by Marc Olden
Bess said, “Israel, if I didn’t care would I be here tonight?”
Felix Plante said, “Be smart, dude. We ain’t asking you to give up your friends or your relatives. We just want you to tell us who killed your own brother and cousin. You people think it’s cool not to talk to cops. Well, keeping your mouth shut ain’t going to cut it. If you’re man enough to make babies, you’re man enough to take care of your own, you get where I’m coming from?”
Israel Baez looked out of the car window. “There were two of em, a man and a woman. They was old—well, kind of old. Man had white hair and he wasn’t too tall. The woman she tall, with thick eyeglasses. Both had knives. They was strange.”
“What do you mean by strange?” asked Joseph Bess.
“Like before they come near us, they put they arms in the air and say weird things. It was like they was mad at us for cuttin’ on the tree. Yeah, that was it. They killed my brother and my cousin just because they was playin’ around with that little tree.”
Felix Plante shook his head. “Man, I heard a lot of jive talk on this job but I ain’t never heard no jive like that.”
“I have,” said Joseph Bess. He shifted nervously in the front seat. “I have,” he repeated.
EIGHTEEN
THE MORNING AFTER SHE’D picked him up at Kennedy Airport, Marisa stole the Book of Shadows from Robert’s apartment. It was Saturday, a day made solemn and gray by a late June rain.
While Robert slept, a nude Marisa carefully gathered her clothes, boots, and purse from the bedroom then tiptoed into the living room. She dressed quickly, listening for sounds indicating that Robert might be waking up. He had been exhausted and depressed and she’d had no trouble convincing him to take a couple of sleeping pills.
Still, when she finished dressing she walked back to the bedroom and looked inside. He slept on his back, arms wide, as though waiting to be crucified. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach reminded Marisa of the first time she’d ever forgotten her lines onstage. She’d been seventeen and there had been a stench to the panic she’d felt then and there was that same smell in her nostrils now.
And the same dampness behind her neck, along with perspiring hands, Flop sweat, actors called it. The sweating you did when your act wasn’t going over.
Wiping her hands on her thighs, she backed away from the bedroom and walked to the living room, stopping in front of a low coffee table whose glass top was hidden under piles of books. Robert didn’t believe in Druids or their vengeance, so there wasn’t any need for him to hide the Book of Shadows. It was on the coffee table, under a dictionary and Bartlett’s Quotations. Marisa pulled it from beneath the pile and stared at it.
The Book of Shadows was an ugly thing, its thick brown binding cracked and peeling. The pages were discolored, a faded yellow covered by an almost illegible scrawl written in pale brown ink. Spells, rituals, and incantations, Jack Lyle had said. Marisa turned a few pages, frowning at the peculiar smell of the old paper. She couldn’t understand one word in the book. She wondered if Robert did. Since the book had fallen into his hands he’d become prosperous and a celebrity, the two things he’d hungered for. Was he using the power Jack Lyle had said was in the book, or had Robert merely gotten lucky?
Marisa, the book under her arm, left Robert’s apartment. Pressed against her flesh the book seemed to burn her skin, and when she got outside in the rain, she ducked into a delicatessen, bought milk and orange juice, and asked the clerk for a shopping bag.
She put the book in the bag with her purchases and carried the bag by its straps, feeling better now that the book no longer touched any part of her.
The rain began to come down harder, suddenly turning colder.
Marisa said, “I suppose I should have telephoned first. But I was in a hurry to see—”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m just sorry Joseph’s not here. Something came up, some sort of emergency that’s always happening with police work, and he had to go out.”
“It was Princess Grace,” said Gina, interrupting her aunt. “Daddy got a call from Princess Grace and he had to go out and meet her.”
Edith, Bess’s sister-in-law, smiled knowingly at Marisa. “Sometimes I think it’s better to just let things be, if you understand what I’m saying.”
Marisa, who sat on the couch beside her, fingered the hem of a rain-wet skirt. She smiled at Edith. “I agree. Explanations can be confusing.”
“I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you,” said Edith. “I watch your show every day and Joseph, well he talks about you all the time. Did you two have an appointment today?”
Marisa shook her head. “No, no. I’m here unannounced and unexpected. Did he say when he’d return?”
Edith threw her head back, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “Now that’s one thing you never ask a cop. He shows up when he shows up. There’s no telling how long he’ll be gone. Was there something special you two had on for today? Oh, I’m sorry. You said you didn’t have a date.”
Marisa looked at the small, birdlike woman who sat up straight on the edge of the couch, her knees pressed tightly together and arms folded across her breasts as though keeping the world safely at a distance. Her name was Edith Gupta and she was married to an Indian doctor, who Joseph Bess said was the quietest man he’d ever met. The detective claimed that Edith and her husband often went days without speaking to one another and were perfectly content this way.
Marisa had taxied downtown through the rain to bring the Book of Shadows to Bess, to see if he could make some sense out of it, to give him more proof that she was telling the truth about the terror that now filled her life. But he wasn’t here. There was only Gina, his skinny blond daughter, and Edith, who’d offered Marisa coffee and a towel to dry her hair.
Maybe she should have telephoned first and saved herself a trip to the Village, but she’d wanted to get rid of this book as quickly as possible. That was it. She was here because she wanted to let someone else hold on to the book, to let them live with what she’d been living with. But Joseph Bess wasn’t at home and Marisa couldn’t leave the book with Gina and Edith. The Druids and their friends had ways of finding out anything they wanted to know. If the book was in this apartment, sooner or later the Druids would know it.
Marisa hoped Joseph Bess would figure out what to do with it. She sure as hell couldn’t. Bess was a cop, a man who could take care of himself. He knew what he was getting into. Marisa couldn’t give the book to Gina and Edith, not without speaking to Joseph Bess first. A woman and a child against the Druids wasn’t much of a fight. Gina had already been through hell once in her young life. Marisa couldn’t put her through more.
The telephone rang in the bedroom and Edith stood up. “Excuse me. It might be Joseph or some of his friends. He does have unusual friends.”
And then she was gone. From the bedroom she called out, “It’s not Joseph.”
Marisa wanted to cry. Instead she sighed and looked at the shopping bag on the floor near her feet.
“Daddy likes you,” said Gina. “He won’t come out and say it, but he does. I can tell.”
Marisa smiled weakly. Joseph Bess wasn’t the type to talk much and apparently neither were Edith and Doctor Gupta. No wonder they all got along with each other.
“Your daddy’s a nice man. I have to leave now. Would you tell him I was here? Tell him … tell him I have the book.”
Gina leaned her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “What book?”
“He’ll know. Tell him I have it, that I’ll be home all day. I’m not on the show Monday and Tuesday, so I can meet him any time that’s convenient for him. Can you remember that?”
Gina shrugged. “Sure. I’m smart. I’ll be twelve next month. I’ll call the precinct and leave a message. I do that all the time. Daddy always calls in. He has to. You came all this way to give Daddy a book?”
“It’s a special book.”
“Can I see it?”
“Uh, it
’s … it’s wrapped. There’s nothing to see.”
Edith Gupta returned with a shake of the head. “You wouldn’t believe the calls he gets. This one is from a very strange man—”
“Lester,” said Gina. “I can tell. You’ve got that icky look on your face.”
“Lester calls here all the time,” said Edith. “He claims he has some news for Joseph, but he doesn’t really. He, uh, he …”
The little woman hesitated.
Gina waved her away. “Aw, Aunt Edith, you know I know, so why don’t you just come out and say what’s really happening?”
The girl looked at Marisa. “Lester’s a snitch, an informant, except he’s a chump, a loser. He doesn’t really have anything to tell Daddy but he keeps calling him anyway. Lester’s in love with my father. I mean it’s not real icky or anything. There are certain kinds of guys who fall in love with cops and Lester’s one. He just uses this informant bit to call up and talk to Daddy. Daddy’s not interested.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Marisa. “How did your father meet Lester?”
“Busted him for stealing ladies’ underwear off clotheslines. Lester would sneak into people’s backyards and just rip off brassieres, corsets, parity hose, stuff like that.”
Edith walked forward and put an arm around Gina’s tiny shoulders as a means of silencing her. The birdlike woman said, “Gina knows things most children never encounter in their entire lives.”
The girl giggled, showing a mouthful of braces. “Yeah. I think it’s neat.”
Marisa stood up. “I have to leave now. Thanks very much for the coffee and the towel.”
She looked down at the shopping bag as though it contained a cobra. “Please have Joseph call me as soon as he can. I would really appreciate it.”
After hanging up the phone, Anthony Paul Bofil lifted the receiver and carefully began to dial. The phone was safe. Twice a week Bofil had the phones in his homes and offices electronically “cleaned,” searched for wire taps. It was shortly before noon and, in addition to having read all of the Saturday newspapers, he had also read the political and financial sections of the New York and Washington Sunday newspapers. Both were delivered to him twenty-four hours prior to publication, no matter where he happened to be. Bofil prided himself on being well informed and as far in advance of others as possible.
He was a large, handsome man of forty-four, with thick black hair and fastidious taste in clothes and grooming that allowed him to spend two thousand dollars on a bathrobe and three hundred dollars an ounce on a bottle of imported scent. This morning he’d used the scent for the first time and decided that the fragrance bored him. Rather than give it away to someone he knew and thus encounter the fragrance again, he’d poured the bottle down the toilet. Bofil also knew that sooner or later he’d tire of the expensive robe.
He would dispose of it as he did of most of his unwanted clothing, which was to patiently and methodically slash the clothing to ribbons. The strips and pieces of material would then be placed in boxes, sealed, and sent to the incinerator. Bofil believed in ending a thing completely—finish what should be finished.
It was a matter of being decisive and precise. A decisive man avoided chaos. A precise man avoided wasting, time, money, energy, and other valuable resources. As a changeling Bofil had to be on guard against the one mistake which might lead to exposure. All of his habits were geared to preventing that.
The dirty infighting of politics also helped create caution in him, and the result was a shrewd and clever man who covered his ambition with charm and had the reputation of never making a mistake. He was also a man who never forgot his enemies or what they had done to him.
When he’d finished dialing he listened to the ringing at the other end. He brought the palm of one hand to his nose, inhaled, and winced as though in pain. He shook his head, wondering whatever possessed him to purchase that scent in the first place.
Then …
“Hello?” The voice at the other end was thick with sleep.
“Cornell, this is Solomon,” said Bofil, using his coven name. “I want you to do something for me.”
“Can’t it wait? Jesus, I’ve only had a couple hours’ sleep.”
“It’s past noon, Cornell. If you’re going to debauch yourself all night it’s a good idea to take the phone off the hook. I’ve just received a call telling me the Book of Shadows is now in the hands of Marisa Heggen.”
Cornell Castle yawned in Bofil’s ear. “So? I mean, why tell me? Oh, I see. You want me to tell the Comforts. They still think Seldes has it.”
“I want you to get it and I want you to bring it to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Listen carefully. Get the book from Marisa Heggen and bring it to me. And do it now. Kiss that pretty boy sleeping beside you goodbye and get your ass over to her apartment. Might be a good idea to take someone with you. Heggen’s probably alone, but why take chances?”
“Whoa. Run that by me again.”
Bofil shook his head. “You can be dense at times. I want the book. I don’t want the Comforts to have it. You and I have gone through this before. No one owns me, Cornell. No one. I don’t like the idea of my name being in the kind of book that could cause me a lot of trouble were it to fall into the wrong hands. My plans don’t call for anyone pulling the strings on me or my career. I’ve got too much to lose, and I’ve worked too hard to share what I’ve got with anybody. Now I want you to bring that book to me. When I’ve got it, I’ll be in a position to finesse the Comforts into a situation they can’t get out of. In other words, Cornell, the book is the bait in a trap I’m setting for our English friends.”
“I see.”
“I certainly hope so. When’s the last time you spoke to them?”
Cornell Castle snorted. “As a matter of fact, this morning. They called just before you did. They’re still pissed about what happened at the airport yesterday. I’ve got to tell you they definitely don’t like Marisa Heggen. Our English friends, as you call them, were all set to grab Seldes and get the book when the actress shows up, spots them, and calls in airport security. Sent the Comforts running away with their tails between their legs. Really shook them up. They’ve changed hotels and Mrs. Comfort’s arm is acting up.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Has nothing to do with Gregory, I don’t think. Rupert—Christ, what a name! Rupert says he thinks the earth they used for a poultice is probably impure. They took some dirt from Central Park and he thinks the dirt’s probably filled with chemicals, additives and shit like that, and that’s why her arm’s infected. He told me they’d be resting at the hotel at least until tonight.”
Bofil smiled. “Which means they’re not watching Miss Heggen.” ’
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Cornell Castle yawned then said, “Hey wait a minute. Aren’t she and that cop—”
“You don’t have to worry about that cop. He’s not with her at the moment.”
“How do you know?”
“Cornell, please.”
“Okay, okay. If you say he’s not with her, he’s not with her.”
Bofil smelled his palm. “I’ve arranged for Detective Sergeant Joseph Bess to close one of my accounts for me. He’s busy with that at the moment.”
“Which account is that?”
“Raymond.”
The understanding crept into Cornell Castle’s voice. “You’re a fox, man. An ever loving fox. You’ve got us all moving around like we’re pieces on a chessboard. Wow! A cop taking care of business for you. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“He’s not aware that he’s taking care of Raymond for me, but what does it matter? The job’s getting done and Raymond will shortly cease to be a source of potential embarrassment.”
“And after him come the Comforts.”
“Exactly. They’re a danger to the coven and they’re a danger to me. Unless the Comforts are removed from our lives pretty soon, someone’s going to connect their str
ing of homicides with you, me, and our associates, and none of us are going to be happy about it. Joseph Bess is the kind of man who could do just that. So far he hasn’t. We’re being helped by the fact that Bess knows he can’t convince anybody to believe tales of black magic and dark forces at work. I’d like to remove the Comforts from the scene before someone starts believing Bess and Miss Heggen. My plan begins with your getting the Book of Shadows.”
Cornell Castle chose his words carefully. “What about Marisa Heggen?”
“What about her?”
“She’s not going to hand over the book without a fuss.”
“No, she’s not. She’s waiting to hand it over to Bess. If you’re asking me how to handle it, all I can say is get the book, Cornell. Get it any way you can. Miss Heggen is of no consequence.”
Cornell Castle said, “She put up a pretty good fight with Gregory. I just might have to off her.”
“Goodbye, Cornell. The lady has the next three days off. However, I expect to hear from you within the hour.”
Bofil hung up. He smiled as he thought of the perfume he’d poured down the toilet.
NINETEEN
JOSEPH BESS LED THE way, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he walked quietly down the dark, narrow hallway toward the last apartment on the left. When he reached it he flattened himself against the wall to the right of the door and pulled his .38 Smith & Wesson from his belt holster, thumbing off the safety in the same motion. Felix Plante, who’d been behind him, took a position against the wall on the other side of the door.
Inside the apartment a dog barked and a man laughed and said, “Fuckin’ dog. Who told you to eat that garbage?”
Another male voice, this one muffled by the music from a televised disco show, said something, and the first man replied, “Maybe tomorrow. Depends. You’re dealing with other people and you know how that is.”
Joseph Bess looked at Felix and held up two fingers. Two men in the apartment. At least two, maybe more. Felix held up one finger and mouthed the word dog and rolled his eyes.