A Long Line of Dead Men

"Jumped or fell," I said, "and let's assume for the moment he was pushed. The cop on the case has spent enough time underground to be very cautious himself on subway platforms. He's wary of ambulatory psychotics, careful not to get between some potential maniac and the edge of the platform. But that kind of caution alone wouldn't have protected Ian Heller."

"Why not?"

"Suppose it was someone Heller knew. Suppose it was a friend of his."

"You're saying it was one of us," Ken McGarry said.

"Not necessarily, although I can't rule it out. You didn't all automatically clear yourselves by writing out a thousand-dollar check. But let's say Heller was in the subway, waiting for a train, and someone approached him."

"Someone he knew?"

"Someone who knew him," I said. "Someone who called him by name. 'You're Ian Heller, aren't you? You don't remember me, but we met at So-and-so's party.' He'd know enough about Heller to find a pretext for conversation. Heller wouldn't worry about getting shoved in front of a train. If anything, he'd feel more secure than he'd felt a few minutes ago. He wasn't all alone with a group of potentially dangerous strangers. He had a friend with him."

Gordon Walser said it was diabolical. Lowell Hunter said, "You know, it reminds me of The Godfather. 'The attack when it comes will be from someone you trust, someone you would never doubt for a moment. That's who they'll use.' "

"That's how he must do it," I said. "In a way, Ian Heller was a bad example. His death occurred during rush hour. The platform was crowded, and anybody could have positioned himself properly and given him a well-timed shove. But it could have happened at an off-hour in an empty station, just the way I described it."

"So we'll stay away from subways," someone said.

"What you ought to do," I suggested, "is think of the killer more as a confidence man than a wild-eyed assassin. Think of him stalking Alan Watson on his way home, then conveniently running into him after Watson stopped for pizza on Austin Street. 'Alan, how are you? You walking home? I'm going the same way, I'll keep you company.' Even if Watson had never seen the guy before, he'd have to assume he was a neighbor, someone he'd met and forgotten. And they probably had a very pleasant conversation, right up to the time when the guy stuck a knife in Watson's chest."

"I don't know if I got through to them," I told Elaine. "A couple of them wanted to know if they ought to arm themselves. I didn't know what to tell them. They probably couldn't get carry permits, certainly not in a hurry, so that would mean risking an illegal-weapons charge."

"That's better than getting killed, isn't it?"

"Of course, and these men are respectable establishment types; if they wound up defending themselves with an illegal handgun, nobody'd be in a rush to bring charges against them. But suppose some perfectly innocent person asked one of them for a match, or lost his balance and lurched into one of our armed heroes?"

"Bang bang."

"I told them to call me if anything out of the ordinary happens. They'll keep in touch with each other, too. It's funny."

"What is?"

"The way it's got them relating to one another. In one way they're closer. Remember, these are fellows who've shared a very intimate association for over thirty years- but only one night a year. They're united by deep and longstanding bonds of brotherhood, but they don't really know each other."

"And?"

"And now things have changed, and nothing brings you together like the need to defend yourselves against a common enemy. But at the same time, the enemy might be one of them."

"Didn't Pogo have something to say about that?"

" 'We have met the enemy and he is us.' The thing is we haven't met the enemy, not head-on. He may be one of us and he may not. So-"

"So they're closely bonded but a little uneasy about it."

"Something like that. For the first time ever they have to maintain contact with one another. And, also for the first time, they don't dare trust each other. It's like Cannibals and Christians." She looked bewildered. "You know, Cannibals and Christians. It's a logic problem, you've got six people trying to cross a river, three cannibals and three Christians, and the boat only holds three people and you can't have one Christian left alone with two cannibals or he'll get eaten."

"I don't think it's very realistic."

"For God's sake," I said, "it's not supposed to be realistic. It's a logic problem."

"Well, I'm a Jewish girl," she said. "Cannibals, Christians, what's the difference? Who can tell them apart?"

"Not you, evidently."

"Not me," she agreed. "You know what I say? Goyim is goyim. That's what I say."

We had dinner at an Italian place on the next block. It still hadn't rained, and looked and felt more like it than ever. "So you met Gerry Billings," Elaine said. "I hope you asked him if he could do anything about this weather."

"God, he must get sick of hearing that."