I leaned and kissed Epiphany’s eyelids when the pounding started on the front door. Only a cop announced himself with such a knock. “Come on! Open up in there, Angel!” It was Sterne.
Epiphany’s eyes widened in terror. I held my finger to my lips. “Who is it?” I made my voice sound thick with sleep.
“Lieutenant Sterne. Come on, Angel, we ain’t got all day.”
“Be right there.”
Epiphany sat up, wild-eyed, pleading in silent panic for some explanation. “It’s the law,” I whispered. “I don’t know what they want. Probably just talk. You could stay in here.”
“Hurry it up, Angel!” Sterne bellowed.
Epiphany shook her head, bounding from the room with long-legged strides. I heard the bathroom door close quietly as I stood and kicked most of her scattered clothing under the bed. The pounding continued without a break. I carried her open suitcase over to the closet and shoved it on the top shelf under my own empty luggage.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I called, pulling on a wrinkled bathrobe. “You don’t have to kick it down.”
In the living room, I found one of Epiphany’s stockings draped over the back of the couch. I tied it around my waist under the robe and unlocked the front door.
“About time,” Sterne snorted, shouldering past. Sergeant Deimos was right behind, wearing a drip-dry olive-green suit and a straw hat with a madras band. Sterne had on the same mohair outfit as before, but without the grey raincoat.
“You boys are the breath of springtime,” I said.
“Sleeping late as usual, Angel?” Sterne pushed his sweat-stained hat back on his head and surveyed the disordered room. “Whaddja have, a rumble in here?”
“I ran into an old war buddy, and I guess we tied one on last night.”
“A great life, ain’t it, Deimos?” Sterne said. “Party all night, drinking at the office, sleep in any time you feel like it. We sure were dumb to join the force. What was the name of this war buddy of yours?”
“Pound,” I improvised. “Ezra Pound.”
“Ezra? Sounds like a farmer.”
“Nope. Runs an auto body shop in Hailey, Idaho. He caught an early morning flight out of Idlewild. Went straight from here to the airport at five A.M.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Would I lie to you, Lieutenant? Look, I’m in bad need of coffee. You fellows mind if I put on a pot?”
Sterne sat on the arm of the couch. “Go ahead. We don’t like it, we’ll dump it in the toilet.”
As if on cue, a loud bumping noise came from the bathroom. “Someone in there?” Sergeant Deimos jerked his thumb at the closed door.
The bathroom door opened and Epiphany appeared, carrying the bucket and mop. She was wearing the maid’s grey smock, her hair tied up under a bit of dirty rag, and she shuffled into the room, slouching like an ancient crone.
“I’ze all done wid de bat’room for today, Mistuh Angel,” she whined, her nasal accent pure Amos and Andy. “I sees you got company, so I be back later to finish up, if dat’s okay wid you.”
“That’ll be fine, Ethel.” I swallowed a smile as she shambled past. “I should be going out soon, so just let yourself in when you’ve a mind.”
“Dat I will. Dat I surely will.” She smacked her lips as if her dentures were slipping and headed for the door. “Mo’nin’, gentermans. Hopes I din’ disturb y’all too much.”
Sterne stared at her with his mouth open. Deimos just stood there scratching the back of his head. I wondered if they noticed she was barefoot and held my breath until the front door closed.
“Jungle bunnies,” Sterne muttered. “They should of never let ‘em out of the watermelon patch.”
“Oh, Ethel’s all right,” I said, filling the coffee pot in the kitchenette alcove. “She’s a little dimwitted but keeps the place nice and dean.”
Sergeant Deimos chuckled. “Yeah, Lootenant, somebody’s gotta swab out the john.”
Sterne regarded his partner with weary disgust, as if cleaning toilets might be a task for which the sergeant was best qualified. I adjusted the flame on my two-burner stove. “What was it you fellows wanted to see me about?” I dropped a slice of bread into the toaster.
Sterne got up from the couch and walked into the . foyer, leaning against the alcove wall next to the refrigerator. “Does the name Margaret Krusemark mean anything to you?”
“Not a whole lot.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Only what I read in the papers.”
“Which is?”
“That she was a millionaire’s daughter and got herself murdered the other day.”
“Anything else?”
I said: “I can’t keep up with every murder in town. I’ve got my own work to look after.”
Sterne shifted his weight and looked at a spot on the ceiling above my head. “When do you do that, when you’re sober?”
“What’s this?” Sergeant Deimos called from the other room. I looked down the hallway at him. He was standing by my open attaché case and held up the printed card I found on Margaret Krusemark’s desk.
I smiled. “That? My nephew’s confirmation announcement.”
Deimos looked at the card. “Why is it in a foreign language?”
“It’s Latin,” I said.
“With him everything is Latin,” Sterne said, tight-lipped.
“What’s this gizmo mean up at the top?” Deimos pointed to the inverted pentagram.
“I can tell you guys aren’t Catholic,” I said. “That’s the emblem of the Order of Saint Anthony. My nephew’s an altar boy.”
“Looks like the same gizmo the Krusemark dame was wearing.”
My toast popped up, and I plastered it with butter. “Maybe she was Catholic, too.”
“She was no Cat’lic,” Sterne said. “Heathen is more like it.”
I munched my toast. “What’s all this got to do with the price of salami? I thought you were investigating the death of Toots Sweet?”
Sterne’s dead eyes met my gaze. “That’s right, Angel. It just so happens the M.O. in both killings is very similar.”
“You think they’re connected?”
“Maybe I should ask you that.”
The coffee started perking, and I lowered the flame. “What good would that do? You might as well ask the guy at the desk downstairs.”
“Don’t get smart, Angel. The nigger piano player was mixed up in voodoo. This Krusemark broad was a star-gazer, and from the looks of things dabbled in a little black magic on the side. They both get bumped off the same week, one day apart, under extremely similar circumstances, by a person or persons unknown.”
“In what way were the circumstances similar?”
“That comes under the heading of police business.”
“So how can I help if I don’t know what you want?” I got three mugs out of the cupboard and lined them on the counter.
“You’re holding out on us, Angel?”
“Why shouldn’t I hold out on you?” I turned off the flame and poured the coffee. “I don’t work for the city.”
“Lissen, wise ass: I called your fancy mouthpiece downtown. It looks like you’ve got us over a barrel. You can clam up, and we gotta keep hands off. But if I find out you’ve broken so much as a parking regulation, I’m gonna come down on you like a piledriver. You won’t be able to get a license to sell peanuts in this town.”
I sipped my coffee, breathing the fragrant steam. “I always obey the law, Lieutenant,” I said.
“Bullshit! Guys like you play jumprope with the law. Someday real soon you’re gonna slip, and I’ll be there waiting with open arms.”
“Your coffee’s getting cold.”
“Fuck the coffee!” Sterne snarled. His lip curled over his crooked, yellow teeth, and he backhanded the mugs off the counter. They crashed against the opposite wall and bounced along the floor. Sterne regarded the splattered brown stain thoughtfully, like a 57th Street gallery-goer studying
an action painting. “Looks like I made a mess,” he said. “No problem. The nigger can mop up when I’m gone.”
“And when might that be?” I asked.
“When I damn well please.”
“Suits me.” I carried my cup back into the living room and sat on the couch. Sterne stared at me as if I was something unpleasant he’d just stepped in. Deimos looked at the ceiling.
I held the cup in both hands and ignored them. Deimos started to whistle but quit after four tuneless notes. I always keep a couple pet cops around the place was what I’d say when friends came over. They’re better company than parakeets and no trouble if housebroken.
“Awright. Let’s breeze,” Sterne barked. Deimos sauntered past as if it was his idea.
“Hurry back,” I said.
Sterne pulled his hat brim down. “I’ll be waiting for you to step outta line, ass-wipe.” He slammed the door hard enough to dislodge a Currier & Ives lithograph from the foyer wall.
THIRTY-FIVE
The glass was cracked in the frame, a frozen lightning bolt zigzagging between the bare-knuckled fists of the Great John L. and Jake Kilrain. I hung it back on the wall and heard a soft tapping at the front door. “Come on in, Ethel. It’s open.”
Epiphany peered inside, still wearing her rag bandanna. “Are they gone for good?”
“Probably not. But they won’t bother us any more today.”
She carried the bucket and mop into the foyer and closed the door. Leaning back, she started to giggle. There was an edge of hysteria in her laughter, and when I took her in my arms, I felt her body tremble under the thin cotton smock. “You were terrific,” I told her.
“Wait’ll you see how clean I got the toilet.”
“Where’d you go?”
“I hid on the fire stairs until I heard them leave.”
“Hungry? There’s a pot of coffee made and eggs in the fridge.”
We fixed breakfast, a meal I usually skip, and carried our plates into the living room. Epiphany dipped her toast in egg yolk. “Did they find anything of mine?”
“They weren’t looking, really. One of them poked around my attaché case. He found something I took from the Krusemark apartment but didn’t know what it was. Hell, I don’t even know what it is.”
“Can I see?”
“Why not?” I got up and showed her the card.
“MISSA NIGER,” she read. “Invito te venire ad dandestinum ritum …”
She held the card like it was the ace of spades. “This is an announcement of a Black Mass.”
“A what?”
“Black Mass. It’s some kind of magical ceremony, devil worship. I don’t know too much about it.”
“How do you know for sure, then?”
“Because that’s what it says. Missa niger is the Latin for black mass.”
“You read Latin?”
Epiphany grinned with pleasure. “What else do you learn after ten years in parochial school.”
“Parochial school?”
“Sure. I went to Sacred Heart. My mama didn’t think much of the public school system. She believed in discipline. ‘Those nuns sure will whip some sense in your thick head,’ she used to say.”
I laughed. “The voodoo princess at Sacred Heart. I’d love to see your yearbook pictures.”
“I’ll show you sometime. I was class president.”
“I’ll bet you were. Can you translate the whole thing?”
“Easy,” Epiphany smiled. “It says: ‘You are invited to attend a secret ceremony to the glory of Lord Satan and his power.’ That’s all. Then there’s the date, March 22nd, and the time, 9:00 P.M. And down here it says, ‘Eastside Interborough Rapid Transit, 18th Street Station.’ “
“What about the letterhead? That upside-down star with the goat head? Have any idea what it means?”
“Stars are an important symbol in every religion I know anything about, the Islamic star, the star of Bethlehem, star of David. The talisman of Agove Royo has stars in it.”
“Agove Royo?”
“Obeah.”
“That invitation have anything to do with voodoo?”
“No, no. This is devil worship.” Epiphany was pained by my ignorance. “The ram is a sign of the devil. An inverted star means bad luck. Probably also a satanic symbol.”
I grabbed Epiphany and wrapped her in my arms. “You are worth your weight in gold, babe. Does Obeah have a devil?”
“Many devils.”
She smiled at me, and I patted her bottom. Nice bottom. “It’s time to brush up on my black magic. We’ll get dressed and go to the library. You can help me with my homework.”
It was a beautiful morning, warm enough to go without a coat. Bright sunshine dazzled on the mica specks in the sidewalk. Spring was officially one day off, but we might not see weather this good again until May. Epiphany wore her plaid skirt and sweater and looked invitingly like a schoolgirl. Driving up Fifth where the little golden statuettes of Mercury gleamed atop the traffic lights, I asked how old she was.
“Seventeen, last January sixth.”
“Christ, you’re not old enough to buy a drink.”
“Not true. When I’m dressed up I get served without any problems. They never asked for my I.D. at the Plaza.”
I believed her. In her plum-colored suit she looked five years older. “Aren’t you a little young to be running the store?”
Epiphany’s amused look contained a trace of scorn. “I’ve been in charge of accounting and inventory since my mama took ill,” she said. “I only tend the counter at night. In the daytime I have a staff of two.”
“And what do you do in the daytime?”
“Study mostly. Go to class. I’m a freshman at City.”
“Good. You should be an old hand in the library. I’ll leave the research to you.”
I waited in the main reading room while Epiphany sorted through file cards. Scholars of all ages sat in silent rows between the long wooden tables where precisely arranged lampshades wore numbers like convicts on parade. The room had ceilings as high as a train station with huge chandeliers like inverted wedding cakes hanging in the Beaux Arts vastness. Only occasional muffled coughing disturbed the cathedral hush.
I found a vacant seat at the far end of a reading table. The number on the lampshade corresponded to the number engraved on a brass oval countersunk into the tabletop in front of me: 666. I remembered the snotty maître d’ at the Top of the Six’s and changed my seat; 724 felt a lot more comfortable.
“Wait’ll you see what I’ve found.” Epiphany dropped an armload of books with a dusty thump. Heads turned halfway down the table. “Some of it is trash, but there’s an edition of the Grimoire of Pope Honorius privately printed in Paris in 1754.”
“I don’t read French.”
“It’s in Latin. I’ll translate. Here’s a new one that’s mostly pictures.”
I reached for the oversized coffee-table volume and opened it at random to a full-page medieval painting of a horned monster with lizard scales and talons in place of feet. Flames issued from his ears and between the stalactite rows of tusks accentuating his gaping mouth. It bore the caption: SATAN, PRINCE OF HELL.
I thumbed several pages. An Elizabethan woodcut showed a woman in a farthingale kneeling behind a naked devil with the build of a lifeguard. He had wings, a goat’s head, and fingernails like Slovenly Peter. The woman hugged his legs, her nose nestled directly beneath his uplifted tail. She was smiling.
“The abominable kiss,” Epiphany said, looking over my shoulder. “That’s how a witch traditionally sealed her allegiance to the devil.”
“I guess they didn’t have notary publics in those days.” I turned a few more pages, flipping through a succession of demons and familiars. There were many inverted five-pointed stars in the section on talismans. I came across one with the figure 666 printed at the center and pointed it out to Epiphany. “My least favorite number.”
“It’s from the Book of Revelations.”
>
“The what?”
“The Bible: ‘Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast; for it is the number of a man; and his number is six hundred threescore and six.’ “
“Is that a fact?”
Epiphany frowned at me over the tops of her reading glasses. “Don’t you know anything?”
“Not a whole lot, but I’m learning fast. Here’s a woman named for the restaurant where I ate yesterday.” I showed Epiphany the engraving of a plump matron wearing a peasant’s cowled hood.
“Voisin is French for ‘neighbor,’ ” she said.
“Those nuns did drum some book learning into you at that. Here, read the caption.”
Epiphany took the book and read the small print beneath the engraving in a whisper: “Catherine Deshayes, called La Voisin, a society fortuneteller and sorceress. Arranged Black Masses for the Marquise de Montespan, mistress of King Louis XIV, as well as for other notables. Arrested, tortured, tried and executed in 1680.”
“Just the book we need.”
“It’s entertaining, but the meat and potatoes are in these: Malleus Maleficarum, and Reginald Scott’s The Discoverie of Witchcraft, and Aleister Crowley’s Magick, and the Secrets of Albertus Magnus, and —”
“Okay, terrific. I want you to go home and curl up on the couch with a good book. Mark any passages you think I should read, especially stuff dealing with the Black Mass.”
Epiphany gave me the sort of look a teacher reserves for the class dunce. “This is a reference library. You can’t check out any of the books in here.”
“Well, I can’t stick around. I’ve got work to do.”
“There’s a branch library downstairs.” Epiphany began piling the books. “I’ll check and see how many of these are in general circulation.”
“Perfect. You’re a champ. Here’s the key to my place.” I opened my wallet and slipped her a twenty. “That’s for cab fare and anything else you think you’ll need.”
“I’ve got money of my own.”
Falling Angel Page 15