HYDE
Chapter 3




No one knows for sure how many there really are, but the estimates of the number of homeless people living on the streets of the City of New York range from ten thousand to one hundred thousand. Whatever figure one chooses to believe, a walk around midtown will convince anyone that the problem is enormous. There are panhandlers everywhere and at night the homeless sleep on the street in the cardboard beds they fashion for themselves. There are so many of them that it would be easy to draw the conclusion that nothing is being done to help the downtrodden.
     That would be a mistake. Available to each homeless adult is a monthly stipend of three hundred and eighty-two dollars from the Department of Social Services, in addition to food stamps and free medical care provided at the city hospitals. The problem is that three hundred and eighty-two dollars buys little in the way of housing in New York City. So, at great expense, the taxpayers of the most generous city in the world are paying for a network of shelters to house and feed the homeless street people and protect them from the elements.
     The problem is that the shelters are not really a place to live, just a place to spend the night. Most provide beds in a warehouse-type setting and evict their guests at eight every morning. Still, it's a warm, dry place to spend the night, which would indicate to the uninitiated that the homeless shouldn't be sleeping on the streets.
     Most of them wouldn't, if it weren't for the crime. Ludicrous as it seems, the shelters are infested with criminals, also homeless. Since the homeless have all their worldly possessions with them in one place while they sleep as guests of the city, they are frequently preyed upon by their fellow indigents and awake to find themselves owning even less than they started with before their stay. So the weak and the infirm, those people the system was designed to protect from the ravages of nature, avoid staying in the city shelters whenever possible. Some refuse to go, no matter what the weather outside. But not all of them. The worse the weather, the more crowded the shelters become.
     The city administration is aware of the problem, of course, and has hired a number of private security agencies to provide guard services at the shelters, and they do something to improve the situation. But the city hires these guard agencies on a lowest-bid contract format, so the guards working the shelters are low-paid, poorly-trained, and they haven't gained a reputation for fairness or efficiency. When the weather gets cold and the shelters get crowded, they are overwhelmed by the job.
     But homeless people freezing to death on the streets of the most generous city in the country makes for very bad publicity, so the mayor placed the problem in the hands of the police department. Cold Weather Emergency Plan B is the response developed by police administrators.
     According to the plan, whenever the wind-chill factor falls below ten degrees, the police are charged with searching for the homeless and directing them to the shelters, and even bringing them and their belongings there, if requested to do so.
     On paper, the plan works when the patrol officer finds a homeless person who agrees to go to one of the shelters. The problem arises when the subject doesn't want to go because in the United States, if a person hasn't committed a crime, then the police have no constitutional authority to force that person to stay anywhere against his or her will. So police administrators in New York City have devised a line of reasoning under the Mental Health Law that disregards the conditions in the shelters. To convince those reluctant to check into the shelters, the police tell themselves that if someone won't come in from the cold, then he or she must be crazy. They then cart this person to one of the city hospitals to consult a psychiatrist who will, presumably, concur with the street opinion rendered by the officer and order that the homeless person be locked in a warm place for the night. Sometimes Plan B works as intended and a few lives are saved.
     But not always. The problem is that homeless people might be cold and might be crazy, but frequently they aren't stupid. As the temperature drops, the more street-wise among them have learned to avoid the police. If one fails and finds himself talking to an cop, he will say something like, "Good to see you, Officer, and thanks for stopping by. Unfortunately, I can't stay to chat because I'm on my way to the shelter." He then makes a show of pushing his belongings in the direction of the nearest shelter until the satisfied officer leaves.
     But he's not really going to the shelter and, in spite of Plan B, a number of homeless people freeze to death every year. When that happens, unfavorable publicity for the city is generated, heads must roll, and the chiefs know exactly what to do.
     According to departmental reasoning and tradition, anything that goes wrong in a precinct is ultimately the fault of the precinct commanding officer, so the chiefs vent their wrath on this unfortunate, reacting as if they found the body in the captain's freezer at home. They mark him as unworthy for further advancement and end his career by banishing him to the large police prison the department calls Patrol Borough Brooklyn North.

*     *     *

The two luxury high-rise apartment buildings comprising the Kips Bay Towers apartment complex seemed almost out of place in Manhattan, very pleasant and more suburban than urban in character. Separated by a large private park, one building looked onto East 33rd Street between First and Second Avenues and the other faced East 30th Street. On the Second Avenue side of the complex was a row of small stores, a supermarket, a movie theater, and a Citibank branch, all set back from the street behind a row of trees and bushes. This commercial strip was elevated four feet above street level, so that shoppers from outside the Kips Bay Towers complex must climb a short staircase to get to the stores.
     Two radio cars, an ambulance, and a press van were already parked at the curb on Second Avenue at East 31st Street when McKenna and Maureen arrived. McKenna parked behind them and they got out of their car, McKenna marveling at Maureen's total disregard of the cold wind whipping down Second Avenue. He hunched his shoulders inside his overcoat while she took a minute to remove a few imaginary specks of dust from her skirt. Looking around, the two detectives saw no sign of the uniformed cops.
     "They'll be over here," Maureen said, and McKenna followed her up the stairs leading to the row of stores set back from the street.
     Maureen was right. The uniformed sergeant, two young cops, and the ambulance crew were gathered around a body on the ground outside the Citibank branch. As McKenna and Maureen approached, one of the cops removed a blanket from a laundry cart parked next to the bank entrance and spread it over the body on the ground. A small group of well-dressed people stood to the side watching while the news crew filmed Heidi Lane, a pretty blonde Fox Five News TV reporter in her late twenties. She was talking into a microphone with the laundry cart, the body, and the cops in the background.
     Heidi saw McKenna and she pointed at him. The cameraman switched his focus to him as Maureen left her partner's side and walked to the group of cops. The camera stayed on McKenna as he stopped next to Heidi.
     "Standing with me is Assistant Commissioner McKenna," Heidi said into her microphone before turning and placing it in front of McKenna's face. "Would you care to make a statement on this tragedy, Commissioner?"
     McKenna didn't. He turned his back to the camera and stood between Heidi and her news crew. "I just got here, Heidi, and it's Detective McKenna now," he said, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. "If you turn your equipment off and give me a chance to look around, maybe I'll be able to give you a statement later."
     McKenna's attitude caught Heidi by surprise. She glared back at him for a moment before giving him a contrite smile. "Sorry, Brian. I get carried away sometimes," she said, lowering her microphone. She waved to her cameraman, who took his camera off his shoulder and shut it off. "Satisfied?" she asked.
     "Yeah, thanks. You know, I just came over to say hello , not to make a fool of myself on the evening news."
     "Then hello it is," she said, giving McKenna her hand. "I heard about this detective stuff, but didn't know if it was true."
     McKenna gave her a business-like shake, surprised at how warm Heidi could look with such a frozen hand. Over Heidi's shoulder, he saw Maureen giving him an amused smile. "It's true," he said, feeling a little self-conscious as he let go. "I'm back in the trenches."
     "Why? Did you have some problem in headquarters?"
     "No, I just like this job better."
     It took Heidi a moment to digest the information. "Might be a good human interest angle in there somewhere," she speculated. "You gonna give me a story on it?"
     "No. Let's just stick to this one. How are you playing it?"
     "You know. Tragedy, poor unfortunate homeless person, large uncaring city. We'll do some background on him once you tell us who he is, but I'd like to wrap it up quick. There's some crews from the other stations on the way."
     "Then let's make a deal. You're here first, so just give me a little time and I'll give you the statement."
     Heidi smiled. "An exclusive?"
     "Not exactly, but you're the only one I'll go on camera for."
     "That's a deal. We'll wait in our van `til you're ready. See you later."
     Heidi turned and walked down the stairs, followed by her news crew. Maureen was talking to the uniformed sergeant, an old-timer in his fifties, when McKenna joined them. The two cops and the ambulance attendants were chatting quietly, trying not to notice McKenna as the sergeant gave him a crisp salute.
     The salute surprised McKenna and left him no choice but to return it. "I'm just a detective, Sarge," he said. "I'm supposed to salute you, not the other way around."
     "Got it," the sergeant said, entirely unconvinced. "You want to take a look at him?" he asked.
     McKenna nodded. The sergeant bent down and grabbed the blanket, pulling it off so McKenna could inspect the body on the ground.
     The dead man was black and in his forties. He looked content and perfectly at ease with death, stretched out on a large piece of cardboard spread on the sidewalk in front of the door to the bank, with his arms extended and his eyes closed. The dead man had been dressed for the cold, wearing a hooded polyester jacket with a scarf wrapped around his face and gloves on his hands. All of his clothes were old and dirty.
     "Got the call at 7:35," the sergeant said. "Anonymous male caller to 911 stated there was a body on the sidewalk here. Sector Charlie responded and found him here. Pronounced dead at 7:45 by Ambulance Attendant Chavez."
     "Any ID on him?" McKenna asked.
     "We were waiting for you before we did the search."
     "His name's Benny Foster," Maureen said, surprising everyone. "Date of birth September 9th, 1947. Been living on the streets as long as I can remember. He's a mean, rotten snake. His body's frozen, but his soul is burning in Hell."
     "How do you know all this?" McKenna asked.
     "Because I locked him up last year for beating up that poor little thing," Maureen said, pointing inside the bank.
     Then McKenna and everyone else saw Kerri for the first time. She was in the bank in the front section where the ATM machines were located. She was easy to miss because she huddled under the counter where the deposit slips were, sitting on a blanket on the floor and hiding behind two plastic trash cans she had placed in front of her.
     McKenna guessed Kerri was around thirty. She had a red round face, stringy blonde hair, and a pot belly that looked out of place on her thin body. But it was her eyes that got McKenna. Scared and doleful, her face was bruised and she peered at him through eyes that were almost swollen shut. He could see that she was shaking. "Looks like he threw her another beating last night," he observed.
     "I'm not surprised," Maureen said, turning back to Benny's body. "She'll keep in there until we're done out here. Let's hurry and get this piece of garbage off the street."
     Mildly surprised by the vehemence in Maureen's voice, McKenna turned and looked back toward the sidewalk. He could just make out the roof of his car through the bushes and knew that the entrance to the bank was not visible from the street. Any cops driving by the night before couldn't have seen Benny and Kerri, leading McKenna to conclude that Benny's location was the main reason he was dead. He turned back to the sergeant. "Let's get the search done."
     "Time for the search," the sergeant loudly ordered over his shoulder to the two cops. They abruptly ended their conversation with the ambulance attendants and hurried over. Although young, both were experienced and knew what they were doing. From their tags McKenna saw that their names were Smith and MacGregor.
     Macgregor pulled a pair of latex surgical gloves from his pocket, put them on, and bent over the body while Smith took out his memo book, pen poised and ready to write. MacGregor started with Benny's jacket pockets and found another pair of gloves and three handkerchiefs. He gave them to his partner, then zipped open the jacket. Benny was wearing two sweaters and a flannel shirt. The sweater and the shirt pockets were empty. Then MacGregor searched the pants pockets and found more than fourteen dollars in change. "Panhandling profits," he speculated as he gave the change to Smith before resuming the search.
     Benny was wearing another pair of pants under his outer pair and those pockets produced the stash -- one hundred and eighty-nine dollars in cash, two welfare checks, and a wallet containing Benny's Department of Social Services ID card. MacGregor gave it all to Smith, who logged it into his memo book before handing the checks to McKenna.
     Both checks were for three hundred and eighty-two dollars. One was made out to Benny Foster and the other to Kerri Brannigan. McKenna returned the checks to Smith, examined the ID card, and saw that Maureen had been correct right up to Benny's date of birth. He gave it back to Smith, then watched as MacGregor tried to turn Benny over. The body was frozen solid and Smith had to help because Benny's arms were stretched straight out. They struggled to lift the body three feet off the ground before they were able to turn it over and place it back on the sidewalk.
     The only thing MacGregor found in Benny's back pockets was a squashed half-roll of toilet paper. Finished, he stood up and looked to McKenna.
     McKenna bent over the body, looking for a wound or mark, but found nothing. Lifting up Benny's sweater, McKenna saw no post-mortem lividity, leading him to conclude that Benny's blood was frozen solid. He knocked on Benny's back and found it was like knocking on a hollow log. Benny's skin was frozen rock-hard, and the knock echoed in Benny's chest.
     There was nothing to indicate a time of death to McKenna. With MacGregor's help, he turned the body over again and repeated the process, looking for wounds. Finding none, he placed his face close to Benny's and smelled a strong odor of alcohol. McKenna tried to pry Benny's mouth open, but couldn't. It was frozen shut.
     Finished, McKenna stood and the sergeant gave a signal to the ambulance attendants. They lifted the frozen body onto a stretcher, covered it with a blanket, and carried it to the ambulance. McKenna followed them half-way down and saw that Heidi and her cameraman were filming. Another news van had arrived and the camera crew was setting up.
     Having nothing to say yet, McKenna turned and rejoined Maureen at the bank. "Ready to talk to Kerri?" he asked.
     "Sure." Maureen took a Citibank card from her purse and opened the bank door while Kerri watched them, cowering behind her garbage cans in her hide-out. Once they were inside, Maureen asked, "Do you remember me, Kerri?"
     Kerri didn't answer, so Maureen got down on her knees in front of the counter. "I'm going to move these cans so I can see you," she said, but Kerri still didn't answer. When Maureen pulled the cans out of the way, Kerri pushed herself closer to the wall. She was shaking, looking from Maureen then up at McKenna.
     "Kerri, do you remember me now?" Maureen asked again, softly.
     Kerri stared at Maureen blankly through her half closed eyes. Then McKenna saw a flicker of recognition cross her face. "Detective Kaplowitz?" Kerri asked.
     It was the voice of a child, soft and afraid.
     "That's right. Maureen Kaplowitz. Remember I took you to court last year when Benny beat you up?"
     "I remember now. That was a long time ago. You bought me some food in the restaurant," Kerri said, thinking hard. From her accent, McKenna knew she was from someplace down South.
     "That's right. Are you hungry now, Kerri?"
     Kerri nodded, then focused on McKenna.
     "This is my friend Brian, Kerri. He's a nice man," Maureen said. "If you'd say hello to him, we'll go get some breakfast. Okay?"
     "Okay. Hello, Brian."
     That was easy enough, McKenna thought. He got down on his knees so he could look Kerri in the eye, but she avoided his gaze. "Hello, Kerri," he said, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. "I'm pleased to meet you."
     "Me too," Kerri murmured.
     "Kerri, did Benny beat you up again?" McKenna asked.
     When Kerri didn't answer, McKenna tried another tack. "Can we talk about it while we eat?" he asked.
     Kerri nodded, but McKenna saw it wasn't going to be easy. "What about Benny?" she asked.
     "Benny had to go to the hospital."
     "He's mad at me, you know. He doesn't want me to talk to anyone."
     "Don't worry about him now, Kerri," Maureen said. "He can't hurt you anymore."
     Kerri didn't look convinced. "He will, you know," she said after a minute. "He'll do it when nobody's looking."
     "He won't do it anymore, Kerri," Maureen said. "Benny's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."
     McKenna watched as this information registered with Kerri. He saw first sadness on her face, then joy followed by confusion. "What's going to happen to me?" Kerri asked.
     "That's one of the things we're going to have to talk about," McKenna said. "Can I help you up?"
     "Okay, Brian," Kerri said, holding her arms up like a baby wanting to be picked up. McKenna grabbed her arms and helped her to stand, surprised that she seemed smaller and even more pitiful when she stood than when she was hiding under the counter. Then Kerri remembered her blanket. She reached under the counter and smiled as she folded it.
     "Ready?" McKenna asked.
     Kerri nodded and followed the two detectives outside, stopping for a moment to place her blanket in the laundry cart. Then confusion overtook her again. "What about all our stuff?" she asked Maureen.
     "It's all yours now, Kerri," Maureen answered.
     "All mine? Really?" Kerri was ecstatic at her good fortune.
     "Yes, all yours. The police are going to bring it to the station house to see what you have, but I'll make sure they bring everything back to you, okay?"
     Kerri was very happy with the arrangement until McKenna said, "We'll even give you a list of everything you have." Then her face showed pure bewilderment.
     "Kerri doesn't want a list," Maureen said. "She doesn't like to read."
     You mean she can't read, McKenna thought. This poor lost soul can't read and has no place to go, but it should be better for her today than it was yesterday. The worst thing that probably ever happened in her life is dead.
     McKenna asked the sergeant to have the laundry cart brought to the station house, then stopped at Heidi's van and found her shivering in the front seat. She rolled down her window and he said, "I'll give you a statement in front of the station house in an hour or two."
     "Why not now?" Heidi asked.
     "Got a few things to think over before I tell you anything. That's how long it'll take me."
     "The guy did freeze to death, right?"
     "I don't know. We'll have to wait for the autopsy," McKenna said.
     Heidi's displeasure showed in her face. "That's going to take more than two hours, isn't it?"
     "Much more. The body has to thaw out."
     "This puts me in a spot, you know. If this guy did freeze to death, then there's really no new story here."
     "Then I'd wait a bit on this one if I were you," he suggested. "If you must, you can say it looks like he froze to death, but you should add that you might be wrong."
     Heidi didn't like that idea, either. Then a thought struck her. "It isn't a murder, is it?" she asked in a sly tone, catching McKenna by surprise.
     "No, I think he just died of natural causes."
     "Then I'll see you later. As soon as you hear from the medical examiner, you'll talk to me before you talk to any other reporters, right?"
     "We have a deal, don't we?"
     "Glad to hear you remember. Who's the girl?" Heidi asked, pointing to Kerri.
     "Let's leave her out of this for now. She's pretty fragile and she's going to be taking a little trip to the hospital after breakfast."
     Heidi took a good look at Kerri and obviously agreed with McKenna's assessment. She just shrugged her shoulders and rolled her window back up.

---