“Miss Augusta?”
A woman’s voice called to him. “Jimmy.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and his knees began to liquefy. And then the hand was gone, and he was running toward the hazy figure of Augusta at the end of the path. He stopped short, kicking up gravel, backtracking until his legs locked and he froze like an animal trapped in the fascination of an onrushing train light. It was another angel, smaller than the one which had left its pedestal. It was the statue’s missing child, and now she had wings of her own. The little girl moved toward him on heavy stone feet. He could hear the pounding on the ground as she drew closer. Her hands had blood on them, and there was blood on the rocks in her small arms.
She stopped her forward motion and slowly rose in the air. He could see her tiny feet above the ground fog. He sank to his knees. The child was drifting toward him, floating, as if she weighed nothing, though she carried a heavy burden. All those rocks.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. This was a lie. And the stone child knew it. She would have kept track of his sins.
“Cass was going to tell,” he said with his hands splayed on the air, asking the child for understanding. “She was going to tell everyone.” The child hovered on the air, as though listening. He covered his face with both hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She called to him in a soft small voice, “Jimmy.” His hands dropped away from his face, and he opened his eyes. She began to revolve in the air, and all the rocks flew out from her arms in a spiral, spinning off into the mist, making no sound as they fell. The stone child was whirling faster and faster as he screamed. She slowed her revolutions, then stopped, only hovering now. He brought his hands together, as if to pray.
She exploded into flight, the stone wings were in motion, beating on the air, and she was rushing at him, hitting him with her small body, her wings. She was not stone anymore, but warm, a pulsating child with a real heart beating against his chest, and then, in seconds, she was gone, flown off.
Lost feathers drifted to the earth.
He clawed at his eyes and fell forward, prostrate on the ground with his face in the gravel, small jagged bits of stones jutting into his flesh. He raised his head and looked back to the end of the alley. Cass’s angel had returned to her pedestal. From this vantage point, he could see that it was the old angel, and the wingless stone child was back in her arms once more. He began to weep over the strange reunion of Cass and Kathy.
And then he began to wail as the dog had wailed, lowering his head now kissing gravel and crooning to the earth.
“Howling mad,” said the voice of Augusta Trebec.
The thick ground fog was rolling away – more magic. The old woman’s feet were close to his head. And now there were others gathering around him. As he was slowly raising his eyes, he wondered if these people would have rocks in their hands.
When the hysterical rambling had subsided to ordinary tears, Augusta knelt down by the shivering young man. “Now, Jimmy, you come along with me. I’m gonna fix you a nice strong cup of herb tea.” She took one of his arms to pull him up, and Mallory slipped the black bandanna from her face and took the other arm. As the women walked the small man toward the path leading to Trebec House, Augusta was saying, “Everything is gonna be just fine.”
Riker guessed the old lady was lying through her teeth. He stepped out from behind the tomb and crushed one of the papier-mache stones underfoot.
Charles wore a black cloth draped over his body, looking more like a priest than a magician. He was staring at the gun in Riker’s hand with something approaching horror.
Riker holstered his revolver, as he watched the odd trio walking away. That frightened little man was the kind of suspect he always prayed for in every case with no physical evidence.
He looked at Charles. “You were right to believe in her. I was wrong.”
Charles didn’t seem to take any joy in this win. He only nodded as he pulled the black drape away from the statue of the winged child.
Riker picked up the velvet cloth. “So that’s how you made her disappear.” A second drape fell from the raised pallet. The fake fog was still escaping from the mobile platform in stray wisps. “There wasn’t enough fog tonight? You had to rent a fog machine?”
Charles shook his head. “It was only dry ice and hot water.”
When the last of the gas cleared away, Riker could see all the wheels and gears that made the angel rise and spin. He guessed that Charles had made the heavy footfalls of the stone angel’s walk. “But what was the guy raving about? All that babbling crap about the angel flying? I saw the birds fly, but I never saw the statue take off.”
Charles bent down to the small statue and gently cleaned the blood off her hands lest it stain the marble. “I don’t know what that was about.”
“Take a guess.”
“It was supposed to be a very simple illusion, one thing changing into another. When I released the birds and draped the statue, he should have seen the stone turn into a flight of doves. I didn’t expect the birds to fly straight at him like that. How could I know they were going to attack him?”
“I still don’t get it, Charles.”
“It was an accident of his own mind, a collision of illusions. The birds took the form he expected to see. He must have been very frightened. He’s half crazy now.”
Riker nodded. He was reminded of magical eyewitness testimony, the bane of every cop. If the witness heard a shot, he would swear under oath that he had seen a gun – whether it was there or not. And sometimes the gunshots were not real, either. Yet the witness was truthful.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Charles. Cass Shelley was terrified when she saw the stones fly.”
“Jimmy Simms was only thirteen years old when she died.”
“Killer kids get younger every day. We got one back in New York who’s only nine.”
Of course, this was no comfort to Charles, who only wanted the workings of the world to be sane and fair. He was constantly being disappointed.
“You know, Riker, Jimmy never actually said he threw the stones.” Riker smiled at this. Charles was still hanging in there, pitching a case for civilization – another illusion. Welcome to the new world, the animal planet.
“It was a great technique,” said Riker. “I’ve spent days breaking a suspect down to a puddle, and you guys did it in under ten minutes. I really thought Mallory would drag it out more – turn those screws a little tighter. So Jimmy’s the future state’s witness in her mother’s homicide. Am I right?”
Charles nodded. “Yes, you finally got it right.”
There was still more work to do. Riker knew this night would be uncommonly long. He lifted one hand in a farewell to Charles, and then he followed after the women and their captive.
He turned back once and saw Charles putting his shoulder to an angel, tipping and jogging her on the pedestal until she was facing south again. Henry moved along the path, rolling the pallet of a lesser angel, a copy of the little girl Riker had known as Kathy Mallory.
The small group ahead of him was leaving the wide oak lane, crossing open ground toward the house. Riker walked through water, soaking his shoes before he learned to follow Augusta’s zigzagging example and avoid the puddles.
The suspect fell, and the two women knelt down to help him up again. Augusta stroked Jimmy’s head as if he were a dog.
Riker gave them lead time going into the house, and then he opened the door slowly, minding the possibility of a creak.
He reached the end of the hallway and peered into the kitchen. Aw, Mallory, no – not this way. This was all wrong. It sickened him.
The two of them were seated at the table, where a tape recorder was glowing with a green ready light. Mallory had one hand on the suspect’s shoulder; it was almost a caress. And she was trying to show the man how much she really liked him.
It would have been easier on Riker if he had found her crying. Mallory’s strange attempt at a smile was hurting him so much more.
&nbs
p; Riker cleared his throat. She looked up, and he gestured for her to join him outside the kitchen – right now.
When she stood before him near the front door, her arms were folded. Though it was dark at this end of the hallway, he could see that she was angry.
“Stay out of my way, Riker. Get out of here.”
“I’ll do it myself,” he said. “I’m better at this than you are.”
“Get out!”
“I should be the one to do it, Mallory. You know I’m right.”
She turned her back on him and would have walked away, but he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders to keep her with him. “Just hear me out, kid. You’ve got to turn this perp around. There won’t be another chance. If you blow it, the rest of them will scatter.”
He felt her go rigid under his hands, yet she stayed. When he spoke again, it was in a soft tone of voice he could never use if she were facing him. “In every homicide case, you learn too much about the victim. Some strange woman is lying dead on a slab, and you’re using her name fifty times a day, talking to people who knew her, learning intimate details her own family doesn’t know.”
He bowed his head close to her ear and said, very gently, “Then comes that moment when you realize you’re calling a dead woman by her first name – like she was an old friend of yours. And then it gets a little harder, doesn’t it? It’s more personal. But this time, Mallory, you call the dead woman Mommy. It’s the only name a little kid has for her mother, the only name you ever called her by.”
He held her closer, and every word he breathed disturbed the strands of her hair. “You know why you can’t do this, kid.” He didn’t want her to hear his voice break. He slowly measured out his next words, pausing in the places where they strained and cracked. “I’m going to turn him around for you… I’ll hold his hand, and rub his back… and tell him it was perfectly natural… to break your mother’s body with rocks, to knock out her teeth… to leave her lying in the dirt, bleeding to death.”
Mallory nodded.
The deal was done.
His hands dropped away from her shoulders, but she would not turn around. Though Mallory made no sound to give away any emotion, he was careful not to look at her face as he moved around her and walked back down the long dark hallway toward the light of the kitchen.
CHAPTER 24
“This is the last of it.” Augusta moved a stack of papers to one side and set a mug of hot coffee on the kitchen table. “I’ll have a fresh pot in a few minutes.”
Riker sat semi-upright, elbows propped on the table, hands covering his ears to block out the constant torture of cheerful twittering and chirps. The birdcalls had penetrated the kitchen with the first light of morning through the bank of tall windows. He missed his New York lullaby of car alarms and fire engines, screams and gunshots.
Different country – different songs.
“Don’t those damn birds ever shut up?”
“No. They sing all day long.” Augusta switched on the coffee maker and cocked her head toward the hallway, listening. “That’s Charles at the door. He’s got a soft way of knocking.”
When Augusta had quit the room, Jimmy Simms stirred in the chair next to Riker’s. The young man was snoring lightly, head pillowed on his arms. His sleeping face was unlined, so innocent.
Well, what’s in a face?
Riker rubbed his red eyes, and then rushed the caffeine into his bloodstream, hardly pausing to taste the coffee. He knew he was too old for these all-nighters, but he had even better reasons to quit his job. He wondered if he would ever feel clean again, for he had recently made himself at home inside the younger man’s head, and lain back among the creepy crawlies. Jimmy Simms’s mind stank, and Riker wanted to take a hundred showers.
“Morning, Riker.” Charles Butler had a way of filling up a room. He seemed to understand this and sat down immediately, almost apologetically, to meet Riker at a more egalitarian eye level. “Mallory’s not up yet?”
Riker swallowed his envy of the well-rested man. He looked at his watch. It was just past eight o’clock. “Well, the kid had a busy day.”
“And I spiked her supper with passionflower and valerian,” said Augusta, staring at the coffee machine, as though watching it would make the carafe fill up faster. “The girl wasn’t getting enough rest. She’ll be out for the rest of the day.”
“Nice work,” said Riker, grinning. “Can I have the recipe?”
Charles surveyed the spread of paperwork in front of Riker. “Is this all of it?”
“The whole case.” Riker picked up a small stack of blue papers, each bearing the letterhead of the hospital laboratory. “One of these has to be a copy of Alma’s blue letter.” They were all addressed to Dr. Cass Shelley in her adjunctive role as the St. Jude Parish health officer. “Along with Jimmy’s confession and everything Mallory got from the computers, it’s enough for a grand jury to indict the whole pack.”
Riker bundled all the paperwork together in one pile. “I’d say it’s a wrap.” He looked down at the sleeping Jimmy Simms, and then to Charles. “Did you ever have one of those days when you just didn’t know where to put your hate?” Now he realized he was talking to the wrong person. He turned back to the stove where Augusta was stirring her pots, and she said, “Amen to that.”
He ran one hand through his graying hair. So tired. “Charles, why don’t you go back to Henry’s and get the car out of hiding? I’ll walk Jimmy over in a few minutes. I don’t want anybody to see the state’s star witness until he’s in lockup.”
“Now don’t you run him off yet.” Augusta put a mug of coffee in front of Charles. It was followed by plate after plate of foods, cooked and cold.
Riker, a coffee-and-toast man, was horrified. But eventually he was seduced by Augusta. She coaxed him with the aroma of hash browns, and she spoon-fed him tastes of batter cakes running with cane syrup.
Then, when he was stuffed and couldn’t eat another bite – just for fun she buttered a warm biscuit under his nose, and he was letting out his belt and reaching for another.
Throughout the meal – the damn orgy of breakfast – Riker could see that Charles wanted to say something, but the man was silent until Augusta had finished her coffee and left the room with a sack of birdseed for the feeders. He was not accustomed to seeing suspicion in Charles Butler, but there it was. Charles was listening to Augusta’s footsteps in the hall and the close of the front door. Now what could the old lady have done to deserve this?
“Do you have to turn Jimmy over to the sheriff?” Charles’s voice was low and conspiratorial.
Another odd note.
Riker lit a cigarette and paused a moment, waiting for the nicotine to kick in. “You got a problem with that? Is there something I should know?”
“Well, Mallory put this case together very quickly, didn’t she? And the sheriff had seventeen years.”
Oh, great. Everybody wants to be a detective.
“Okay, Charles. You figure the sheriff had something to hide?”
“It’s a reasonable conclusion, given that – ”
“This is Mallory’s work.” Riker stretched and yawned. “You’ve got acolyte fever – I know the signs.”
So Mallory had finally infected Charles. This was serious damage. He preferred the old Charles Butler, a very nice man, who genuinely liked people and suspected the best of them. Not the makings of a good cop, but a first-rate human being.
Damn Mallory.
“I’m using straightforward logic,” said Charles, somewhat defensively. “She has nothing to do with this.”
Riker rested one hand on the thick pile of paperwork. “The kid didn’t do all of this in a day. She’s been hacking into classified computers for months, chasing down leads without warrants, circumventing the Constitution of the United States, and lying like a maniac.”
He pulled out the blue sheets. “These reports on the lab work? She stole them during illegal trespass and destruction of state propert
y. Oh, and she was there the day her mother went down. I’d say she had an edge, a little bit more to work with than the sheriff had.”
“But Jessop actually knew who some of those people were.”
“He suspected them. Big difference. He couldn’t have sweated a confession from one of those bastards – not the way I did it. He could never suck up to vermin. The man just wasn’t made that way. And you’ve gotta be real convincing to make the scum love you.”
“He could have gone after them and – ”
“He wore them down the best way he could. Without evidence, he couldn’t make one solid arrest. If he’d brought in a suspect, the rest of them would’ve scattered. It’s a toy town, Charles. Jessop doesn’t have the resources to track down out-of-state runners.”
God, are you listening? Save me from the amateurs.
“He tracked down Babe Laurie’s widow,” said Charles. “He had her extradited from another state.”
“Yeah, but he got no help, zero cooperation. I saw the paperwork. Those Georgia politicos jerked him around six ways from Sunday. If Sally Laurie hadn’t waived her rights, it could’ve taken another six months.”
“Other police officers do it. They cooperate with – ”
“The feds? According to my source, Tom Jessop won’t play nice with the FBI – flat out refuses to spy on his neighbors. Can you imagine that? I got twenty bucks says the feds leaned on the Georgia boys to slow the man down.”
Now Charles seemed a little off balance. “But what about Babe Laurie? Everyone assumes he was lying in wait for Mallory. Don’t you find it – ”
“And you think the sheriff had a hand in that? Screw Babe Laurie.”
And now, time for a little therapy, my old friend.
“If you’re on Mallory’s side, everyone else is the enemy. I know you bought into that, and look what it’s done to you. You can’t recognize an honest man anymore.” Riker stubbed out his cigarette. “You’re a blind man now. That’s what it cost you to stand by Mallory.”
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