A young uniformed officer with a round baby face and short-cropped sandy hair was sitting inside on the edge of one chair. He looked up at them nervously, like a kid who’d just been sent down to the principal’s office and wasn’t quite sure what he’d done wrong. “Officer Joe Ralston. Detectives McCabe and Savage,” Astarita said. “You guys take your time. I’m gonna go get myself a bite to eat while you talk. You want anything?”
“Yeah, bring us something,” said McCabe. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”
“What do you want?” asked Astarita.
“Anything. Whatever you’re having,” said McCabe.
“Me too,” said Maggie.
Ralston declined.
Astarita left. McCabe sat behind the desk. Maggie leaned against the wall. Ralston looked from one to the other. “How long you been a cop, Joe?” asked McCabe.
“About eighteen months, sir.”
“Always with the Seventh?” asked Maggie.
“Yes, ma’am. I patrol this neighborhood whenever I’m on duty.”
“Including last night around midnight?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right,” said McCabe. “You’ve already submitted your report on seeing the couple walking on Clinton Street, isn’t that right?”
“I did.”
“And the woman you saw looked like the missing actress?” asked McCabe.
“More than looked like her. I’m sure it was her. I should’ve checked out the guy a little closer. But I asked and she told me she was just fine. Even seemed happy.”
“Okay. Here’s what I want you to do,” said McCabe. “Forget about what you wrote in your report. Instead, I want you just to relax, close your eyes, take a deep breath and empty your mind of everything.”
Ralston looked puzzled by the request but did as he was told. One minute passed and then another.
“Now,” said McCabe, “keeping your eyes closed, put yourself back in the car on Rivington Street. Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“You’re driving slowly. Now you’ve reached the corner of Clinton. You’re turning the corner. What do you see?”
“It was late. Nearly one a.m. Street was wet. Pavement was reflecting the light from my headlights. There were a few lights on in a couple of windows in the tenements on either side of the street. One light toward the end of the block. This couple was on the street walking in the same direction as me.”
“On your side of the street?”
“Yes. It’s a one-way street. They were to my left. As I passed them I slowed down. I guess to get a better look at them.”
“You always slow down when you pass people on the street?”
“No.”
“Why this time?”
“I guess partly because the girl was so pretty.” Ralston’s fair skin started turning an embarrassed pink as he said this. “I wanted to get a better look at her. But also because the guy put his head down and kind of turned away from me like my lights were blinding him or something. Which they weren’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I approached them from behind. They couldn’t have been bothering him even when I pulled alongside. When I stopped the girl seemed relaxed. She smiled at me. I smiled back. I figured everything was okay.”
“Describe the man as best you can.”
“Like I said, he was turning away from me . . .” Ralston provided a description that matched what Astarita had already told them.
“All right, and this is important, keeping your eyes closed, tell me what else you saw on the street.”
“Nothing really. No people anyway. No. Wait a minute. That’s not exactly true.”
“Tell me what you’re looking at?”
“There was a pile of torn blankets and old coats just beyond the steps going up to number 121. This homeless guy was tucked in next to the building. He’s there a lot so it barely registered.”
“So you’ve seen him before?”
“Yeah. He sacks out there a lot. Not every night. But yes, I’ve seen him before. I don’t usually bother him. I did talk to him one time. Asked him what he was doing there. He looked at me and said, ‘Sleeping. What the hell’s it look like I’m doing? Why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?’ Can’t be hassling every homeless guy I see, so basically I did what he asked and left him alone.”
“But he was definitely there last night?”
“Yeah. I’m sure of it. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. Guess ’cause I see him so often he’s just part of the scenery.”
“What’s he look like?”
Ralston shrugged. “He’s a black guy. Fat. Round face. Flat nose. Hair down to his shoulders. Mostly gray. Hard to know how old he is but I figure he’s gotta be in his sixties. Though you can’t tell with a lot of people who’ve lived rough for years. He’s usually wrapped up in his coats and stuff. Even in the summer.”
“You ask him what his name is?”
“No.”
“You think you can find him again?”
“Only if he sacks out in the same spot. Otherwise only if I come across him accidentally.”
The door opened and Art Astarita came in carrying a big bag from Burger King. He started handing out burgers, Cokes and boxes of fries. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“Can you assign Officer Ralston to an unmarked Interceptor and have him stake out 121 Clinton?” said McCabe.
“Sure. What are you looking for?”
“A witness.”
“What witness?”
“I’ll let Ralston tell you. Soon as we eat these burgers, Maggie and I are gonna head uptown and talk to Randall Carter.”