The spring air was blessed with a blossom smell.The rain had washed the city nearly clean. Puddles sat like mirrors, reflecting the last pinks and reds of the sky. Dave walked around them and told himself that miracles were waiting to happen on such a fine night.
Standing in the small foyer, he buzzed and waited until Megan came down the stairs. She looked smart: blue silk blouse, white linen jacket, black short skirt, expensive pumps. Her welcoming smile had an incandescent warmth.
They kissed for a full minute. When she touched the holstered revolver under his armpit, she broke the embrace. “Dave, about your friend Jimmy. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes filled and he held her again, close, until the feel of her body drove away his grief. He kissed her hard, his mouth demanding.
“Detective Dillon,” she gasped, pulling away for air. “I’d like to take you right back upstairs.”
“Let’s go,” Dave said hoarsely, pulling her back to him.
The street door opened and a couple entered, embarrassed to have interrupted.
Dave and Megan released each other. “Oh, hi,” Megan said awkwardly.They nodded and smiled.
“Maybe we should go to dinner,” Megan said, taking his arm. “I do have us a reservation at a great place nearby. And then —” She giggled throatily.
Dave stroked her face and joined in her smile. “Whatever you say.”
“I’ll remember that,” Megan laughed.
They walked to the restaurant in the buoyant air. Megan held Dave’s arm with both hands, pressing her body against his. They passed the doughnut shop and the men inside waved.
“Isn’t one of those guys a congressman?” Dave said.
“I don’t know. I’m only looking at one guy tonight,” Megan said archly and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“Listen, let’s not talk about serious stuff: Jimmy, Nita, the case. Let’s just talk about us tonight, okay?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Megan agreed with a smile. “Carlo is giving us an alcove in the back. Practically no one can see us there. It’ll be lovely.”
“Nobody can see us?” Dave caressed her forearm. “Sounds kind of dangerous to me.”
“I am dangerous, my love.”
Nita walked briskly toward the crisis center. Tim would already be there for the hotline shift. She was late. She was never late. But an hour had simply slipped away. More. She remembered hearing the screaming as if it had come from someone else. And catching the blue fish, flinging it hard against the wall, then stomping it into a pulp. She remembered the neighbors pounding on the door and asking if she was all right. She remembered yelling at them through the door to go away and leave her alone. She remembered sinking to the floor, sitting on the hard surface, her head in her hands.
Control? Where had it fled?
Two blocks from the crisis center, the footsteps started again. Right behind her. Keeping pace. When she spun around, she actually had the gun half out. A shadow seemed to slip into a dark doorway.
“Ace, is that you?” she growled. She approached the doorway, gun pointed ahead of her, combat ready. There was no one there. Of course. She stuffed the .45 back into her bag and resumed walking, resisting the impulse to check over her shoulder.
At work, Tim buzzed maternally around her. “How are you? You look awful. Do you want to go home?”
“No, I do not.” Nita’s voice was a bark. “Leave me alone.” Tim backed off. “Sorry for breathing, I’m sure,” he said petulently.
Sweeney was not in his customary position. Still hurt, Tim said he’d finally been reassigned. He had asked Tim to tell her goodbye. “Why, I don’t know, Miss Grumpy.”
Nita ignored him and sat at her desk. The paperwork in her in-box had piled high, yet she didn’t feel like touching it. She stared at the mound and did nothing.
“Want me to help you deal with this,” Tim offered tentatively, gesturing at her in-box. “It’s really overflowing.”
Nita picked up the in-box stack and dumped it in her wastepaper basket.
“Well,”Tim said. “Somebody has the rag on tonight.” He returned to his desk.
The phone rang. Nita reached for it.
Ace sat on the overpass wall beside Grand Central, legs dangling over the rushing cars below. He had been laughing for some time.
He glanced up at the huge clock on the building stories above. He adjusted the gun, which was sticking unpleasantly into his side, patting it fondly. He frowned suddenly and checked his jeans pocket. He dug until he found a quarter, put it back, and resumed laughing.
Secure in their alcove in the back of the neighborhood restaurant, Dave and Megan drank their wine and looked at each other dreamily in the glow of the table’s single candle. Everything they said to each other provoked delighted laughter.
“You could move into my place —” he said.
“That photo collection will have to go, of course.”
They laughed, never taking their gaze from each other. “No need for them if I’m off the force,” he said.
She stopped laughing and gripped his hand. “If that happens,
what will you do?”
Dave shifted his attention to his wineglass. “I’ll figure it out. See,
I’ve always been a cop. Police work is in my family. There has to be
something beyond that, though.”
Megan squeezed his hand. “You’ll be okay, darling. I believe in
you.”
Dave met her eyes again and leaned over to kiss her. “Thank you.
And you, what will you do?”
Now it was Megan’s turn to turn her attention to the wine in her
glass. “Finish my degree. Get on with my profession.”
“Maybe we should start over someplace else. Get out of town.”
He laughed to show he was kidding, but for the first time his laughter
sounded forced.
Luckily, Carlo chose that moment to bring the veal. Dave and Megan were eating lustily in perfect harmony, the wine
heating their blood and their teasing taking on overtones of foreplay,
when Dave’s beeper went off.
Dave listened intently to the recorded conversation. “So, she never says exactly where she’s going to meet him?”
Jamie was close to him, leaning against the console in the cramped surveillance van, her polished ebony cheekbones gleaming in the dim lighting. “Just that it’s somewhere they met before. I presume it’s nearby.”
“And she hasn’t made a move?”
Safir, his eyes glued to binoculars in the front seat of the van, shook his head. “Nobody’s left the crisis center since the shift changed and she and Tim got there.”
“Nobody at all,” echoed Wise, waiting his turn in the driver’s seat.
“Play that last part back again, would you,” Dave asked.
Jamie hit a button and Nita’s voice filled the van.
“I know you’re upset. If you’ve killed a man, I know you feel hurt and depressed but I don’t want you to do anything —”
The side door of the van slammed open, startling all of them. Wise had his gun out of his holster first, pointing it two-handed over the back of the front seat. Dave was on his feet in a split second, moving in front of the gun, reaching out.
Megan stood in the open doorway, half scared, half puzzled, taking in the scene before her. Nita’s voice continued to talk soothingly, intercut with Ace’s jittery staccato, alternately cajoling, threatening, begging.
Dave grabbed Megan’s arm and pulled her inside. “You were supposed to wait in the car.” Jamie slammed the rolling door shut behind her.With a curse,Wise holstered his gun.
Nita’s voice purred, “Ace, you know I can’t say I’ll meet you outside the crisis center, especially at night, but perhaps you should go back to the place where we last saw each other —”
“I can’t believe this,” Megan shouted, as the reality of the situation sunk in. Belatedly, Jamie hit a button and
Nita’s voice was cut off.
“You’re spying on us.” She angrily shook off Dave’s hand.
“Listen, Megan —”
“Listen, nothing.”
Safir cut them both off. “She’s leaving the building. Let’s roll.”
Dave shouted, “Stay back.We don’t want her seeing us, but don’t lose her.”
Megan was furious. “You’re using her as bait! I don’t believe it.”
“Keep her here,” Dave said to Jamie as he took out his weapon, checking the clip.
“Dave!” Jamie protested.
“Don’t bother,” Megan snapped indignantly. “I’m leaving.”
Dave was frantic, trying to switch gears from cop to caring in sixty seconds. “Please, Megan,” he begged, “I’ll explain later. I promise.”
“How could you? You’re letting her meet some lunatic out there. You could get her killed.”
Dave and Jamie both lunged for her but Megan ducked out of the van’s side door before either of them could grab her.
“Stay here,” Dave commanded Jamie, jumping out the door behind Megan.
“Dave —” Jamie protested.
Safir and Wise got out and slammed the side doors, too. They glanced at Dave.
“She’s already at the corner,” whispered Saffir.
“Let’s not lose her,” whispered Wise.
Jamie leaned out the open side door. “What about Megan, Dave?” “Forget her.We go after the other one.”
The three men raced off into the night.
The street was swept clean of humanity. Events were clicking into place like the sound of Nita’s shoes on the nighttime pavement. Nita felt that old tingle of anticipation, heightened by the thrill of being back in command again.
She hurried along the dim street, the occasional tree making strange shadows and stranger murmuring sounds in a light breeze off the river. When she heard the footsteps behind her, she almost broke stride but did not. She did not look back.
Megan cursed under her breath. She wasn’t sure which way Nita had gone. She hurried as fast as she could past the crisis center and west, toward the river, toward the darkness. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought a man ran silently past on the other side of the dim street. She cursed the pumps she was wearing that slowed her. She cursed herself.
The playground loomed ahead in the darkness. Nita hesitated before entering. No sign of Ace. The playground, a phantasmagoria of bars and slides and swings, cast strange angular shadows. Nothing breathed there, other than the air, faintly stirring off the river.
Nita crossed the dim, desolate lot.When Ace popped up, part of the long shadows of the jungle gym, she stopped. He approached her cautiously. In the half-light, his sickly pallor seemed ghostly.
At the corner, at a nod from Dave, Safir turned south,Wise north, and Dave ran straight on alone.
Sobbing with frustration and fear, Megan paused to take off her pumps.When she glanced up, she was sure she saw Dave, illuminated in the light from a passing car, at the intersection at the end of the block. He was running easily and he had his gun out.
“Noooooo,” she cried, flinging the shoes away and sprinting after
him.
Ace pulled back the leather jacket to show Nita his holstered gun. “I killed someone. I did. I did it for you.”
Nita pulled the .45 out of her bag. “Thanks.”
“Nita,” Ace croaked. “I did it for you.”
She took perfect aim at his head.
“Please.” Ace began to sob.
“Freeze. Police.”
Nita swiveled to face the shouted command.There was a man behind her. There was a running man, coming into the playground. He had a gun out. Dave Dillon.
“Nobody move,” the detective bellowed. As if he owned the city. As if he weren’t just another parasite.
Nita pulled the trigger.
Megan’s heart was beating wildly and she was running as fast as she could, her skirt hiked up her thighs, her long legs pumping.
When she heard the shot, she nearly stumbled and she screamed Nita’s name. The second shot seemed to propel her forward as she raced into the darkened playground, her head light with fear.
There were more shots but Megan ignored them. A child’s swing was moving, and in the light reflected off its metal surface she glimpsed a figure on the ground.
Screaming, oblivious to everything else, she raced to the fallen figure.
At first, kneeling, panting, beside Nita, Megan thought she might have just fallen. She was lying on her back, her head to one side. Megan slowly, tentatively, reached for her friend. She touched Nita’s perfect face, traced the line of her exquisite cheek with her hand. She spoke Nita’s name softly, like a caress.
Somewhere behind her, there were shots being fired and gruff men’s voices. Someone was shouting her name, telling her to stay down. None of it registered.
Nita’s eyes were open and Megan thought she was about to speak to her. Megan leaned closer. She thought that Nita was crying. Nita’s right eye, the side of her face that was down in the shadows, seemed to have shed a tear, a solitary red tear. Megan gently put her fingertips to the point of Nita’s chin and turned her face toward her.
Then she saw the blasted eye, the skull shattered and dripping, the horror of a beloved face exploded in violent death. Megan’s stomach churned, the blood drained from her head.
Her first shriek was thin and strangely high-pitched, as if from a small wild animal. But soon her throat cleared and her tortured screams, full-bodied and awful, shook the night.
SEVENTEEN
From then on, time fast-forwarded for Dave through curtains of static. He moved through it as if in a trance.
Lt. Blake materializing at the playground to personally take his statement. Surrendering his service revolver to Blake, so the crime-scene people could inspect it and log it. Safir and Wise coming back, reporting that they had once again lost Ace, whose talent for disappearing in this city was becoming a legend.
Making a longer, videotaped statement at the precinct. Drinking cup after cup of coffee, Jamie always at his side. Blake recommending that he take a leave.Take a few days.
Asking Jamie and Blake about Megan. Getting no good answer. She was hospitalized, sedated. No one would let him know where.
Going home as dawn neared and ripping down the photos of the Ladykiller victims. Trying to sleep. Awakening from nightmares with the cat licking his face.
When he went in to work, over protests from Blake, Dave learned that Nita had kept a record of all her clients on a computer disk at her apartment. Safir and Wise had turned that up in their search.
Ace was still missing.
Dave asked about Megan but he knew he was being stonewalled. Blake went with him downtown to One Police Plaza where he
had to endure Mancuso’s back-slapping and fake smile. Dave accepted his clammy handshake for the cameras. He was numb. He could think only of Megan.
Standing next to Mancuso at the press conference with no other
Ladykiller task force members present, not even Blake, Dave listened to how Mancuso had all but cracked the case. He was lauded by Mancuso for blowing away the dread menace. He listened to Mancuso say that the city’s streets were safe again.
Jamie drove him to Jimmy Conlon’s wake. He hugged Jimmy’s mother, who thanked him for killing the demon who took her son. He overheard Jimmy’s fellow journalists complaining bitterly that Chip, Laird, and the other office politicos couldn’t attend the wake because they were dining with the publisher.The newspaper had sent a big wreath.
Jamie was at his side always.
Dave watched his mother whisper to Mrs. Corrigan, as they sat in the corner of the room, about the black girl who was after her Dave. He didn’t need to hear the words to know exactly what they were saying.
Jamie knew, too, but she didn’t care. She knew that Dave was like an invalid, still in shock, and badly in need of care. She tried not to think about the
future, but a tiny voice kept whispering that patients always fell in love with their nurses eventually. She could wait.
Dave heard not a word of congratulations from his mother to her boy, the hero cop.
Standing beside Jimmy’s closed coffin, passing his hand over its fine wood, Dave said farewell.
Dave called the crisis center and got the runaround about contacting Megan. He left repeated messages on her answering machine, hearing her cheerful, sexy recorded voice, until the machine was turned off or stopped functioning.Then the phone just rang and rang.
At home, Dave tried to sleep, awakening once more to the rasp of the cat’s tongue.
He bought all the newspapers.
The most telling headline: LADYKILLER WAS A LADY. The subhead
read: COP BLOWS AWAY KILLER SOCIAL WORKER. The tabloid had a large
picture of Nita on its front page. She looked beautiful.
After a wasted day at work, pushing papers around like a zombie,
Dave gently turned aside Jamie’s suggestion that they have dinner. “Not hungry,” Dave said. “Sorry.”
“Then you gotta be thirsty,” Jamie purred.
Wise butted in: “Yeah, let’s party.You know the rules.” Safir added, “You got to, Dave.You crack the case, you buy.” Dave let himself be taken to McSorley’s. A couple dozen cops
with beers in their big hands came up to touch their glasses to his, clap him on the shoulder, punch his arm. Jamie, a fixture on the stool next to him, kept finding excuses to touch him.
Blake on the other side, asked: “So, Dave, you gonna take some time off?”
“Yes, sir. Maybe a little while. I’ve got some, uh, personal matters I’d like to handle.”
“Fine,” Blake said. “Just tell me how much time you need.”
Dave stood up. The others looked at him, a little drunkenly, expectantly, as if he were going to make a speech. “I’d like to start now, if that’s all right.” He threw some money on the bar and headed out.
“Dave?” Jamie called after him.
Blake put his arm around her. “Don’t,” he said.
Encouraged by the recent rainfall, pink blossoms had burst forth on even the scrawniest tree that poked out of the Manhattan bedrock.To Dave, however, they barely existed. He headed toward the West Side Crisis Center, dead to the flowery morning that proclaimed itself around him.
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