yes, “that’s him.” said sergeant jenkins, looking down at the body of the man in the morgue.
the man was about forty-five, white, with thin gray hair, flabby without being really fat. he was wearing the black boots and red pants of a santa suit. he had been shot once, in the heart.
he had been found, face to the wall, by a subway patrolman on the platform of a subway stop that was only used by the local trains that made every little stop. he had probably been passed by by many citizens who assumed he was just drunk and sleeping of off.
there was no i d or anything at all in his pockets. or any sign of the rest of a santa suit.
“he probably had the rest of the santa suit in a bag and would put it on when he got to his stop,” said sergeant jenkins.
“that makes sense,” duffy told her.
a rookie detective at the precinct had started by making calls to department stores and other stores that might be missing a santa. he was just starting on calls to the salvation army stations and other charitable organizations that might use a santa, when officer cooley’s call about the gun in the kettle came in.
the subway station at whose entrance gruski had rung his bell waiting for the dead man was six stops away from one where the body was found.
gruski and sergeant jenkins had been brought to the station to look at the body.
“you know his name?” duffy asked sergeant jenkins.
she hesitated. “i think it was harris,” she said. “i have it written back at the station,” she added quickly when duff’s eyes rolled a little bit. “i think he said his name was fred. or maybe it was sam. or gus. some name like that. but i have it written down.”
“you know anything else about him?”
“just that he said he was very happy about being able to do some good at christmastime.”
“that’s nice,” said duffy. “and very sad. was he staying at your shelter? probably not, if he was coming up on the subway that far away.”
“no, i think he said he was staying with his sister, somewhere in the bronx.”
“would you have that written down, the sister’s address, or maybe phone number?”
“i don’t think so,” sergeant jenkins admitted apologetically. “i’ll check, but - with these guys who knows if what they tell you - and then even if you tried to get in touch with them - “
“that’s all right , i understand,” duffy assured her.
“but i will check. and i will have his name written down. the name he gave me.”
“thank you, you have been very helpful.” duffy turned to gruski, who had been standing quietly behind them. “how about you, brother? you sure you don’t recognize this guy?”
“positive.”
“positive?” duffy stared gruski down. “how positive is positive?”
“i don’t remember him from anywhere. i ain’t saying i might never of sat beside him at a bar or a mission or someplace. i just don’t recognize him.”
“where are you staying? you got an address?”
“just the shelter.”
“just the shelter. i think you better stay with us tonight. as a material witness. we’ll give you a nice clean cot. can’t promise you your own cell. and a nice christmas dinner.”
“that’s sounds good,” said gruski, “if the dinner’s got all the fixings.”
“we wouldn’t serve you a dinner without all the fixings.”
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