The House on Alexandrine

Chapter 6

THIRTEEN HUNDRED BEAUBIEN was police headquarters and the home of the First Precinct. It was a blocky, gray, nine-story building built in 1922 at the corner of Beaubien and Macomb. Architecturally, the first three floors were a sort of American Indian Romanesque: high rounded arches with odd linear designs. The next four floors were Roman with long, thin pilasters separating every two sets of windows. Above the top row of windows was a small cornice, then a narrow balcony with a metal fence decorated with either "Ss" or dollar signs. Set back from the balcony was what looked like a twostory Greek temple with metal grates between the pillars. Across Beaubien was a row of small stores—bail bond agencies and stores selling uniforms—which lived off police headquarters much in the way pilot fish live off sharks. The largest, Metropolitan Uniform Co., advertised a "complete line of uniforms, accessories, caps, badges, shirts, emblems, belts, insignias, holsters, raincoats." Corbin thought that was where Mallett probably bought his uniforms. Next to police headquarters were the two buildings of Wayne County Jail. The older was seven stories and mildly classical in design. The newer was eight stories. Duane said it looked like a pile of metal ice trays. As Corbin, Louise and Duane stood across the street from the jail on Monday morning, Louise said, "That's where Mallett should be, not home sleeping." Mallett hadn't been arrested for his behavior Saturday night. McKiddie had called the police but Jewel refused to press charges. The police said it would be unwise for anyone else to press charges since they had, after all, burst into his apartment. "No," said Duane, "he was probably sad about what he did to the dog." Louise and Corbin raised their eyebrows at one another as they crossed 69 7 0 T H E H O U S E O N A L E X A N D R I N E the street. Corbin liked being with Louise. He was glad he had volunteered to lead this small expedition to police headquarters. It made him feel that he was taking part in the world, instead of being holed up in his apartment. The main corridor of 1300 Beaubien was full of policemen secure in their environment and outsiders who definitely weren't. Corbin thought it would be a difficult building to get out of, even if he had only gone in to buy cigarettes from the blind man who ran the concession in the lobby. Then he wondered if his nervousness was a sign of claustrophobia or agoraphobia. An officer in a booth gave them directions to the Missing Persons department on the fifth floor. When they got out of the elevator, they turned left down a long hall with gray walls. One light ran down the center of the ceiling. The lower part of the walls and brown wooden doors were scuffed as if people had been kicking them. Over one door was a blue sign, reading, "Checks"; over another was a blue sign, "Special Investigations"; over a third, "Credit Cards." The rooms were stuffed with desks. They weren't so much gloomy as impersonal and humorless. Corbin thought that a picture of Donald Duck would have helped a lot, even Donald Duck in chains. After turning down several corridors, they stopped at a room marked "Hotels and Stores" which held the Missing Persons unit. The door was open. It was a windowless room containing about ten desks, thirty filing cabinets and racks of city directories. The Missing Persons desk was halfway up the left side of the room, tucked behind a dozen gray steel cabinets. On the wall above it was a large illuminated clock with the words "Orange Crush" printed across its face in orange letters. The sergeant sitting at the desk was alone in the room. He was a middleaged man in a rumpled gray suit and sparse brown hair. He got up as they approached and gave Louise a very small smile. She had on a light, tan summer dress with pink hearts on the collar. It made her seem particularly innocent. She nudged Corbin who took another step forward. "We're looking for a girl who disappeared in Detroit during the past two months," he said. The sergeant stopped smiling and appeared to grow depressed. "I don't handle women," he answered. It sounded like a boast. "Who does handle women?" asked Louise. "The Women's Division. They handle...