Vincent said, "If he sticks." He nodded at Newman.

Newman said, "I'll stick, I'm sure it's him. I saw him." Vincent smiled. "Sure. I know you will. And it's a damned good thing to bag Karl. We've all wanted him for a long time."

"What happens now?" Newman said.

"We'll process Karl. There will be a preliminary hearing. We'll let you know. Eventually we'll go to court and you'll testify."

"Can I leave now?"

"Yeah, but first a man from the Essex County DA's office wants a statement."

"They bring you in in the cruiser?"

"Yes."

"Bobby," Vincent said. "When he's through, whyn't you run Mr. Newman up to wherever it is." "Smithfield," Newman said.

"Yeah, Smithfield. Whyn't you run Newman up to Smithfield. When you come back, come in and we'll chat."

Croft nodded.

It was nearly 2 A.M. when they went north up Route 93. Newman said to Croft, "What did the lieutenant mean, "If he sticks'?"