Hell's Horizon tct-2

by Darren Shan

  “How did she react?”

  “She didn’t mind. Business is business.”

  “She didn’t seem scared or apprehensive?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t think she had any idea of what was coming?”

  “Hardly.”

  “What happened next?”

  “She went her way, I went mine.”

  “That was it?”

  “Yes. I gave her the card to 812 before she left.”

  “She went straight up?”

  “I presume so. I didn’t leave with her — I’d slipped off my shoes, so I stayed a few seconds to put them back on.”

  “Did she tell you the name of her john?”

  I could see Priscilla’s withering smile in the panels of the glass. “We’d hardly be sitting here talking if she had. I wouldn’t have let shame stop me from revealing the name of her killer if I knew it.”

  “You didn’t see him? He wasn’t in the lobby?”

  “Nic had gone up by the time I came out of the bar.”

  “She didn’t say anything about him? His nationality, job, if he was rich or poor, what he looked like?”

  “Nothing.” Her fingers stopped twirling the glass and she gripped it firmly. “My Chinaman was in poor form that night. I finished early — about half past eleven — and started for home. I was on the sixth floor. As I got into the elevator, I thought about joining Nic and her companion. I almost did.”

  “What stopped you?”

  She sighed. “I was tired. Went home and got a good night’s sleep instead, rare for a Friday. I rang Nic the next day. Didn’t think anything of it when there was no answer. I didn’t connect her absence with the trick in the Skylight until…”

  She broke off and took several deep breaths. The tears had forced their way back and were rolling down her cheeks.

  “From what I read, she was still alive at half past eleven,” Priscilla moaned. “If I’d gone up, or if I’d gone with her earlier, when I was meant to…”

  “You might have been killed too,” I said, touching her hand briefly, wishing to be supportive without seeming forward.

  “Or I might have saved her,” she sobbed. “She was alone. The first time she pulled a trick, she begged me to go with her — she was afraid. I told her not to be silly and sent her off with him, laughing. I should have been there. I…”

  Again she broke off, and this time I knew there’d be no recovery. Our interview was at a close. I covered her hands with mine — I felt confident enough to make real contact this time — and made soft, cooing noises, gently guiding her back to normal conversation.

  She smiled weakly once the worst had passed. “Thank you,” she said.

  “For reducing you to tears? I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “No.” She took one of her hands from mine and wiped tears from her face, then tenderly laid her palm against my left cheek. It was cool from the glass. “It was good that you confronted me. I needed to confess. It was tearing me apart. This way it’s out in the open. I can cry about it now and maybe start to forgive myself.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I assured her. She made a face, then set about restoring her looks, wiping away the worst of the tears, applying makeup while I sat twiddling my thumbs, wishing I were holding her hands again.

  Snapping her compact shut, she rose. I was getting up to walk her to her cab when she laid a hand on my forearm and smiled. “It’s OK. Finish your drink. I’ll settle the check on my way.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said, but she squeezed lightly and stopped me.

  “Please, Al. I’d like to be alone. I’ll give you a call soon, when I feel better.”

  “OK,” I said. “But let me pay. I arranged this meeting, so it’s only fair that—”

  “I won’t argue about it.” She grinned, made a fast turn and scurried away, only to find her path blocked by another woman. They collided, clutched at each other to prevent a fall, then separated. “I’m sorry,” Priscilla said. “I wasn’t looking.”

  “Not at all,” the other woman replied. “You had the right-of-way. I should have… What the hell are you doing in a suit?” This last part was addressed to me.

  “You know each other?” Priscilla asked, politely standing aside so that Ellen — early for once in her life — had a clear view of me.

  “Yes.” I rose awkwardly, as if caught in a clandestine embrace — for a second I forgot we were divorced — and welcomed my second guest of the night. “Priscilla, I’d like you to meet Ellen Fraser. Ellen, Priscilla Perdue.”

  “Doubling up on dates, Al?” Ellen mocked me. “You’re getting cheap in your old age.”

  “Please,” Priscilla said quickly, “don’t get the wrong idea. We weren’t here on a date. It was merely a—”

  Ellen laughed and raised her hands. “No need to apologize. I’m not dating the sap either.”

  Priscilla blinked and looked at me questioningly.

  “Ellen and I used to be married,” I muttered.

  “Oh.” She opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and made the sign for buttoning her lips. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “You don’t have to leave on my account,” Ellen said.

  “I was going anyway,” Priscilla told her, then winked at me and said goodbye.

  Ellen watched Priscilla march away in her skimpy top and skirt, a sly smile twitching the edges of her mouth. “New girl?” she asked casually.

  “A friend of a friend,” I answered truthfully.

  She turned the full force of her gaze on me. “So that’s what friends of friends are wearing these days.”

  “Skip it,” I mumbled gruffly. “Let’s order.”

  “Yes, Romeo,” she said, hiding behind a menu to cover her smirk.

  Ellen asked what the occasion was while we were waiting for the meal to arrive. She always came straight to the point.

  “You heard about the girl who was murdered in the Skylight last Thursday?” That was the official public date of her death.

  “Sure. The papers have been making a meal of it. They love taking jabs at The Cardinal. It’s not often they get the chance.”

  “I knew her,” I said.

  Ellen frowned. “Socially?”

  “We were lovers.” I’d meant to present a condensed version of the facts — keeping The Cardinal and the extent of my involvement out of it — but I’d never been good at keeping secrets from Ellen. Soon the whole story was tumbling out. I told her about my fling with Nic, how I’d found her, when she’d been killed, what I’d learned of her since then, my meetings with The Cardinal, Priscilla, Ziegler and the rest. The only cards I played close to my chest were Paucar Wami, the vision I’d had and my father. Knowing about Wami might scare her off when I asked her for help. I would have been embarrassed talking about the vision. And Tom Jeery was my concern alone.

  The tale took us through dinner and dessert, and on to coffee. She listened quietly, displaying no emotions other than an occasional raised eyebrow, and kept her questions to a minimum.

  When I finished she shook her head, sipped at her coffee and said, “Wow.” I held my tongue, knowing there’d be more once she’d thought on it some. “The Cardinal. After all these years. Is he as impressive as they say?”

  “He’s more imposing than anyone I’ve met, but there’s something small-time about him, like he’s this tough kid in the biggest sandbox in the city.”

  “You used to say you’d run for the hills if The Cardinal took a personal interest in you,” she reminded me.

  “I almost did. If not for Nic…”

  “How close were you two?”

  “Not very. I hadn’t guessed how duplicitous she was. I knew she’d been around but I’d no idea she was a…” I didn’t like to say it, so I didn’t. “There was very little romance in it.”

  “So why get involved now that she’s dead?” A blunt but fair query.

  “Because she was a friend and I v
alue friendship.”

  “Or because you like the idea of cracking the case and being king for an hour?” Ellen suggested, seeing inside my mind as she’d always been able to.

  “Would it be so bad if I did? You always said I was meant for better things.”

  “Absolutely. I deplored the way you settled for so little. It helped drive me away from you. Ambition’s good, Al. But there’s a difference between standing tall and standing up to your neck in shit.”

  “You think I should ditch the case?” I loved the way she put it so plainly.

  “Not necessarily. If this is what you want, go for it. But it’s a messy business. I’ve had dealings at work with detectives. What those guys go through isn’t pretty — hours spent following people, bugging phones, invading privacy. Detectives destroy relationships, people, lives. I’m not sure you’re cut out for that.”

  “But this is different. It’s personal. I won’t hurt anybody.”

  “You can’t make a pledge like that. You might have to.”

  I stared down at the table. “You think I should stop?”

  Ellen sighed. “I’m not your wife now — what you do is none of my business. All I’m saying is, think before you act. Don’t rush in halfhearted. Do it right and know what you’re doing, or don’t do it at all.”

  Ellen watched intently as I pretended to mull her words over, saw that I had no intention of letting matters drop, and tutted impatiently. “You should let me know when I’m wasting my breath. You don’t have the slightest intention of quitting.”

  “Not really,” I chuckled apologetically.

  “So why drag me out and bare your soul if not for my sage-like advice?”

  I smiled sheepishly and said, “For your help.” Then I drew her back to Rudi Ziegler and explained my hunch, how I felt the murderer might be connected to him, how I needed to learn more about the mystic.

  Ellen said nothing until I’d finished, then fixed me with one of her iciest stares and snapped, “You’re insane.”

  “Is that a no?” I quipped.

  “This guy could be a killer!”

  “I doubt it. He’s meek as they come.”

  “But he might send his clients to killers? Forget it! Look somewhere else for a stooge. I wouldn’t touch something like this if you paid me. If that’s a problem — if you think I owe you — tough. I don’t.”

  “Of course you don’t owe me,” I snapped back. “I never—”

  I broke off before I said something I’d regret. I began to wish I hadn’t started this but it was too late to back out now.

  “I’ve no right to ask this of you,” I muttered, “but I’m asking anyway, because I have no one else to turn to. You wouldn’t be in danger. I wouldn’t ask if I thought there was any degree of risk involved.”

  Ellen sighed. “I know.” A long pause. “But I’ve got work to consider. We’re real busy. I couldn’t—”

  “It wouldn’t interfere with work,” I said quickly. “You could fit it around your office hours. It would be fun. A dibbling of divertissement.” That was one of Ellen’s favorite expressions — she’d made it up herself. She smiled and I knew I’d almost won her over.

  She made a show of pondering my words, then finally let her head roll back and sighed wearily. “OK. I’ll listen. But I’m promising nothing. Get it?”

  “Got it.”

  “You better!”

  I wet my throat before continuing. “You’d go along to a couple of sessions, have your palm read, your future told, that kind of thing. Get to know the guy, laugh at his jokes, flirt with him a bit. Then ask to sit in on a séance and express interest in going further, tell him you want to make meaningful contact with the other world and find a lover among the shades of the dead.”

  “What?” she squealed, delighted in spite of her misgivings.

  “That’s what Nic was after,” I grinned. “A spirit lover, a ghost she could get hot and horny with.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I bet you had some fun with her beneath the sheets.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I smiled. “Made certain other parties I’ve slept with look like dead fish.”

  “Watch it,” she growled, tweaking my nose.

  “Whatever your story, however crazy, act like you’re serious and he’ll treat you with respect. He deals with cranks all the time. If he thinks you believe, there’ll be no problem. Say you want to delve into the secrets of past incarnations, mumbo jumbo like that. Mention Egyptians and Incas — he’s got a passion for Incas — anything along those lines you can think of.”

  “That sounds harmless so far,” she said. “What next?”

  “If he says he doesn’t do stuff like that and turns you away, you walk — thanks for the help, end of your involvement, adios. If he leads you on, play along, but push him toward a conclusion.”

  “What sort of conclusion?”

  “Insist on results. If he can’t provide them, ask him to send you to someone more in touch with the dead.”

  “If he does, what do I do? Go see them?”

  “No. If he gives you a name, pass it along to me and leave it there. I’ll check it out. The other guy will never know about you. See? Just as I said, no danger.”

  She weighed up the pros and cons, then grimaced. “What the hell. I’ve been meaning to visit one of those fakirs for years. Maybe he’ll direct me toward the man of my dreams. I’ve tried every other approach.”

  “You’re a peach.” I leaned across and kissed her, a chaste kiss between two old lovers who were now mere friends.

  “When do you want me to start?” she asked.

  “As soon as possible.”

  “What if he draws a connection between the two of us?”

  “How could he? If you don’t mention Nic or me, he has no reason to be suspicious. Treat it like a joke at first. Don’t start off serious. Let him make you believe. Let his act convince and propel you further along.”

  “All right. But you’ll owe me big for this. I’ve got a birthday coming up and I won’t settle for a box of chocolates. Understand?”

  “It’ll be diamond tiaras and slippers of gold,” I vowed.

  “It’d better be,” she snorted, then raised her mug in a toast. “Here’s to Fraser and Jeery, the Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot of the twenty-first century.”

  “Marple and Poirot,” I repeated, and we grinned stupidly as we clinked mugs and downed the coffee as if it were champagne.

  12

  I spent Thursday morning checking for news of Wami. The streets were teeming with stories and unsubstantiated sightings but no real leads. I toyed with the idea of offering a reward for information leading to his whereabouts, but that would have brought the crazies out in full.

  I stopped in at Party Central and looked for Frank. I wanted to ask him about the Troops guarding the Skylight the night of Nic’s murder. His secretary paged him — he was in a meeting but would be free in a quarter of an hour. I said I’d be back and moseyed down to the canteen to catch up on the latest gossip.

  I passed Richey Harney in the corridor on my way, the guy who’d originally been destined to haul Nic back from the Fridge with Vincent.

  “How’d the party go?” I asked.

  “Party?” His face was a blank.

  “Your daughter’s party.”

  “My…?” The lights came on and he chuckled edgily. “It was great. Thanks for letting me off the hook. If you ever need a favor…”

  He hurried on and I wondered what he had to feel edgy about. Maybe he skipped the party for a rendezvous with a mistress, or simply went off for a beer.

  No sign of Jerry or Mike in the canteen. A couple of guys I half knew saluted me. I waved but didn’t go over — they were watching the horses and that’s something I had no interest in. I sat and watched a different channel, then took myself back to Frank’s office. He arrived soon after.

  “Al. What’s up?”

  I asked if he had a list of the guards at the Skyli
ght. He did. Could I have a copy? Normally, no, but since I was The Cardinal’s current favorite…

  Thirty-six names in all. “Any dirt on these guys?” I asked halfheartedly, not savoring the idea of investigating that many suspects.

  “Every Troop’s clean, Al, you know that.”

  I grinned. “Sure. Clean as angels. You know what I mean. Are there any you have doubts about, guys stuck at the Skylight because you don’t want them getting in the way here?”

  Frank took the list and examined it. “Nobody I’m at odds with,” he declared. “Good soldiers, the lot. What are you looking for?”

  I told him about Nic and how she hadn’t been killed at the Skylight. It was the first he’d heard of it. His face darkened as I broke the news.

  “That bastard,” he snarled. “I can’t believe I wasn’t told. I’m the head of the goddamn Troops for Christ’s sake! I should be the first he comes to with—”

  “Frank.” I whistled. “Calm down before your head explodes.”

  He glared at me, then relaxed. “He gets on my tits, Al. You’ve got no idea what it’s like working close to that maniac.”

  I thought — from my brief experience of The Cardinal — that I had, but kept the opinion to myself.

  “The sooner he moves me on and lets that prick Raimi take over, the better,” Frank grumbled.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m on my way out,” Frank huffed. “He hasn’t said as much, but we had a few conversations recently and I got the whiff. I’m not as dumb as he thinks. My days as head Troop are numbered, thank fuck.”

  The Cardinal had told me that at our first meeting, but I figured it would be better not to mention it to Frank. Instead I asked who “that prick Raimi” was.

  “Capac Raimi. Theo Boratto’s nephew. You know him?”

  “Yeah. I heard he was being groomed for big things. Didn’t realize he was up for your job, though. Vincent mentioned him the night we picked up Nic from the Fridge. He doesn’t like Raimi either.”

  “Not surprised. Vincent always fancied himself as Ford’s successor. The way Raimi’s going, he’s gonna leapfrog us all. The Cardinal’s got the hots for him. He’ll take my place, Ford’s, even The Cardinal’s in the end, you wait and see. Fucking golden boy.” Frank muttered a few more curses, then shook thoughts of Capac Raimi from his head. “Anyway, the Skylight. If she wasn’t killed there, what makes you think one of our guys might have been involved?”