Ladykiller

by Lawrence Light

  When he entered the customary bedlam of the crisis center, the clients stopped their bawling, crying, and drooling at once. Silently, they watched him pass, headed for the stairs.The heat of their staring prickled his skin.

  Only one of them approached him, the fellow from outer space. “She was a goddess,” he said to Dave, and he about-faced indignantly, marching back into his madness.

  “A goddess,” someone in the crowd cried.

  “Goddess,” another client echoed, more loudly.

  By the time Dave got to the stairs, the entire group was shouting, “Goddess.”

  At the top of the stairs, the social workers at their desks also stared at Dave. No sign of Megan.

  The young gay guy, Tim, stood up as Dave passed. “Nita Bergstrom was no murderer,” he said, his voice shaking.

  Dave didn’t even slow down.

  Dave met Dr. Solomon in the corridor outside his office.

  “Oh, dear,” Dr. Solomon said, dismayed to encounter Dave.

  “I want to see Megan,” Dave said.

  “She isn’t here, I’m afraid.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s fine, physically,” Dr. Solomon said. “I put her in the hospital for some rest. I regret to say I’m not going to tell you which one. They’re sending her home tomorrow. I asked her to stay with Mrs. Solomon and me for a while, but she refused.”

  “Is she — calmed down?”

  “She’s on Valium. You’ve got to realize that she’s had a horrible shock. Nita was her best friend and mentor.”

  Dave nodded. “I know.”

  “And I gather that you meant something to her too.” Dr. Solomon’s demeanor was kindly.

  “I was hoping that I meant a lot to her. I’m in love with her,” Dave said.

  “Well,” Dr. Solomon said, “when your boyfriend kills your best friend, that’s a pretty major trauma, wouldn’t you say? Her whole world is shattered. She needs time to pick up the pieces.”

  “Yeah.Thanks, doc.”

  “We all need some time,” Dr. Solomon said.

  “Time,” Dave said hollowly.

  “Yes. I’d have staked my professional reputation on Nita. Hard to conceive of her as a killer. What a remarkable woman.” Dr. Solomon walked sadly away.

  Dave leaned his forehead miserably against the corridor wall. “Time?” he said plaintively to himself.

  •••

  The next day, Megan left Mount Sinai Hospital and caught a cab down Fifth Avenue.The blossoms of Central Park were explosions of joyous pinks and whites, and as they bobbed past the cab window in brightspirited array, she tried to interest herself in their beauty.

  She spotted the tabloid on the floor.Yesterday’s.With Nita’s picture on the front page. She picked the paper up and held it in her lap, examining it while the cab slid down spring-blessed Fifth Avenue. With her fingertip she traced the contours of Nita’s dear, familiar, exquisitely beautiful face. She stared at it for a long time.

  Then Megan slowly crumpled the front page in her fist.

  Finesse and Falstaff were assuming the position against a fence that sported a massive poster for the Big Apple Circus. Palms open against the poster’s clown faces and animal acts, feet spread over the filthy sidewalk.

  “Why do I gotta do this?” Finesse complained. “This is shit.” “I wouldn’t anger the gendarmes,” Falstaff advised.

  Blitzer, the young cop, stood behind them, within whacking

  distance with his nightstick. “Where is he?”

  “I ain’t seen him since he went batshit in the Foxy Lady,” Finesse

  said.

  “Our good man, Ace, has developed into quite the will-othe-wisp,” Falstaff said. “He doesn’t vouchsafe his whereabouts to the

  likes of us, I assure you.”

  “We’ll be coming down hard on you till we find this asshole,”

  young Blitzer said. “A word to the wise.”

  Martino came running up. “I think we got him,” she said. The two uniformed cops ran along the Deuce to a shanty of cardboard boxes. Something was inside, moving.

  Martino radioed for backup. She and Blitzer both drew their

  sidearms. “Come on out, Ace,” she commanded. “We know you’re in

  there.”

  But the face that appeared was that of Stinky, the old bag lady.

  “Can’t I get no rest?” she growled.

  As the two cops slumped away, Blitzer asked his partner, “Why

  do they care so much about bagging Ace? He killed one useless hump

  and wounded another.We ought to give him a medal.”

  “Lt. Blake feels he’ll go after Dillon.”

  “Dillon?”

  “Ace was obsessed with Nita Bergstrom,” Martino said. “And

  who put a bullet through his beloved’s head?”

  “Shit.”

  The phone was ringing in Megan’s empty apartment. Then came the jangle of keys in the lock She came in carrying several packages.

  She kicked the door shut behind her. The phone rang again. Megan glanced at the phone as she put down the packages. The answering machine clicked on. She had erased all the messages without listening to them.The tape was rewound.

  Dave’s voice, warm and rich, filled the apartment. “Megan, I know you don’t want to talk to me just yet. But I want you to know I’ll be here. When you’re ready.” The voice faltered toward the end. After a moment, he hung up.

  Megan ignored the phone. She carefully opened the small package and held her new prize up to the light. The plastic bag was filled with water and it revolved slowly as she held it aloft.

  Inside the plastic bag of water swam a beautiful, bright blue fish.

  The crisis center staff was assembled but the meeting was not yet in full drone.They were awaiting the arrival of Dr. Solomon before it officially began. No one had seen him, and the question was whether he had remembered. People tried to talk about any other topic than the one foremost in their minds.

  Then Tim chimed in, bad taste as usual getting the better of even his own sentiments.

  “Did you hear the one about the social worker who wanted to change the world?” he asked archly. “She really took a shot at it.”

  There were scattered gasps and nervous giggles. Tim didn’t notice Megan when she came in behind him.

  “Did you hear the one about the social worker who wanted to challenge her clients?” he pressed on. “She blew their minds.”

  The silence this time was ominous. Tim turned around and saw Megan in the doorway, standing there without expression. Tim grimaced apologetically.

  “Everybody knows how I felt about Nita,” Tim said. “Well — life goes on, doesn’t it?”

  Dr. Solomon entered the room in his customary fog. He conducted the entire meeting without noticing Megan. It was only at the end of the session, when Rose made a fuss over Megan, that he saw her. He asked Megan into his office, where she stood stiffly before his desk. He sat looking worriedly at her.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little soon?” Dr. Solomon asked.

  “I need to get back to work, Dr. Solomon,” Megan said. “I need the routine. I need to feel useful. I need to do something.”

  “Well —”

  “And I’m on the schedule to work the hotline tonight anyway, with Rose. She gets scared at night, and I can soothe her,” Megan said.

  “Oh,” Dr. Solomon said, “I couldn’t possibly —”

  “This will be the best thing for me, sir,” Megan said, and she moved to leave. “Thanks, Dr. Solomon.”

  She smiled and walked out briskly. Dr. Solomon sat behind his desk, pondering.

  That night, the wind invaded the streets from the west, jostling the blossoms, threatening to strip them from the tree branches. Megan poured herself a cup of coffee while Rose nattered on.

  “So tell me how you really are, dear,” Rose said.

  “I’ll be fine, Rose,” Megan said. “But I don’t want to talk
for a while. Is that okay?”

  “I understand completely,” Rose said. “I won’t say a word.”And of course, as soon as she perched on her desk chair, she started her running commentary. “We’re going to be in for another big rainstorm. I heard on the radio —”

  Megan blocked it out. She sat behind Nita’s desk and went through Nita’s drawers.They all were empty.

  “The police did that: emptied the drawers and took all Nita’s belongings away,” Rose said. “They came in here, with that black girl detective.The one that’s so pretty —”

  The desk, with its vacant drawers pulled out, transfixed Megan.

  Rose wasn’t sure whether Megan would cry, so she chattered still louder.The phone rang, startling them both.

  Megan gestured at Rose that she would answer. She picked up Nita’s receiver. “Crisis center,” Megan said into it. “Can I help you?”

  “Do you know who this is?” the voice at the other end muttered. A sizzle of lighting made the crisis center windows glow.

  “It’s Ace, isn’t it?” Megan said. The following thunder erupted loudly. Another phone rang and Rose answered briskly.

  “You saw her dead, didn’t you? You saw what they did to her, didn’t you?”

  “I saw,” Megan said. She felt her throat dry up.

  “You know she didn’t do it, don’t you?” Ace said.

  “She didn’t do it?” Megan said breathlessly.

  “I’m the one,”Ace said, anguished. “I’m the Ladykiller. I did them all. Every one.”

  Megan could hear her heart pounding. She was gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles were white.

  Ace continued,“She was innocent. And I can prove it.”

  The lightning lit up the windows again.The thunder came more quickly this time.The storm was closing in.

  “Tell me.”

  “I can do better than that,” Ace said. “I can show you.”

  Megan gasped, her hand to her throat. “Where?”

  The night air held the electricity of the approaching storm. Eerie shadows jumped and writhed in the rising wind, which coursed down the street from the west like a great wickedness.

  Megan, who had left ignoring Rose’s petulant queries, came out of the crisis center onto the street and locked the iron door behind her.

  She turned and started at the appearance of a man who seemed to thrust up out of the nightmare-deep shadows.

  It was Dave.

  “You,” she said.

  Dave grabbed her by the shoulders. “I’ve got to talk to you,” he said. “You’ve got to listen.”

  Megan, first rigid in his grasp, began to struggle, trying to get away. “Let go of me.”

  “Megan, please.You’ve got to listen.”

  A sudden fusillade of rain pelted them. It was hard and stung.

  “You killed her,” Megan cried. She lashed out with all her strength and anger, punishing him. The wind and the rain fueled her fury. She pounded at his head. He covered himself to deflect her fists.

  Then, over Dave’s shoulder, a new figure rose, as if from the earth. Ace gripped the gun in one hand. Confusion, fear, and hatred shone in him as the storm blew about his greasy hair.

  Megan froze. Dave whirled around.

  Ace wavered. The gun dipped. Dave grabbed the arm with the gun and twisted it. Ace slammed to his knees on the rain-swept sidewalk. He sobbed in pain, frustration, and failure.

  After a moment, Dave released Ace and picked up the gun where it had fallen on the pavement. Dave looked at Megan, who leaned against the building wall, limp and emotionally spent.

  Dave turned to Ace. “You’re under arrest,” he said mechanically.

  Yet before Dave could bring out his cuffs or read him his rights, Ace bolted.

  Dave lunged to give chase, but Megan called out, “Let him go.”

  Dave stopped instantly.

  “I’ve got to take him in,” Dave said without conviction.

  “No. He’s not going to hurt anybody,” she said tiredly. “He doesn’t have it in him.”

  After pocketing Ace’s weapon, Dave reached out to her. Megan took his hand and let him lead her in the rain down the block. Exhausted and wet, they got into the car.

  In Dave’s apartment, the pictures were off the wall and the cat was in hiding. The storm howled outside, rattling the windows, a beast let loose on the earth. Megan’s clothes hung over the bathroom shower curtain bar to dry. She sat in a chair, wearing Dave’s terry cloth robe, and dried her hair with a towel, her purse at her feet.

  Dave sat on the floor before her, barefoot and shirtless, talking earnestly.

  “It all fits,” Dave said. “Nita’s thesis adviser at Columbia said her work had gone off the deep end. She couldn’t focus on one narrow topic. She had to take on all urban ills. And when she found out that, in the real world, she couldn’t cure them, it drove her mad.”

  Megan continued to dry her hair, not looking at him.

  Dave got up on his knees and took her hands. “She set them up, Megan.The ones she considered incurable.The social misfits. She shot them. In cold blood. She arranged to meet them in lonely places. And she murdered them.”

  “Did you have to kill her?”

  Dave peered at her. “She was going to kill me, Megan. I had no choice.”

  Megan returned his gaze evenly.

  “For God’s sake, Megan. She was a murderer.”

  “And what are you?”

  Dave smacked the floor with his fist. He gave her an anguished look.Their eyes locked.

  “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “I love you.”

  For a seemingly endless time, Megan stared into Dave’s eyes, as if searching for something. Her expression very gradually softened.

  Dave took her hands once more. Megan smiled wanly at him. She sighed and leaned back in the chair.

  Dave grinned with relief. He got up and made for the kitchen. “I’ll get us some wine.”

  His phone rang. He didn’t even pause as he busied himself with the corkscrew. “The machine will get it,” he called. He hummed as he rummaged in a cupboard for the stemware he seldom used.

  The answering machine clicked on. Jamie’s voice, low, musical, and troubled, filled the air. “Dave, something strange. It all checks out except for one killing, the murder of Kimberly Worth. Nita was at Dr. Solomon’s house for a dinner party with some heavyweight grant people and nobody went home till late, after the body was found. We’ll keep plugging, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Christ,” Dave said in the kitchen.

  The dial tone sounded briefly before the machine clicked off.

  “I’m sure they’re wrong,” Dave called after a pause, pouring red wine into elegant glasses. “They’ll figure it out.”

  Dave came out of the kitchen holding the glasses aloft, his expression tenderly triumphant. “Anyway, we have our future to think about.”

  Megan’s own triumph was written on her face.The .45 felt natural in her two-handed grasp.

  She aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger.

  Dave took the bullet through his right eye. Perfectly.

  If Dave could be said to have had a last thought or could have put the fleeting, half-formed image into words, it would have been the glimpse of another woman, also beloved, pulling a trigger. A woman who had killed and left him to take the blame.

  The thunder seemed to echo the report of the weapon.

  On the way out, Megan carefully took with her every item of her clothes and the robe and the towel. She didn’t worry about fingerprints. She had been his girlfriend, after all.

  Control.

  The next morning, when the rain ended, the sound of the cat’s incessant yowls caused the super to enter Dave’s apartment. He threw up all over the floor in front of the chair where Megan had sat.

  By the time Jamie arrived, the crime-scene people were hard at work. Dusting for prints, making measurements, taking photos, writing in notebooks. Safir and Wise stood off
to the side, muttering to each other.

  Dave’s body was surrounded by a neat chalk outline. Jamie stood over him, her face vibrating with grief. Lt. Blake came over to her, and she pulled herself together. “Well, Loo,” Jamie said softly, “Dave was right in one respect.” “What’s that, Jamie?”

  “There’s a plan here. By a very smart, cool killer. And he’s rubbing our noses in it.”

  Safir and Wise joined them. The four watched silently as Dave’s body was covered with a sheet.

  “So we start over?” Wise asked.

  “We start over,” Blake said.

  And off in the night, a phone rang in a high-ceilinged, almost empty building, guarded by an iron door.The ghostly ringing sounded tiny in the large room — a drab place except for the new fish tank.

  As always, Megan picked up the phone. “Crisis center. Can I help you?”

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  work of fiction

  acknowledgments

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN