Ghosts

The house had never looked more welcoming. A roaring blaze was going in the fireplace, and the tree in the corner of the room was aglow with reds, yellows, blues, greens, and whites that reflected in the hanging ornaments. Teddy was wearing a long red robe, her black hair pulled to the back of her head in a ponytail. She came to him at once and hugged him before he had taken off his coat. He remembered again the afternoon before; he would have to tell her that Hillary Scott had tried to amputate his lower lip with her teeth.

He had mixed himself a martini and was sitting in the chair near the fire when the twins came into the living room. Both were in pajamas and robes. April climbed into his lap; Mark sat at his feet.

“So,” Carella said, “you finally got to see Santa.”

“Uh-huh,” April said.

“Did you tell him all the things you want?”

“Uh-huh,” April said.

“Dad…” Mark said.

“We missed you a lot,” April said quickly.

“Well, I missed you, too, darling.”

“Dad…”

“Don’t tell him,” April said.

“He’s got to know sooner or later,” Mark said.

“No, he don’t.”

“Doesn’t.”

“I said doesn’t.”

“You said don’t.”

“Anyway, don’t tell him.”

“Don’t tell me what?” Carella asked.

“Dad,” Mark said, avoiding his father’s eyes, “there is no such thing as Santa Claus.”

“You told him,” April said, and glared at her brother.

“No such thing, huh?” Carella said.

“No such thing,” Mark repeated, and returned April’s glare.

“How do you know?”

“’Cause there’s hundreds of them all over the street,” Mark said, “and nobody can move that fast.”

“They’re his helpers,” April said. “Isn’t that right, Dad? They’re all his helpers.”

“No, they’re just these guys,” Mark said.

“How long have you known this?” Carella asked.

“Well…” April said, and cuddled closer to him.

“How long?”

“Since last year,” she said in a tiny voice.

“But if you knew there wasn’t any Santa, why’d you agree to go see him?”

“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” April said, and again glared at her brother. “Now you hurt his feelings,” she said.

“No, no,” Carella said. “No, I’m glad you told me.”

“It’s you and Mommy who’s Santa,” April said, and hugged him tight.

“In which case, you’d better go to bed so we can feed the reindeer.”

“What reindeer?” she asked, her eyes opening wide.

“The whole crowd,” Carella said. “Donder and Blitzen and Dopey and Doc…”

“That’s Snow White!” April said, and giggled.

“Is it?” he said, gri

He took them to their separate rooms, and tucked them in, and kissed them good-night. As he was leaving Mark’s room, Mark said, “Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Cause…you know…I thought it would be better than lying.”

“It always is,” Carella said, and touched his son’s hair, and oddly felt like weeping. “Merry Christmas, son,” he said quickly, and turned from the bed, and snapped out the light.

Teddy came out of the kitchen with a tray of hot cheese puffs and then went to say her own good-nights to the children. When she came back into the living room, Carella was mixing himself a second martini. She cautioned him to go easy.

“Long hard day, honey,” he said. “Do you want one of these?”

A scotch, please, she said. Very light.

“Where’s Fa

In her room, wrapping gifts.

They sat before the fire, sipping their drinks, nibbling at the cheese puffs. She told him di

Then he told her about the kiss.

Teddy listened.

He told her how he’d tried to pull away from Hillary, told her she’d fastened to his mouth like an embalmer’s trocar trying to drain his fluids, told her all about the trance that had followed, Hillary shaking and swaying and talking in a spooky voice about drowning and somebody hearing something, somebody stealing something. Teddy listened and said nothing. She remained uncommunicative all through di

Outside, shoveling snow, Carella wondered if he should have told Teddy about the kiss after all. He had not mentioned that Hillary Scott looked like a younger version of her, and he was glad now that he hadn’t. The air had turned very cold. When he came back into the house, he stood before the dwindling fire for several moments, warming himself, and then went into the bedroom. The light was out. Teddy was in bed. He undressed silently and got into bed with her. She lay stiffly beside him; her breathing told him she was still awake. He snapped on the light.

“Honey, what is it?” he said.

You kissed another woman, she said.

“No, she kissed me.”

That’s the same thing.

“And besides, it wasn’t a kiss. It was…I don’t know what the hell it was.”

It was a kiss, that’s what the hell it was, Teddy said.

“Honey,” he said, “believe me, I…”

She shook her head.

“Honey, I love you. I wouldn’t kiss Jane Fonda if I found her wrapped under the Christmas tree tomorrow morning.” He smiled and then said, “And you know how I feel about Jane Fonda.”

Oh? Teddy said. And how do you feel about Jane Fonda?

“I think she’s…well, she’s a very attractive woman,” Carella said, and had the feeling he was plowing himself deeper than any of the snowdrifts outside. “The point I’m trying to make—”

I once dreamed Robert Redford was making love to me, Teddy said.

“How was it?” Carella asked.

Pretty good, as a matter of fact.

“Honey?” he said.

She watched his lips.

“I love you to death,” he said.

Then no more kisses, she said, and nodded. Or I’ll break your goddamn head.

6

The Mayor, when asked by reporters how he pla

Those who were unlucky enough to have caught the midnight to 8:00 A.M. shift on Christmas Day worked clear through to 10:00 in the morning, by which time the relieving detectives began arriving at the squadroom in dribs and drabs. There were eighteen detectives attached to the 87th Squad, and they divided among them the three shifts that constituted their working day, six men to each shift. The 8:00 A.M. to 4:00 P.M. shift (or—as it turned out—the 10:00 A.M. to 6:00 P.M.) was shared by Meyer Meyer, Hal Willis, Bob O’Brien, Lou Moscowitz, Artie Brown, and a transfer from the Two-One named Pee Wee Wizonski. Wizonski was six feet four inches tall, weighed 208 pounds in his underwear and socks, and suffered a great many slings and arrows about being Polish. There was not a day that went by without someone in the squadroom telling another Polish joke. On Christmas Day (which was Wizonski’s holiday), Lou Moscowitz (who was celebrating Hanukkah) told about Pope John Paul II’s first miracle: He changed wine into water. Wizonski did not think the joke was fu