Chapter Twenty-Two
From the office window only shades of gray could be seen in the fading afternoon light. Spring was getting closer, but winter had not let go her grip on the city. A thin shapeless sky threatened to add some rain. This might wash away some of the filthy snow still lingering in the streets and on the sidewalks, but would it wash away the gray? Henry didn't think so. People were wearing their collars up to keep the uncomfortable realization that there might be one more storm left in Mother Nature's bag at bay. They walked with their heads down, their shoulders hunched, not saying a word.
Henry didn't like gray. He liked black and white; he liked blue skies and green infields; he liked order and baseball. He wanted to know the score. Who killed Mickey, and why was Katarina back? The dinner with Katarina had crept back into his mind, shoving Mickey impolitely to the side. It was wrong to let it, but reminders of her and those happy days kept nipping into his thoughts.
The worn notebook sat on his desk, with the pencil napping on top of it. They both knew it would be a while before he needed them again. There was a day, many years ago, when Henry and Katarina had been out somewhere, he couldn't remember where. They had left the bookstore or gallery and decided to walk back to Henry's place. The sudden spring storm caught them off guard. Katarina's quick temper had her throwing a fit. She was enraged that her hairdo was ruined. She went on about it for three blocks, angry that they didn't take a cab, blaming Henry, though she had suggested the walk. She might have even cursed God, but Henry couldn't remember for sure. She finally stomped her feet while they waited at the light, and said, "Damn it, look at me! I am a mess!"
Henry smiled as he remembered his reply. It was along the lines of, "Yes, you are. I would say you closely resemble a wet rat." He had chuckled to himself, but she hadn't said anything. She was stunned. Henry had then added, "Not everyone can pull off the wet rat look, but I think it works for you." They were both soaked to the bone. It was a warm rain, unseasonably warm for spring in New York, and then there was a break in the downpour. The sunlight sneaking through the gap in the clouds made the wet street and cars seem all shiny and new. Katarina, had started giggling, slung her arm through his, and before they reached the other side of the street, the giggle had bubbled over into a full blown laughter.
Henry never told her that he had meant it, every word. He couldn't remember a time where she had looked more beautiful. There was something about having her hair soaked, her makeup running, and her rage lose control, which exposed her core, for good and bad. Henry liked truth and at that moment, she wasn't a stunningly beautiful woman because of the clothes or makeup; she was beautiful because she just was. The chaos and rain had shown him that. That may have been the moment he fell for her. Though he couldn't be sure…there were other moments too, so Henry decided to add it to the gray-area category.
Henry kept thinking about holding her hand at dinner. It was warm, soft, and familiar, though in truth, it wasn't familiar at all. It was more of a want of familiar, which was now stirring the emotions and meddling with Henry's mind. He turned away from the window, then walked to the edge of his desk, choosing to sit on the corner. To a fly on the wall, it may have appeared that he was staring off into space, but he wasn't. He was staring back in time, to their dinner, and directly into her lovely eyes. He was so focused that even his peripheral vision wasn't working.
His mind suddenly noticed something. It was a little thing, sort of fuzzy, like it was out of focus. Sitting behind Katarina, near the window at the front of the restaurant, was a man. He tried to see him more clearly, but he was just a dark mass eating a fish course. Henry wasn't entirely sure he was right about the fish course either.
Henry grabbed his sleeping notebook and pencil and ran out of the office. His coat and hat felt slighted at not being included in the outing. Once spring arrived, they would be out of action until the fall, or the odd rainy day. His progress on Mickey's killer had been minimal, at best. He was sure – or more accurately, he hoped he was sure – he would be able to piece everything together, but the whole Mickey case was out of focus too. He just couldn't wrap his head around Mickey working on something in the art world that was such a big deal, it got him killed. There must be more to it.
Henry didn't care that his light jogging up 23rd street, round the corner, and then up to the restaurant, was strange enough that people were lifting their heads out of the gray to give him dirty looks. Surely this crazy running man must be from out of town.
Henry looked around the restaurant, but didn't recognize anyone. He hadn't really paid much attention to the wait staff, but then he noticed the bartender was the same guy as before. Slightly out of breath, Henry took a moment to gather himself. With his composure returned, he asked if it was possible to find out who had been sitting at the table by the window the other night. The bartender didn't know his name, and asked one of the waiters. The waiter remembered only that he had been very generous…for a priest. Henry asked if the priest was a regular. He was not.