Адаптированное чтение на английском. Уровень сложности ниже среднего.
This story is about the world of the famous American television programme, NYPD Blue.
CHAPTER ONE
It was a hot August day in Manhattan. Detectives Kelly and Sipowicz were at a hotel. They were guarding a criminal, Lou Nardi, but he wasn’t trying to escape. He planned to give information about other criminals to a lawyer, so the two detectives were protecting him. After four days with him in the hotel room, they were getting very tired.
Nardi was a big man in his fifties with bright blue eyes, like ice. Women liked him: he had a beautiful girlfriend, Holly Peterson, who loved his icy blue eyes. Kelly and Sipowicz were not interested in Nardi’s blue eyes. They knew he was a professional killer, and because of that they didn’t like him and they didn’t really want to protect him either. Sipowicz also thought Nardi was stupid.
‘If you’re intelligent, Nardi,’ Sipowicz said, ‘then I’m Albert Einstein.’
‘If you’re so clever, Sipowicz,’ Nardi answered, ‘why aren’t you rich?’
‘Policemen get rich, Nardi,’ Sipowicz said, ‘only when they play along with criminals like you. I don’t want to play along with you. I don’t want to get my hands dirty.’
Then Nardi laughed at Sipowicz. That was a mistake. Sipowicz hit him, and hit him hard. Nardi fell to the floor.
‘Be careful, Sipowicz!’ he shouted, getting up again. ‘The lawyer won’t be happy about this.’
‘Don’t worry about the lawyer, Nardi. I’ll take care of him. You keep quiet or you won’t get up next time.’
The air conditioner was working hard, but Sipowicz suddenly felt hot. He didn’t like Nardi; he had to get away. He wanted to take a walk, have a drink, calm down.
‘I’ll see you later,’ Sipowicz said to Kelly as he left the room. ‘I really need to go outside. OK?’
‘Sure. I can look after Blue Eyes, no problem. But don’t forget the lawyer — he’s coming in a few minutes.’
‘OK. I’ll be back in time,’ Sipowicz said, and he closed the door.
Nardi turned on the television and watched a film about a professional killer and his girlfriend. Kelly thought about Sipowicz and the killer here in the room with him. He thought about Nardi’s information for the lawyer — maybe he had information that some policemen were criminals too, maybe that some of them took illegal payments . . . Of course, payments like that are wrong. If policemen take them, they lose their jobs and go to prison.
Kelly thought most policemen were honest. His father was a detective when Kelly was a child, and he was famous for being honest. Sadly, someone shot his father dead when Kelly was only eleven. Kelly decided to be a policeman because of his father — because his father was an honest policeman and because he died for that. Kelly was proud of his father and wanted to be like him.
‘Do you see that girl there?’ Nardi asked, pointing at the television. ‘She looks like my girlfriend, Holly Peterson.’
‘I don’t want to hear about Holly, Nardi. I’m not interested in your girlfriend,’ Kelly said.
Poor Kelly, Nardi thought. He probably doesn’t have a girlfriend. ‘Are you married, Kelly?’ he asked.
‘None of your business, Nardi.’ Kelly thought about his wife, Laura. She was a lawyer. She worked hard but she wasn’t very happy. She was frightened all the time because Kelly’s work was dangerous. She also thought that he spent too much time away from home and didn’t make enough money. She wanted him to spend more time with her and she didn’t want him to be a policeman just because his father was. That wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted to have children, but that didn’t seem possible just now.
‘Of course, your father was different,’ Nardi said.
‘My father?’ Kelly said and he turned to the other man.
‘Yeah. I mean, about women.’
‘What about women?’ Kelly asked. As far as he knew, his father was the perfect husband. He didn’t have girlfriends.
‘Everybody thought he was so honest, but I guess I saw a different side of him when I knew him,’ Nardi said with a smile.
‘What do you mean, Nardi?’
‘I mean your Dad was as dirty as they come, Kelly. That’s a fact.’
‘You’re lying, Nardi!’ Kelly shouted. Then he hit him and Nardi went down again. There was blood on his face when he stood up.
‘I’m not lying, Kelly. Everyone knows that your father protected that actress, Tony Marino’s killer. He was in love with her. He hid information about her and about Marino’s murder, so she never went to prison. That’s what I mean when I say he was dirty.’
‘I don’t believe you, Nardi. My father was honest. Everyone knows that.’ But Kelly was burning inside. He was ready to hit Nardi again.
‘Now you’re protecting me, Kelly. That’s funny,’ Nardi said. Kelly moved out of his chair, towards Nardi.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Kelly stopped. He thought it was Sipowicz, but when he looked through the spyhole in the door he saw the lawyer. The man didn’t look very happy.
As soon as Kelly opened the door two men in black suits jumped from behind the lawyer, into the room. One was tall and fair-haired, the other was dark and heavy. They were both carrying guns. Kelly pulled his gun out of his jacket, but the lawyer was in front of him and he couldn’t shoot.
The tall fair gunman fired and Kelly saw Nardi fall to the floor. Without thinking, Kelly pushed the lawyer out of the way, fired at the gunman and killed him. The dark-haired man moved fast. Before Kelly knew what happened, a bullet hit him in the shoulder.
At first it didn’t hurt but then Kelly started to feel weaker and weaker. Finally, he couldn’t hold his gun and he fell to the floor. He heard the lawyer say, ‘Please God. No, no, no!’ but it was too late. The dark, heavy gunman shot him three times. Kelly saw the gunman running out of the door, before everything went dark.
CHAPTER TWO
When Sipowicz arrived back at the hotel, he knew immediately that something was wrong. A lot of people were standing near the lifts, talking about gunshots. Sipowicz could smell the gunsmoke.
When he got to the room, he knew he was in deep trouble. He felt sick. The lawyer’s body was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The fair gunman was also there. He was dead, and Nardi was too. Nardi lay on his side; his bright blue eyes looked sad and grey now. His mouth was open but he wasn’t saying anything.
Sipowicz didn’t feel bad about Nardi. He didn’t feel bad about the fair-haired man either. But he was sorry about the lawyer and he was angry with himself. It was a mistake to leave Kelly with Nardi, he thought. A big mistake. Then he thought, Oh my God! Where’s Kelly? He was suddenly very frightened.
He found Kelly in the bathroom, his shirt off, trying to stop the blood that was running down his arm. He didn’t look good. In fact, he looked terrible. ‘John, are you OK?’ Sipowicz asked.
‘I’m sorry, Andy,’ Kelly said. ‘I made a mistake.’
‘You made a mistake?’ Sipowicz said. ‘I’m the one who made a mistake. I went out for a walk. Why? And why didn’t I come back sooner?’
‘You weren’t here, so you’re not responsible,’ Kelly said. ‘I didn’t have to open the door.’
Sipowicz picked up the telephone and called an ambulance. He looked at the mess round him in the room and he guessed what happened. The fair-haired gunman worked for Giardella — his name was Tony Persico. He knew that another gunman was in the room when the shooting happened — that explained how Nardi died and who shot Kelly.
Sipowicz looked at himself in the mirror. He felt terrible. He felt responsible for it all, but there was no time to worry about it now.
CHAPTER THREE
The hospital was a busy place. After Sipowicz talked to the doctor, he went outside and smoked a cigarette. He was waiting for Kelly’s wife. When she arrived, he thought she looked angry. He was right; she was.
‘Don’t worry, Laura,’ he told her. ‘He’s going to be OK. The bullet went straight through his shoulder. It didn’t hit anything important.’
‘That’s good, Andy. But it’s not good enough,’ she said. ‘Where were you? Why didn’t you protect him?’ This is the hospital where John’s father died, she thought.
Sipowicz couldn’t say anything. Laura walked past him into Kelly’s room, her face like ice.
Kelly sat up. He was feeling better. He could go home soon, the doctor said, but he couldn’t go back to work for a week. Kelly was happy about going home, and he was very happy to see his wife.
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ ‘Not really. I caught a bullet in the shoulder, that’s all. I’ll be OK in a week — that’s what the doctor said.’
‘John, when will you leam? When will you stop trying to be like your Dad? Get another job. Please.’
‘Laura, let’s not talk about this. You know I’ll always be a policeman, and you know why.’
‘OK, OK. But I don’t want a dead husband. You mean so much to me — I just want you to stay alive. You know, John, this is the hospital where your father died …’
‘Yes, I know,’ he answered. ‘He was a really great guy, Laura.’ Then he suddenly remembered Nardi’s story about his father. ‘Do you know what that guy Nardi said about my Dad? You’ll never guess. He called him dirty.’
‘Your father? Dirty? That’s funny. Your father never did anything illegal. He was the most honest man in the city.’
‘I know, but I want to look into Nardi’s story. Maybe this week, while I’m not working. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s a bad idea, John,’ Laura said. ‘You have to stay in bed and rest, remember? Doctor’s orders.’
‘I’ll talk to Andy about it,’ Kelly said.
‘Andy? You know, John, I think you need to find somebody new to work with after this. Andy wasn’t there when you needed him, was he? Where was he this afternoon?’
‘He went out for a walk. Andy’s OK, Laura. Believe me.’
♦
Just then, Sipowicz was talking to their boss, Lieutenant Fancy — they called him Loo. ‘The killer who ran away, has anybody identified him, Lieutenant?’ he asked his boss.
‘Yeah. Dark hair, heavy.’
‘I knew it! Sal Viana. He works for Nardi’s boss, Giardella, just like Persico did.’
‘By the way, Andy, where were you when all this happened?’ ‘I was down the street, taking a walk,’ Sipowicz replied. ‘You’re going to be in big trouble for that, you know. Big trouble. Nardi had information about the police. We wanted him to give evidence for us. You were protecting him but they killed him. That looks really bad. It looks . . . well, it looks like we didn’t really want him to talk to the lawyer. See what I mean? Dirty policemen.’
‘Wait a minute, Loo. You know I wasn’t working with Persico and Viana. I was just out for a walk. Really.’
I believe you, Andy, and I’ll leave you on the job this time. But if you make another mistake, you’re finished. Understand?’ Sipowicz started to leave but Fancy stopped him.
‘One more thing, Andy. John won’t be at work for a week. You’ll be working with a new young guy, Martinez.’
A young detective, probably about his son’s age, Sipowicz thought. His son didn’t speak to him these days and Sipowicz felt bad about it. He always seemed to be feeling bad about something. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing, this guy Martinez,’ he said.
Lieutenant Fancy just looked at Sipowicz and shook his head sadly. ‘What happened to you, Andy?’ he asked finally. ‘A few years ago you were the best detective in New York City. The best. What happened?’
Sipowicz didn’t say anything. He just looked at Fancy. Then he walked out and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER FOUR
James Martinez was young, it’s true — young and pleasant and clever. Sipowicz liked him immediately. Two minutes after they shook hands a report came in from the street: ‘Dead body on East 10th Street’.
‘Woman with a cut throat. No tongue,’ read Martinez. ‘Sounds like murder,’ said Sipowicz. ‘Let’s go.’
The fair-haired woman was lying in a side street. She was wearing a T-shirt, jeans and running shoes. The cut across her throat ran from ear to ear. Not far from her body, they found her identification cards, a library card and fifty dollars. Her name was Peterson and she was twenty-eight years old.
‘She didn’t die here,’ Sipowicz said. ‘That’s for sure.’
‘No,’ Martinez said. ‘Not enough blood. Someone put her body here.’
‘About eight hours ago, I guess,’ said Sipowicz. ‘At night, when nobody could see.’
‘Poor girl. What kind of animal did this?’
‘That’s easy,’ Sipowicz answered. ‘Professionals. They thought she was talking to the police. That’s why they cut her tongue out.’
‘Pretty, too . . . well, she was pretty.’
‘Yeah. She probably worked near here.’ Suddenly he remembered a photo that Lou Nardi showed him one afternoon. ‘Hey! Wait a minute! Peterson. Peterson — that was her name,’ he said.
‘Whose name?’ Martinez asked.
‘Holly’s. This is Lou Nardi’s girlfriend, Holly Peterson. He’s dead, and now she is too. Get Kelly on the phone for me, will you?’
♦
Kelly was still feeling weak when he answered the phone. He wasn’t happy about the news when Sipowicz told him about Holly. Everything is getting worse and worse, he thought, and I’m still here in bed.
‘Yeah, I remember her,’ he told Sipowicz. ‘Pretty girl in her late twenties. Worked at that restaurant on St Mark’s Place. What do they call it?’
‘Florian’s,’ Sipowicz answered. ‘One of Al Giardella’s places. Two murders and one Mr Giardella. Interesting, huh?’
‘Maybe it’s time to pull Mr Giardella in, Andy. What do you think?’
‘Not enough evidence, John. Giardella says he was in Adantic City when Persico killed Nardi. And we’re still trying to find Viana. I’ll talk to some of the others at Florian’s. Maybe they have some information that we can use.’
♦
Kelly put the phone down and walked through to the next room. He took an old box from a cupboard; inside it were some of his father’s things: photos, papers, an address book. One photo showed Kelly’s father with another policeman, Frank, his best friend. Frank lived in Florida now. Kelly found Frank’s number in the address book and a minute later he was talking to him on the phone. ‘Frank, I need your help,’ he said.
‘Of course, John. Anything. What can I do for you?’
‘I heard something about my father a few days ago. A guy is saying that my dad was dirty. I want to know why.’
‘John, your dad never did anything wrong — never. He was the best policeman that I ever knew.’
‘I know, I know. But he was also a man. I’m sure he made a few mistakes.’
‘What did the guy tell you?’
‘That he hid some information about a murder. Tony Marino’s. Remember?’
‘Sure, I do. Marino died at that actress’s house. What was her name? Honey Wayne. Someone shot him.’
‘Someone shot him, yeah. Didn’t Honey do it? I heard that my father liked her a lot. Maybe too much.’
‘What are you talking about, John? That was years ago. Who cares?’
‘I care, Frank. I have to know. Did my father keep back information about Marino’s murder to protect Honey Wayne, or didn’t he?’
‘Well, John, I don’t really know.’
‘But you have an idea, right?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Frank answered slowly. ‘I think it’s possible.’
‘I knew it. And I have to know more. Where do I start?’
‘Why don’t you try to find Honey Wayne, John? I understand she’s still alive,’ Frank said. ‘Good luck.’
Kelly put down the phone without saying goodbye. Suddenly he felt he must get back to work.
♦
Sipowicz and Martinez walked into Florian’s. It was dark and empty. The air conditioner was working hard and the room was cold. There were photos of famous people on all the walls. Al Giardella was near the bar, wearing an expensive suit. A big waiter in a white shirt was standing next to him.
‘What do you want now, Sipowicz? I told you before — I was in Atlantic City that afternoon, visiting my aunt.’
‘Just a few questions, Giardella. Maybe you haven’t heard: we found Holly Peterson this morning on East 10th Street. She wasn’t feeling very well. In fact, she was dead.’
‘Really? I’m sorry to hear that. Nice girl, Holly. Pretty girls like that need to be more careful.’
‘She worked here, didn’t she?’
‘Yeah, she did. But I haven’t seen her for days. Maybe one of the other girls has. You’re welcome to ask them.’
‘OK, but I really want to talk to you first. I think you know a lot about what happened. Persico worked for you too, didn’t he?’
‘Not for some time. He left at about the same time that Viana left.’
‘Viana — he’s another one that we’re interested in. You seem to have a lot of interesting friends, both dead and alive.’
‘Small town, New York. People come and go.’
‘This is no time to be funny, Giardella. I want you in my office this afternoon, three o’clock.’ He turned to Martinez. ‘Let’s talk to some of the other people here. See you later, Giardella.’
♦
Later that afternoon Al Giardella walked into the police station with his rat-faced lawyer, a man named Sinclair. The lawyer was not very happy; he didn’t like the way that Sipowicz spoke to his boss. Giardella didn’t like it either.
‘Well, let’s see where we stand, and where we’re going,’ Sipowicz said. ‘Persico and Viana walk into the hotel room where we’re guarding Nardi. Shoot him dead. They also kill a lawyer who’s there to get some information. And they shoot Detective Kelly. Both men worked for you, Giardella. Right?’
‘Yeah, they worked for me a long time ago. But I know nothing about these murders,’ Giardella answered.
‘You say you know nothing, but your name is all over this story. Don’t forget: Nardi worked for you too.’
‘Yeah, yeah, he worked for me. A lot of people work for me. Very sad about his murder. Very sad.’
‘OK, we’ll all cry about it later. Personally I wasn’t very sorry when Lou Nardi died. I’m sure Mr Sinclair understands why.’
‘What I understand, Detective Sipowicz,’ Sinclair said, ‘is that you have no evidence against Mr Giardella — no facts, nothing. So can you please explain why you want to question him? We are always happy to help the police, but I must also ask you to remember that we are busy men.’
‘Yeah, I can explain something to you, Mr Sinclair. Three men died in that hotel room — two of them worked for Mr Giardella here. Then we found the body of a young woman this morning, and the interesting thing is that she also worked for Giardella. That’s three out of four dead people who all worked for him. See what I mean?’
‘Detective Sipowicz,’ the lawyer replied, ‘I know it seems strange, all these murders, but Mr Giardella is an honest businessman. He had nothing to do with any of them.’
‘Do you have any idea where Sal Viana is, Sinclair?’
‘No, I’m sorry, we do not. We have an old address, but he doesn’t live there now. Anything more?’
‘No. I’ll call you if I need you. Don’t leave New York.’
‘I’ll stay in touch, I promise you,’ Sinclair replied and he followed Giardella out of the office. Sipowicz watched them leave. He didn’t want Giardella to walk free, but there was nothing that he could do.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day Kelly got out of bed and drove into Manhattan. He wanted to find Honey Wayne. He knew only one thing about her: that she was an actress. And if she’s an actress, he thought, there’ll be some information about her at the Janus Bookshop. The shop sold old newspapers and books about the theatre and the film world. Kelly knew the old actor who worked there, Steve.
‘Honey Wayne? Sure I remember her,’ Steve said. ‘Her picture’s over there on the wall somewhere.’
Kelly looked at the pictures on the wall. There were photos of past actresses like Marilyn Monroe and Raquel Welch, and of younger ones like Madonna, Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt. Steve pointed at a photo of a woman with big brown eyes, in a short red dress. ‘That’s Honey Wayne,’ he said. Kelly could see that she was once beautiful.
‘I have a lot of things about her,’ Steve said. ‘Old newspaper stories . . . here’s one: “The Girl and The Gun”. It’s about that guy who died at her place. Beautiful woman, she was. Too bad about that murder.’
‘That was a long time ago, Steve. Where is she now? Do you know?’ Kelly asked, not sounding too interested.
‘No, I don’t. She stopped acting after the murder. I understand she got married and had some children. Left the acting world behind her.’
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘A customer told me — friend of Honey’s, a rich woman — name’s Norma.’
‘Where can I find Norma, Steve? I have to talk to her.’
‘She lives outside the city, on Long Island somewhere. I’ll give you her number.’ He wrote the number on a piece of paper. ‘Don’t tell her that I gave it to you, OK?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Kelly said. ‘I won’t.’
‘Here,’ Steve said when Kelly was leaving. ‘Take Honey’s picture. And good luck.’
♦
Kelly didn’t realize that Sipowicz was only a few streets away from the Janus Bookshop at the same time. He was in a bar across from Florian’s restaurant, waiting to meet a young woman, Shayna Lynn. She worked with Holly Peterson before she died, at the restaurant, and Sipowicz hoped that she had some useful information.
A young woman came into the bar, Sipowicz stood up and they shook hands. Shayna Lynn was only about nineteen yean old. She took off her sunglasses and smiled; she had a nice smile, Sipowicz thought, and nice eyes. ‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ she asked politely.
‘Tell me about Holly,’ he said. ‘You were her best friend at the restaurant.’
‘Holly was like a sister to me, Detective. I feel terrible — Florian’s isn’t the same without her. She was a wonderful person. “If you have a problem,” she always said, “you can talk to me about it.” And I always talked to her and she always helped me.’
‘Did you know her friend, Lou Nardi?’ Sipowicz asked. ‘Did you know that we were guarding Nardi because he wanted to give us information about a few of his friends?’
‘Sure, I knew that. And I knew about their plans, Holly’s and Lou’s. They planned to get married secretly after he talked to the police, then change their names and go and live in some other city.’
‘Shayna, did other people know about those plans? Did you tell anyone about them? Florian’s is a dangerous place, you know.’
‘No, I never said a word. I promised Holly and I never lied to her.’
‘I think her killer is at Florian’s, you see.’
‘Really? Who?’ Shayna said, her eyes wide with surprise.
‘Al Giardella, that’s who. I’m almost sure he did it.’
‘Mr Giardella? That can’t be true! He loved Holly. They were good friends. He’s helped me a lot too — he promised to find me a job as a film actress.’
‘As an actress? Be careful Shayna — that’s a dangerous world to live in. Are you sure you didn’t see anything strange the night that Holly died?’
‘I can’t remember anything, Detective. I really can’t.’
‘Well, if you remember anything later, get in touch with me. OK? Here’s my phone number.’ Sipowicz smiled at Shayna and paid the bill. She was still sitting at the bar, smiling, when he left — just a young girl in a big, dangerous city. Young, like his son. He was always thinking about his son, feeling bad that they never spoke.
CHAPTER SIX
Kelly telephoned Norma at her home on Long Island. She had time to see him, so he got in his car and drove out there.
She was working on the roses in her garden when he got there. She was over seventy years old, but she still looked young and healthy. ‘What happened to your arm?’ she asked when Kelly walked towards her.
‘Oh, nothing serious,’ he replied. ‘Someone shot me a few days ago.’
‘Really? How interesting,’ she said. ‘Now how can I help you, young man?’
‘I’m looking for some information about a murder. Do you remember Honey Wayne, an actress?’
‘Of course I do,’ Norma answered. ‘But wait a minute. Did you say your name was Kelly? You’re not John Kelly’s son, are you? You have the same eyes.’
‘Yes, I’m Detective Kelly’s son.’
‘Well, well. A good-looking man, your father. A good man, too.’
‘Norma, where is Honey Wayne? Can you tell me?’
‘Maybe I can, maybe I can’t. Why do you want to know? Are you trying to hurt your father? Is that it?’
‘I’m not trying to hurt anybody. I just want to know the true facts about an old story, that’s all. Will you help?’
‘OK. But only because you look just like your father, and I liked him very much. And because I think you liked him too — am I right?’
‘Yes. I loved him very much.’
‘Right. Honey Wayne lives in New Paltz, a town about fifty miles from here. She lives in a home for old people.’
Kelly thanked her and walked away across the grass. Norma watched him and waved when the car moved away.
When he got home, Laura was not pleased. She was angry that he was not at home, in bed. She knew what he was doing and she didn’t like it. He lived too much in the past, she thought, cared too much about his dead father. She was angry, too, because he never listened to her.
‘I just can’t watch you kill yourself because of your father, John. Who cares if your father had a girlfriend?’
‘I do, Laura. It’s not the girlfriend that I care about. I want to know if he protected her about that murder, and I want to know why. I must know — you know I have to. I know where my dad’s friend lives now. I got her address this afternoon. It’s not far from New York . . . Don’t you understand?’
‘OK, OK. Let’s visit her together. I can see you won’t be happy without the facts.’
♦
Sipowicz knew that it was Shayna Lynn as soon as the phone rang. When he answered it, all he heard was a lot of noise. Then he realized that it was kitchen noise — she was calling him from the kitchen at Florian’s.
‘I just remembered something important, Detective. I have to see you,’ she said.
‘What’s it about, Shayna?’ he asked.
‘Al Giardella and me. Something Holly told me just before she died.’
‘I’ll be at that bar across the street in fifteen minutes. OK?’ Sipowicz said.
‘Al Giardella and me’ — that didn’t sound good. But why do I care? he thought. It’s because I never see my son, isn’t it? So I want to help another young person. That’s why I’m afraid she’s in danger. He stopped thinking and moved fast.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laura drove. They went silently through the warm summer morning, north out of the city. Slowly there were fewer buildings and more trees. Slowly the drive got cleaner and fresher. New Paltz sat between two mountains. Kelly and Laura had no trouble finding the old people’s home where Honey Wayne lived — it was a large building in the centre of the town.
‘You can leave me here while I talk to Miss Wayne, Laura. Why don’t you go and look round the shops?’
‘OK. I’ll come back in an hour,’ she said, and drove off.
Kelly went into the building and asked to see Honey Wayne. The woman at the desk didn’t ask any questions. She just pointed to a door. Kelly walked through it and out into a garden. A woman was sitting in a chair in one comer, reading a book. Honey Wayne was still beautiful. A little heavier, maybe, but she still had those big brown eyes.
‘Miss Wayne?’ Kelly said. ‘I’m sorry to take you away from your reading.’
‘Oh, you’re not taking me away from anything important,’ she said, looking up at him. Then she suddenly smiled brightly and said, ‘Well! I know who you are. You’re John Kelly’s son, aren’t you?’ Her voice was as clear as water.
‘Yes, John Kelly was my father.’
‘Isn’t that strange?’ she said, still smiling. ‘I was just thinking about your father a minute ago. Of course, I often think about him.’
‘Really? Did you know him well?’
‘Now, don’t play games with me, my dear. We both know that I knew your father very well.’
Kelly smiled.
‘Oh, you have his smile, too. But why have you come so far to see me? How can I help you?’
‘Miss Wayne, I want to know what really happened between you and my father so many years ago. I want to know if he kept back information about you from the police. I want to know if he did that to protect you.’
‘And if you learn that he hid information, and then you hide it too, you’re as bad as he was — right? Why not leave it all in the past, forget it?’
‘You sound like my wife, Miss Wayne,’ he said with a smile, and she smiled too. ‘I’ll tell you why I can’t leave it all in the past. I believe that you killed Tony Marino. That’s why.’
‘Well, Tony came to the theatre a few times, that’s true. We were friendly . . . but men are not always nice, John. Tony wasn’t always very nice to me. In fact, he often hit me. So I had to protect myself, don’t you see?’ She started to cry and Kelly put his hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I won’t tell anyone — it’s too late for that.’
‘Tony was a professional gunman. He murdered several people and your father was trying to get evidence against him.
That’s how I met your father. He was always asking me questions about Tony, and Tony didn’t like it.’
‘But you liked my father?’
‘Yes, I liked him very much. He was a lot nicer than Tony. He spent a lot of time with me. Of course, Tony didn’t like that either. That’s why he tried to hurt me.’
Kelly looked at her, his face very serious.
‘Well, what could I do?’ she said at last. ‘I had to kill him, or I knew that he would kill me.’
‘Then, you called my father, and he helped you because he loved you. Is that right?’
‘I’m not saying that he loved me. I am saying that I cared for him, and that he helped me a lot. He was always very kind. And this was all a long time before he knew your mother, you understand, a long time before they married. He was just a young policeman then, and so good-looking.’
‘And he kept back some evidence about the shooting from the police, right? He hid some of the facts from them, to help you.’
‘Yes. He protected me,’ she said quietly. After a minute she said, ‘I’ never told my husband or my children any of this, you know. Children don’t have to know everything.’
She was crying. When she dried her eyes, she looked up at Kelly and smiled. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘This has helped me too, you know. I’m glad you thought of looking for me.’
Kelly and Laura drove back to the city without saying a word. They were both thinking. Maybe they could begin again together, knowing this sad love story from the past. Maybe they’ll begin to understand themselves better.
