Beware the Solitary Drinker by Cornelius Lehane

of the sink and looked up from the coffee mug he’d had his eyes glued to while the cop was there.
    â€œI did that once,” Sam said. “I told them: ‘Book me or release me’—so they booked me.”
    Around one, Carl van Sagan and Nigel playing chess at the corner of the bar and Eric the Red watching them, Sam drinking coffee at the other end, Oscar came in to announce that Danny was in jail for killing Angelina. Oscar usually was the last to get the news.
    â€œI knew he was no good,” said Oscar, casting an accusing glance my way. “I told you he’s on drugs.…I don’t want them coming in here.…I told you, none of them—”
    Oscar was prepared to go on with his tirade, a variation on his usual theme that I, McNulty, attracted too many unsavory types to Oscar’s. Normally, when he got on his respectability kick, he looked to Nigel for affirmation. But, this time, something in Nigel’s expression slowed him down. Nigel’s face took me aback too: the pain and sorrow in his eyes, as if he was taking on Danny’s trouble for him.
    I wanted to tell Oscar he was wrong, too. But what could I say? That Danny was a good guy, and even if he had killed Angelina, it would have been a terrible mistake, something he would never forgive himself for, the result of abuse and war and drugs and all the ways life had beaten on him? You had to believe in your own purity to demand vengeance. I couldn’t muster it up. A too-real sense of my own horrors got in the way.
    â€œHe didn’t do it,” I said.
    Oscar’s jaw dropped. Everyone turned to look at me, waiting for me to say something else. I waited myself to hear what I’d say next. How did I know Danny didn’t do it? I had no idea. Something told me he hadn’t done it, some piece of information that clicked when I heard it, then went out of my mind before I could put things together. It was useless to try to explain this, so I walked away.
    Later, when Nigel left and everyone else had gone about his business, such as it was, Carl leaned closer to me as I poured his drink. I’d been wondering if he’d seen Danny and Angelina, as I had, and maybe was the person who dropped the dime. He must have read my mind. “Danny wasn’t the only person with Angelina that night,” he said.
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œI saw her and somebody walking on West End Avenue.”
    â€œHow do you know it wasn’t Danny?”
    â€œI don’t know for sure. I didn’t really pay attention. But I think the guy was white…and maybe wearing a suit.”
    â€œDon’t you know? Didn’t you recognize him? Didn’t you talk to her?”
    Carl’s eyes were sad like Snoopy’s. “I didn’t pay attention,” he said. “If I’d known he was going to murder her, I’d have run up for a look.”
    â€œI guess so,” I said absently. “But that doesn’t mean Danny didn’t get to her later. Maybe he freaked out because she’d left him for someone else.”
    â€œMaybe.” Carl’s eyes were still sad and his expression sagging after a long night of drinking scotch, yet he seemed to possess a patient sort of wisdom.
    â€œDid you tell the cops?”
    Carl shook his head. “What am I gonna say? Maybe I saw somebody, but I don’t know what he looked like. If I told them that, they’d say, ‘Could it have been Danny.’ I’d say ‘no.’ They’d say ‘How do you know if you don’t know what the person looked like?’ It’s a waste of time telling the cops. Still, I’d want to know who that person walking with her was.”
    â€œAnd who called the police to say she was with Danny.”
    We looked at each other for a few seconds. “You’re starting to sound like a detective,” Carl said. He’d finished his drink and was nudging his glass toward