Crais, Robert by Lullaby Town

Author:Lullaby Town [Town, Lullaby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Roland George called at 7:32 the next morning and said, "NYPD owns a guy named Walter Lee Balcom. Busted him seven weeks ago on two counts of murder and one count kidnapping and about two dozen ancillary counts. Most of them smut and sex crimes."

"Do the DeLucas run porno?"

"No. That's the DeTillio family. But Waiter's not mob. He's just been around for a long time and knows people who know people who know people. He's been singing up a storm to try to cut a deal, and Charlie DeLuca's name has come up a few times."

"Can I talk with him?"

"Ten o'clock at the Hall of Justice, downstairs, room B28. I'll meet you there."

"Right."

Rollie hung up.

At a quarter before ten I pulled into the parking garage next door to the Criminal Courts Building on Centre, just north of Foley Square in Chinatown, then walked across and down to subbasement B. A fat cop sitting behind a narrow table asked my business. I told him I was looking for Roland George in room B28. The fat cop looked through a little box, took out a pass with my name on it, and jerked a thumb to the right. "That way."

Subbasement B of the Criminal Courts Building looked like a breeding ground for cops with green cement walls and tile floors that were maybe a thousand years old and the faraway smells of disinfectant and urine. Cops of both sexes moved through the halls, uncomfortable in spotless, starched uniforms, called in by prosecutors to rehearse before appearing in court. Defense attorneys on their way into or out of interview rooms glared at the cops with angry eyes that were looking to cut a deal for clients everyone knew were guilty. The lawyers looked like chronic gamblers. The cops looked like drunks.

When I got to B28, Rollie George and a fireplug-shaped guy with a blond crew cut were standing outside the door. Rollie said, "Elvis, this is Sid Volpe. Sid's with the Justice Department, and he's the guy who's letting us see Balcom."

We shook. Volpe's hand was dry and hard. He said, "I got you sandwiched in between the IRS and the feds. You can have him for twenty minutes starting now, so let's not waste time."

We went in.

Walter Lee Balcom was a pale man in his late forties with fine, straw-colored hair that was thinning on top. He was sitting at a narrow wooden table, chain-smoking Lark cigarettes and wearing gray prison fatigues. A boxy Nagra reel-to-reel tape recorder sat to his side on the table, along with a couple of gray legal pads. There were four metal chairs scattered around the table, but there weren't any pencils or pens or other sharp things.

Walter Lee Balcom gave me a nice smile as we walked in. "Hello, Mr. Volpe, hello, Mr. George, is this the gentleman you told me about?" His voice was soft and papery.

Volpe said, "This is him, Walter." Volpe sat in one of the chairs and turned on the Nagra. "Don't let Walter's manner fool you, Cole.

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