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"Was she a saint?"

"We weren't that close" She looked away, picked up a pencil fro sister I put her on a pedestal and wound up seeing her feet of clay, and I went through a period of holier-than-thou conterown that but then she was killed, so I had all that guilt over the way I'd felt about her" She looked aton in therapy"

"Was she having an affair while she was er?"

"She wouldn't have toldshe did tellaround She said hehis welfare clients I don't know if that was true or not He never made a pass atlist of resentments I talked with her for another tenbeyond the fact that Barbara Ettinger's death had had an impact on her sister's life, and that wasn't news I wondered how different Lynn had been nine years ago, and how different she ht have turned out if Barbara had lived Perhaps it was all there already, all locked in place, the bitterness, the euessed-what Lynn's own e had been like Would she have married the same man if Barbara had been alive? Would she have divorced hiraph and a head full of irrelevant-or unanswerable-questions I left, too, glad to escape from the woman's cramped personality Dan Lynch's bar was just a couple blocks uptown, and I turned toward it, re the dark wood, the war her up, I thought, and it was impossible because she was buried impossibly deep The bit of poetry Jan had read came to mind and I tried to recall just hoent Deep with the first dead? Was that right?

I decided I wanted the exact wording More than that, I wanted the whole poeue recollection of a branch library somewhere around there on Second Avenue I walked a block north, didn't find it, turned around and walked don There was indeed a library, right where I'd re with a nicely ornaave the hours, and they were closed on Wednesdays

All of the branch libraries have cut back on their hours, added closed days Part of the financial pinch The city can't afford anything, and the ad off unused roo old house The police force is ten thousanddrops but the rents and the crime rate

I walked another block and hit St Marks Place and knew there'd be a bookstore around, and one that would most likely have a poetry section The busiest commercial block of St Marks Place, and as trendy a block as the East Village possesses, runs between Second and Third Avenues I turned right and walked toward Third, and two-thirds of the way down the block I found a bookstore They had a paperback edition of the collected poeh it a couple of ti for, but it was there and I read it all the way through "A Refusal to Mourn the Death by Fire of a Child in London" was the title There were parts I didn't think I understood, but I liked the sound of theht and shape of the words

The poe to copy it into my notebook Besides, maybe I'd want to look at some of the other poems I paid for the book and slipped it into e you in one direction or another I had tiredI'd done I wanted to catch a subway home, but I also wanted a drink and I stood for ato decide what to do and where to go While I was standing there, two patrol, and one was so fresh-faced his uniforn read "Haberht of Burton Haver seen the cop or having my ht of him, and remembered that he had once lived on this street, that his wife still lived here I couldn't remember the address, but it was still inwith the telephone nu she lived in He wasn't even part of the case I orking on, becausewith Louis Pinell had satisfied me that the little psychopath had killed Susan Potowski and had not killed Barbara Ettinger But Havered, and in a way that interested ed by another death

St Marks Place starts at Third Avenue and the nuo eastward The block between Second and First was more residential and less commercial A couple of the row houses had ornate s and letterboards near the entrance to indicate that they were churches There was a Ukrainian church, a Polish Catholic church

I walked to First Avenue, waited for the light, walked on across Iand in poorer repair than on the preceding block One of a group of parked cars I passed was a derelict, stripped of tires and hubcaps, the radio pulled out, the interior gutted On the other side of the street three bearded and longhaired et a motorcycle started

The last number on the block was 132 The street deadended at the corner, where Avenue A formed the western boundary of To at the house number, then at the park, first at one and then at the other

From Avenue A east to the river are the blocks they call Alphabet City The population runs to junkies and ers and crazies Nobody decent lives there on purpose, not if they can afford to live anywhere else

I dragged out my notebook The address was still the sah Toh the park, drug dealers offered to sell me dope and pills and acid Either I didn't look like a cop to them or they just didn't care

On the other side of Avenue B, the nuns didn't call it St Marks Place It was East Eighth Street there

I went back through the park again At 130 St Marks Place there was a bar called Blanche's Tavern I went in The place was a broken-down bucket of blood that smelled of stale beer and stale urine and bodies that needed washing Perhaps a dozen of the bodies were there, most of them at the bar, a couple at tables The place went dead silent when I walked into it I guess I didn't look as though I belonged there, and I hope to God I never do

I used the phone book first The precinct in Sheepshead Bay could have made a , or I could have copied it incorrectly I found him listed, Burton Havermeyer on West 103rd, but I didn't find any Havermeyers listed on St Marks Place

I was out of die His customers seemed more relaxed now that they realized I had no business with them

I dropped a dime in the slot, dialed the number in my book No answer

I went out and walked a few doors to 112 St Marks Place I checked theto find the name Havermeyer, then went back outside I wanted a drink but Blanche's wasn't where I wanted to have it

Any port in a storht shot of bourbon at the bar, a top-shelf brand Tosoo hoood and he'd beat her up and rip her off, and she went anyhow, took him on hoet off coain On the fourth ring a boy answered it I thought I'd misdialed, asked if I had the Havermeyer residence He told me I did

I asked if Mrs Havermeyer was there

"She's next door," he said "Is it iet her"

"Don't bother I have to check the address for a delivery What's the house number there?"

"Telve"

"Telve what?"

He started to tell me the apartment number I told him I needed to know the name of the street