Control by William Goldman Page B

tell him as soon as he was off duty. They were meeting now irregularly, when their schedules permitted, for coffee and shop-talk. Eric always had a lot of questions.
    “ Your ‘ kid ’ —up at Earl ’ s. Big rumble. Half a dozen people involved. ”
    “ Did he talk them into being reasonable? Jews are good at talking. ”
    “ He cold-cocked a couple, the rest got the message. ”
    Haggerty was silent for a moment “ Couldn ’ t have been his old man, helping him, do you think? ”
    “ I ’ m tired hearing about his old man, ” Cooney said as he stormed off to the water cooler …
    “ I don ’ t be lieve this, ” Cooney said one spring morning.
    Haggerty looked casually over from his desk. “ Hmm? ”
    “ He got a murderer. Your kid. I never got a fuckin ’ murderer in thirty years. ”
    “ Probably lucked into it, ” Haggerty consoled.
    Cooney exploded— ” It wasn ’ t luck— it wasn ’ t luck —he deduced it— ” He looked at Haggerty now bewildered. “ What ’ s going on up there? ”
    It was becoming increasingly clear, even to the Cooneys, that a bomb had exploded at the 28th Precinct.
    To move on up from patrolman, to get the detective ’ s gold shield, takes time. Sometimes you can fall into it—if you collar Jack the Ripper they ’ ll advance you on the spot—and it helps to have a rabbi in a position of import, a precinct captain or a headquarters man. But usually you advance only with time. Three years is fast.
    Interest in Eric began before he was into his second year. But he stayed where he was. He liked the 28th, he explained, he didn ’ t know enough to move on yet. And nothing would change his mind. And nothing did.
    Till Cooney retired.
    Then it helped to have a rabbi, especially one named Haggerty, and it took some maneuvering, sure, but what doesn ’ t when you ’ re dealing with the police department. Bottom line: he was just short of twenty-seven when he became Haggerty ’ s partner. He achieved the same kind of record at the 19th as he ’ d had in Harlem, remarkable considering the opportunities are less when your precinct house is on East 67th Street than up north. He played things the way Haggerty always did, very low key. But one way or another, Eric ’ s reputation grew. He wasn ’ t famous like Popeye Doyle in fiction or Serpico in fact. But no one denied he was certainly a presence.
    And when E. F. Lorber talked, people listened …
     

 

     
     

    5
Edith
     
     
    Edith was tempted to take a cab, it was that February bitter. As she left the “ Beekman Place placed—Sally insisted on referring to the house as that—a taxi cruised by and she went so far as to raise her hand, and when it stopped, she was suddenly embarrassed. “ It ’ s better for me if I walk, ” she explained. “ That ’ s what you hailed me for?—to tell me that? ” He shook his head. “ Even in Beekman Place they got meshuganas. ” Edith broke out laughing and quickly got out a dollar bill, handed it over. The driver, gnarled and permanently suspicious, eyed the green paper a mo ’ ment before pocketing it “ If that ’ s what you tip for not riding, lady, I sure the hell wish you ’ d got in. ”
    “ You made me laugh, ” Edith told him. “ I haven ’ t done that enough lately. ” He waved, drove off; Edith began to walk, thinking about what she ’ d said. It was true—she hadn ’ t been laughing enough lately. The painting had started to become obsessive. And probably the children were complaining to themselves about her inattentiveness, and perhaps Phillip was worrying that die was entering some kind of life crise, but it just wasn ’ t so. She was painting better. Week by week. She could fed it in her fingers. And more than that, Sally told her it was true.
    Pulling her navy blue coat tight around her, Edith set out for First Avenue and started uptown. It was after four so she didn ’ t window-shop at all, but in an antique store she caught sight of herself